Theo showed up to school the next day looking like nothing had happened.

  If you ignored the bandages.

  They peeked out above his open collar—white gauze taped over the line where the Pigmy Argus’s tail had kissed his chest. Another strip wrapped his collarbone, visible when he slung his bag higher. He’d eschewed the blazer over his loose button?down, probably because putting any extra weight or pressure on those injuries would’ve been a nightmare.

  We were in the main hall between classes when the twins spotted him.

  “Theo!” Shara gasped.

  She launched herself at him before he could brace. Her arms went around his neck; his face tightened in a wince he tried to swallow. He patted her back anyway.

  “Hey, hey,” he said, voice muffled against her shoulder. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”

  Sera hung back half a step, eyes on the bandages, mouth tight.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed,” she said. No joking in it. Just flat, scared truth.

  Theo eased Shara back a little, hands on her shoulders, then turned that same warmth on Sera.

  “I’ll be more careful,” he said. “Promise.”

  His power flowed out, nudged the air around them—full of more intention than Janessa’s, familiar now—but it was hard to tell how much of their relaxation was that and how much was just him, saying the right words in the right tone.

  “You’ve said that before,” Sera muttered, but some of the tension leaked out of her shoulders.

  Shara sniffed, then poked him—carefully—in the arm. “You better,” she said. “We like you alive.”

  He grinned at them, all easy charm. “Aw, you two would miss me?” he teased.

  They rolled their eyes in stereo, but the crisis was officially dialed down. A couple of kids walking by gave him the kind of admiring glance reserved for people with cool injuries and better stories.

  I watched from a few lockers down, textbooks hugged to my chest.

  He looked…fine, on the surface. Same flirty grin, same careless lean against the wall, same way of making the twins laugh even when they were scared. If you didn’t know what he’d been like in that service corridor—breathing hard, eyes wild, bleeding in three places—you’d never guess Lillibet had told him he was benched.

  You’re done.

  He’d agreed so easily. Too easily. Like flipping to a different preset.

  “Right. Okay. That makes sense.”

  Now he was promising to “be more careful” with that same mouth, and all I could see was the way he’d thrown himself at the Argus like pain was just another tool in his belt.

  A knot formed under my ribs—part worry, part something sour I didn’t want to name.

  He caught me looking. For a second, the smile faltered, the tiredness behind his eyes flickering through. Then it was gone, replaced with a quick little wink like we were in on a joke together.

  The twins pulled him away toward class, bracelets flashing—butterfly and rose, gold catching on the light.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  I turned back to my locker, the metal cool under my fingers, and pretended that none of this made my skin feel too tight.

  Theo didn’t show up for Saturday Club.

  I tried not to notice at first. People were late sometimes. Rebecca had an article due, Vinh had a fencing meet, life happened. We did warm?ups, ran drills. Mr. Okafor barked corrections. Lillibet moved like a knife through everything.

  But as the session wound down and Theo’s stupid easy grin never materialized on the edge of the field, that little knot of worry in my chest stopped being “maybe traffic” and started being “okay, what now.”

  Most people peeled off when Okafor dismissed us. The twins headed for the pool. Luis took a couple of the others to the sheds to go over maintenance on the practice blades.

  I stayed.

  Lillibet had offered “extra practice” in her usual non-offer way—“You. Stay.”—and I wasn’t dumb enough to turn down one-on-one time with a girl who could sidestep death.

  So we were still on the field, late afternoon light going gold, working through footwork patterns. Hana and Jamal had hung back too, sitting on the grass with their swords across their knees, waiting their turns.

  “Again,” Lillibet said.

  I reset, trying to remember where my feet were supposed to go and not think about who wasn’t here to make a joke about it.

  I was halfway through the sequence when shouting broke across the quad.

  “Lily!”

  We all turned.

  The twins were running full?tilt from the main path. Sera looked like she’d just gotten out of the pool—hair damp, shorts thrown on over a suit. Her face was tight, eyes bright with something that wasn’t chlorinated. Shara was a mess. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hair half out of its braid, barefoot, her gold bracelet bouncing on her wrist.

  She practically crashed into the edge of our little group.

  “Hey—hey—” Jamal was on his feet, catching her shoulders so she didn’t go face?first into the dirt. “What’s wrong?”

  Shara was sobbing too hard to get words out. Sera swallowed, shoved wet hair off her face, and looked straight at Lillibet.

  “It’s Theo,” she said. Her voice wobbled on the name. “He found a nest. He left to take it alone.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “We tried to stop him,” Sera went on, anger flaring under the fear. “He wouldn’t listen.”

  Shara choked on a word that might've been “wouldn’t” or “couldn’t.”

  “He—” Sera faltered, glanced at her sister, then back. “He Pushed.”

  The word sat heavy. We all knew what it meant.

  “Made us walk away,” Shara got out between sobs. “We just…turned around. And then—then he wasn’t answering his phone—”

  She dissolved into another wave of shaking.

  Lillibet didn’t explode. She didn’t even frown. She just went…still.

  “Do you know where,” she asked. Calm. Crisp.

  The twins nodded in unison.

  “What kind?” Lillibet said.

  “Frills,” Sera said. “Greenway. He said—he said he’d been watching yesterday. Saw some going in and out of a storm drain by the old rail yard.”

  “How many?” Lillibet asked.

  “At least six,” Sera said. “Maybe more. He wasn’t sure.”

  Lillibet’s jaw flexed.

  “Alright,” she said.

  She looked around at us—Hana, Jamal, the twins, me. A few upperclassmen from Saturday Club had started drifting back when they heard Shara’s sobs; now there were eight of us total in a loose semicircle.

  “How many of you,” Lillibet said, voice still even, “want to find out if there is anything left of him to save?”

  Every hand went up.

  Mine included. My heart tried to climb out of my mouth, but my arm didn’t shake.

  Lillibet nodded.

  “Those of you without a blade,” she said, “go to the gym. Armory closet. There are only basics, but grab them.”

  The “basics” were the lowest?level swords: pale yellow?white, no runes on the blades, edges serviceable. Mass?produced, if you could call bonesmith work that.

  Hana and Jamal were already moving. Sera kissed Shara’s temple and dashed after them.

  Lillibet turned to me.

  “You’re ready,” she said.

  I swallowed, fingers tightening on my father’s sword hilt.

  The sun was sliding toward the horizon. Somewhere under the city, a stupid, reckless Satyr?kin was in a nest of Greenway Frills, bleeding for a fight he should never have picked alone.

  We were going to go see if there was anything left to bring back.

  I tried to convince myself there was.