Break ended too soon. I had three months to prepare the facts, not enough time to prepare my nerves.

  Back in the dome, Baatar lit the screen: grainy security footage. The entire courtroom went silent.

  “For the sake of transparency, Black Box will reveal the Finland footage.” The screen turned on.

  Arata mid-fight, Star Dragon flare, light and smoke, the room’s collective flinch.

  “He didn’t panic. He stole anomalous magical material and infused with it. Article Four point four allows any measures to protect Association interests. Including termination.”

  He looked at me. “Do you deny the power originated within your client?”

  I scanned the footage. Conveniently, most of it was blacked out and heavily edited, with no signs of Doctor Vainio. I knew he was there. I just couldn’t prove it. Not now, not here.

  The VIPs would regret trusting that old man so much with top-secret documents.

  “Origin, maybe. Control, no,” I said. “That blast was survival. If you call a scream a declaration of war, prepare a long docket of the dead.”

  “State property destroyed,” Baatar added. “Forty-eight million credits.”

  “State property?” I asked. “Or Nuxx’s?”

  The magistrate frowned. “Mr. Lawson, refrain from conspiracy theories. Nuxx is a myth.”

  “With respect, I’m refraining from blindness,” I said. “Article Ten—unlicensed manifestation—was signed the twenty-third of February. These events happened on the eighteenth. Your amendment didn’t exist when this boy was bleeding in your hallway.”

  Baatar’s mouth hardened. “The Code permits adaptive retroactivity under internal doctrine.”

  “Not without quorum,” I said. “Article Six, Section Six: revisions require a full Council vote chaired by Malcolm Dixley. Dixley is missing. Has been for months. No quorum. No signature. No authority. The amendment you’re waving is a ghost with a badge.”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Necessary modernization—”

  “Lovely word for panic,” I said. “Article Twelve says plain meaning, no absurdity, no retroactive punishment. If you punish a boy for breaking a law that wasn’t written yet, you make absurdity your creed.”

  Silence went deep. Even Kwon stopped pretending to be bored.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I added, softer now, “You want a conviction. Fine. Bring me a law that existed when he acted, and I will meet you on the line. Today, you don’t have one.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Baatar opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Kwon leaned back. “Okay, I’ve heard enough.” He looked to the clerk. “Article Ten amendment is void pending confirmation of quorum. The Association cannot prosecute under laws that don’t even exist, obviously! We aren’t running a circus here!”

  He turned to Baatar. “Unless you plan to argue calendar math, and make me look even worse, Baatar?”

  No answer.

  “Then it’s settled,” Kwon said. “Counts for unlawful manifestation and resistance are struck straight off. Remaining counts… trespass and property damage… fall to administrative discretion!”

  The clerk hesitated. “Disposition?”

  “It says here… dismissed with condition,” Kwon replied. “Well done.”

  I stood. “Condition?”

  Kwon’s smile was half apology, half dare. “We can’t release a miracle into the street without supervision. We’ll be generous, the Association will enroll Arata Tanaka under provisional classification, paper-tier assassin. He’ll need his hand microchipped, to avoid… any further rebellion. Call it administrative oversight. No field commissions without counsel approval. Violation returns him to this docket.”

  Baatar’s jaw clicked, faint and ugly. “A paper dragon.”

  “Exactly, man. Now he has a leash made of paper,” Kwon said. “If he tears it, you can have him back.”

  He glanced at me. “Hugo, you done awesome, completely wiped the floor with us! You make these boring laws sound interesting, bahahaha! Still! We VIPs gotta keep things in order. Don’t think there won’t be consequences for this.”

  The handlers removed Arata’s restraints. I felt Kwon staring straight through me, with a giant smile stretched on his ugly face.

  I ignored him.

  Arata looked like he hadn’t heard it at first. Then his shoulders sagged, disbelief collapsing into relief. His mouth twitched, close enough to hurt.

  I rested a hand on the table. “You’re free, kid. Officially a danger to paperwork.”

  He huffed a dry laugh. “Funny. A paper-tier assassin.”

  Kwon always had to get the last laugh. There were only three tiers; Bronze, made of my lot and the other few thousand idiots, Silver, and Gold, with only the top five assassins, like Nicodemus Mann and Malcolm Dixley.

  Now, Arata would be the absolute lowest of us all, with negative points. Hell, the kid wouldn’t be trusted with escorting a granny across the street at this rate.

  He’d be their dog. Forget embarrassing, his life would be in jeopardy now. Better that than them rewarding him, though, or a pack of up-and-comers would’ve descended to steal any points as soon as his shackles were undone.

  Kwon stood. “Court adjourned, get out of here!” The gavel hit once. Sharp as a gunshot, cleaner.

  Doctor Vainio’s eyes met mine, colder than ice. Mr. Slithery seemed pleased by it all. Sick sense of humour these VIPs have.

  The hall outside was filled with VIPs. They’d be currying favour with Kwon, but something was different. The result sent a ripple of sheer confusion amongst their bloated ranks. Bet they never thought Kwon would lose.

  “Odds were 12% Hugo,” Vegetable Blue said, bandaged. “I lost. The odds would have improved by 66% if you cited Roman law instead. I had already solved the case 6 hours ago.”

  “Well. House wins,” I told him. “For once.”

  Bǎo met us halfway up the corridor, hair still matted from travel, expression unreadable. She studied Arata for a long second.

  “Piggy! I hear you’re an assassin now,” she said.

  “Paper-tier,” he muttered. Soulless. He moved slowly, and his eyes were glued to the floor.

  “That’s hilarious! But look at you, you’re so sickly. Come on, Bǎo will cook you hot pot.” She turned, walking ahead, grabbing his frail arm. “Bǎo has so much to tell you.”

  I stayed behind a moment, the cane tapping once against the polished floor. POLICY PROTECTS stared back from the wall, still chipped, still lying.

  I exhaled. For the first time in months, I could raise my head high, proud. Tap. Tap.

  And somewhere down the corridor, Arata Tanaka, ex-prisoner, paper-tier assassin, walked out under his own name. He was free.

  But his eyes weren't. I knew that darkness. A predator waking up.

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