Ayame sat absolutely still on the sofa while her mother continued berating the pair of them. She'd tried to glance at Pierre once, but that ended very badly. So instead, she had a different strategy in place this time. One she was going to implement no matter the cost.

"Well!" Mrs Yang demanded finally after she had completed her tirade and all the pair of them did was steal glances, "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Ayame took in a deep breath before she spoke, knowing full well the consequences of her little feat, "I'm not sorry." She tilted her head a little higher and sat up straighter to emphasise her stance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pierre's head snap towards her with a jerk. She continued sitting stiffly, looking straight into her mother's narrowed eyes.

"Oh really?" One of Mrs Yang's eyebrows shot up as she folded her arms across her chest. Ayame swallowed once before sitting up even straighter. She wasn't going to be intimidated today.

"She insulted his parents—his dead parents!" Ayame insisted. She clenched her hands into a fist, she couldn't show emotion if she wanted her mother to bend.

"I didn't realise Steven hired you to defend his honour," her mother said coolly, both eyebrows now arched.

Pierre snorted and attempted to mask it with a terribly fake cough. Ayame felt her cheeks grow warm, she would smack him across the head if she could, "He's my friend!"

"Is he?" She wasn't scowling anymore, Mrs Yang knelt so she was at eye level with Ayame, "Isn't he the same person who said all those awful things about you?" she asked gingerly, placing a hand on Ayame's fists, "Why would you want to be friends with someone like that?"

Ayame didn't respond, her mother wouldn't understand. No one would. Steve was an idiot that often let his mouth work before his brain did, but he always apologised. He was different, and he was ostracised for it. No one would understand what it felt like to be different. To try so desperately to fit into a society by pretending to be something she could never be.

No one.

Mrs Yang gave a small sigh before she tried again, "Do you ... like him?"

"What?!" Ayame's face was radiating heat, she could feel her ears grow warmer too. "No!" she cried. Her mother was always so inappropriate, she didn't even care that she had just said that in front of Pierre. "Absolutely not!" she repeated when her mother was still frowning, unconvinced.

"If it's a hormonal thing, Mei—"

"Mama, stop talking!" Ayame's voice had somehow risen to a pitch she had never heard before. She didn't know when or how she stood up either, only that she had. She eyed the stairs leading to her bedroom, face still so red, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. If ever there was a time to walk out, this was it.

"Mei," her mother sighed and stood up again, apparently determined to stay at eye level with Ayame, "I've been in your shoes, I know how you feel—"

She turned back to her mother, eyes ablaze, "You've been in my shoes?" Ayame demanded with a humourless laugh, "You need to feed on raw, bloody meat every few weeks? You've had your hands turn into claws because ..." she let her voice trail off. She couldn't exactly tell her mother that she had been out past curfew and the stars had nearly scooted off with her. "If," Ayame quickly corrected herself before her mother had a chance to speak, "if you don't? You've been so angry that the only thing that seems to get rid of it is hurting someone?"

"Do not blame what happened today on your gift, Ayame Yang." Her mother's expression had hardened again.

"I'm not!"

"Yes," she said more firmly, "you are." Ayame may have been taller than her mother, but she had never felt smaller, "You never take responsibility for your actions." Mrs Yang continued, "It's either Steve's fault or Desma's and now it looks like it's your anger's fault that it got out of hand. Somehow you're always blameless."

Ayame folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes were beginning to sting but she refused to look away from her mother. She had wanted to be heard, to be understood, even if it seemed like an impossible feat now.

"I think you've never really faced the consequences of your actions," Mrs Yang then said with another sigh as she rubbed her temples. "So, Mrs Lyons, Carter and I have agreed that until you write a sincere apology to Desma Carter, you're going to stay suspended." She turned to Pierre sharply, "Both of you."

Pierre's head jerked up at the mention of his name, "Me? What did I do?!" he burst, waving his arms in exasperation, "Am I seriously being punished for not stopping Mei?"

"Oh shut up!" Ayame retorted, rolling her eyes at the giant goody two shoes. Pierre scowled and opened his mouth when her mother spoke instead.

"Language!"

The pair of them turned back to Mrs Yang in silence.

Her eyes were still narrowed, "As long as the two of you are under my care, you will respect one another!" she continued sharply, looking at one and then the other before she settled on Pierre, "And don't act like you did nothing wrong. The entire corridor heard what you said to the poor girl."

Pierre raised an eyebrow, "Poor girl, Aunt Xiao?" He let out a small scoff, "Someone had to put her in place and it was never going to be any of you." He sat up straighter, "An-and what happened to standing up for yourselves?" he claimed, "You've constantly told us to do that and now that we do, we get punished for it?!"

"Do not twist my words, Pierre!"

"He's not!" Ayame sat down beside Pierre, "Everything you've taught us—the Judo, the sign language, everything about the surface. We've never used it for anything, ever!" she declared, a different sort of tension was welling up within her, "I stood up for my friend today and I'm not sorry." Her eyes flickered to Pierre for a moment before they returned to her mother, "I am sorry I got Pierre suspended though."

Pierre gave her hand a small squeeze that Mrs Yang frowned at quietly. She then gave another sigh, shaking her head in disbelief as well, "The two of you can team up against me all you want," she said, "it's not going to change my mind. The two of you will write a sincere apology letter to Desma and until then ..."

She tapped the band on her arm twice much to Ayame's horror. With a small 'beep,' the black band on her wrist had turned a dull red. She glanced up at Pierre, his wide eyes mirroring her own.

"You're both grounded," Mrs Yang announced, "Ayame up to your room, you only have a minute. Pierre, my room."

Ayame scrambled to her feet and made for the stairs. If the band knew that she had been confined to her room and she didn't get there in time, it would whistle a siren so shrill that the entire kingdom of Tehosnaga would know she'd been grounded. She would have to continue arguing from her room it seemed. She could hear Pierre still arguing with her mother by the time she was halfway up the stairs.

That was when another siren sounded.

Not shrill, this one was the ever-familiar wail that indicated their curfew.

It was too soon.

Ayame skipped back downstairs to glance at the two giant hands on the wall of her living room: twenty minutes to ten. She turned to her mother with a small frown and then to Pierre when Mrs Yang was too busy looking at her wristband. Her best friend responded with creased eyebrows as he shrugged.

"I have to go," Ayame's mother said distractedly, not really looking up at either of them as she mechanically moved to the door, "I'll be back soon. Stay inside, looks like curfew's early today." She finally glimpsed at the pair once as she was exiting the house, "Twenty seconds kids." And she shut the door behind her.

Ayame ran back upstairs, early curfew forgotten, and Pierre scurried into the room across from her. She paused once she was in, taking a minute to decide what to do first.

There were only five pieces of furniture in her room. The most important was her bed under a single-paned window. A small side table was placed beside it, topped with a half-empty glass of water from a few nights ago. Across the window stood an open wardrobe with clothes spilling to the floor. And on the final wall was her modestly-sized desk, strewn with an assortment of objects.

This was as good a time as any to tidy her room a little. But Ayame opted to grab a paper-thin object off the desk instead. It was a hard, rectangular sheet of translucent material, and small enough to hold with one hand. Yet she held it gingerly with both hands as she sat and placed it on her lap. This was her Wafer, her lifeline to everyone from the confines of her room.

She gave the centre a small tap and the screen flickered to life with a single logo. The same logo on every electronic device in the kingdom: a large 'C' almost entirely enveloping a small black circle. Ayame thought it was a funny way of writing 'CO,' Steve had always said that it looked like a camera.

She sighed when two little words appeared on the top right of her screen.

'Restricted Access'

Ayame had hoped that her mother—with her mind as scattered as the stars, had forgotten to block her access to the network. It would be nice to know what Steve was up to. Whether he was in just as much trouble as they were.

The only software she had access to on the useless sheet of technology was a document editor. She let out a loud groan, tempted to toss the Wafer away. If it wasn't such a hassle to repair, she probably would have done so.

Ayame suddenly had another idea. She grinned, pleased at herself as she tapped the emergency icon. It was a small, red exclamation point embossed on each of the four corners of her Wafer. Her screen switched to the more familiar interface of a relay chat software. But Ayame's grin faded just as quickly. All her contacts had been marked restricted.

All except Xiao Yang.

Her mother really had thought of everything.

She slammed the Wafer back on the table. Ayame was in no mood to draft an apology letter to Desma. It was nearly time for bed anyway and her room was starting to feel very small and suffocating. She couldn't even go down for a snack if she wanted to.

Her mama had literally imprisoned her.

Ayame made her way to her bed, tapping the panel beside the window out of habit. The glass turned just as white as the walls beside it until she may as well have had no window in her room.

There was a small knock on her door.

She bolted upright, every muscle in her body going rigid. Ever since last night, she had been constantly expecting to hear the thundering footsteps of the Hanshö as they whisked her away to the palace dungeons. And even though she had heard nothing, her heart still began to race in moments like these. When she was alone.

When she was defenceless.

Her mind sprinted through all the possible scenarios as she turned to face the door. No one would bat an eye if the Hanshö were the ones to drag her away, kicking and screaming all the way to the palace.

But the only person in the room was a slight middle-aged woman clearing her scattered table.

"Mama?" Ayame tapped the panel beside her bed, and a window materialised on the wall. It was still quite dark outside, so it was unlikely that she had unknowingly slept. "I thought you left."

Mrs Yang turned with a small smile, "You think I didn't pick up on the 'claw' talk?" She tapped an orange container placed neatly on the organised desk. "I'm not letting my daughter sleep on an empty stomach."

Ayame eyed her mother's jacket and tote bag, "Are you back or leaving?" Her stomach was always knotted and full of leaden weights when her mother wasn't home.

"I didn't even get to the end of the street when I remembered I hadn't fed either of you troublemakers." She had her hands folded across her chest as she smiled her warm, benign smile from across the room. "Just because you're grounded doesn't mean I starve you two to death," she said before turning to walk away."

Ayame swallowed, mustering every ounce of courage to speak. "Just because you're allowed to be out past curfew, doesn't make it any less terrifying either."

The smile she received didn't quite reach the eyes. In fact, if anything, her mother's smile only pronounced the older woman's wrinkles more. As if masking a secret sorrow, "You know my work is important Mei," she said as she took a seat on the bed.

"Taking care of rich, old people?" Ayame let out a small scoff.

Mrs Yang's eyebrows rose again, but the smile stayed, "Being rich doesn't make them any less of a person," she said, "but belittling others to flaunt our superiority, that makes us a smaller person."

Ayame shook her head stubbornly, "Rich people always think they're better," she declared, her voice hardening at the thought of Desma again, "even when they're no longer in the palace."

"Not always," Mrs Yang said gently, cupping a hand on her cheek, "sometimes people do stupid things to be accepted by society. And sometimes you have to be the bigger person—" She raised a finger as Ayame opened her mouth to speak again, "even when you think you're right." Mrs Yang smiled again, more pointedly, "Room full of slaves, remember?"

Ayame didn't respond. Her mother had always said that if you wanted to know a person, truly know them, you would lock them in a room full of slaves. She had found it amusing as a child, but incredibly uncomfortable to think about now that she was older. What was she supposed to say to a room full of slaves? How would anything she said make them hate her for having a better life? For being lucky enough to be born in the right part of the city?

"I don't really care about Desma," Ayame admitted, "but I hate that she constantly calls Steve, Sector 5."

Mrs Yang gave a small, quiet sigh, "Maybe she's lonely," she suggested, "lonely and jealous of the attention Steven gets."

The image of Steve surrounded by his cohort of fans sprung into her head. Even Ayame had found that annoying, despite being his best friend. But her mother's statement had made her realise she'd never actually seen Desma with anyone before.

"And making fun of his dead parents was how she handled it?" Ayame snarled, and then caught her mother's look, "I know I know!" she said snappily, "I'm no better, I clocked her jaw."

"You fractured her jaw," Mrs Yang corrected, "in two places."

"Fractured?" A heavier weight pulled down at her stomach, "Did she go to the Sanitarium?" she demanded breathlessly. Her hands were clammy all of a sudden at the thought, "Will she have to fill an injury report? I—I don't want to end up in the dungeons!"

"No, no of course not," Ayame's mother soothed as she used both hands to push the panicking teenager back down, "no one is sending you to the dungeons, Mei," she said. Her voice the ever-gentle promise of solace as she rubbed Ayame's forearm, "but you're going to have to face the consequences of your actions." And while she wasn't frowning, her voice had the very familiar and firm tone of finality as she spoke to Ayame, "Because you abused your strength and hurt someone."

Ayame didn't meet her mother's eyes this time. She stared silently at the bed as the woman planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Now," she said, "I need to get going, it's already past ten. Eat your food and go to sleep." She drew a clear plastic box from the tote bag, and Ayame could make out beans and pieces of meat in the box.

"What's that?"

"I made some cassoulet," Mrs Yang answered, fixing whatever was inside the tote bag as she answered, "I'm just going to give some to Pierre, why?"

"I want some too!" A stew of beans and meat sounded so much more appetising than raw meat.

Mrs Yang's head tilted a little as she frowned, "Are you sure?" She turned from the orange container to Mei, "That's a lot of food."

"I won't waste it," Ayame insisted, sitting up again, "I promise."

"Fine." Another sigh and she drew a second box from the bag and placed it on top of the orange Tupperware.

Ayame almost chuckled, "How many do you have in there?" But her mother didn't laugh back, and her heart sank again, "You were going to distribute them weren't you?"

"How about you let me be the adult." Ayame's mother offered a weak smile that she did not return. The woman had a knack for distributing their rations to Sector 2. It was stupid, dangerous and completely illegal.

"Mama!" Ayame stood up, but Mrs Yang had already left the room and walked across. She stomped to the doorway regardless, waiting for her chance again.

She could hear Pierre let out a short moan, a happy one followed by a rather revolting, "Fank 'oo fank 'oo!" She screwed her nose a little, hearing her idiotic friend talk with his mouth full of food was not why she was standing here.

Her mother let out a small chuckle, "One's enough?" A pause, "Right well I'm finally heading out now. Don't stay up." A longer pause, "And don't think I don't see what's happening between you and Mei."

Ayame felt her face heat up again as Pierre answered, far too quickly and his voice a little too high, "Nothing's happening between me and Mei."

"Oh please," Mrs Yang let out a small snort, "I'm not blind."

If Ayame could tell her mother exactly how blind she was, she would have done exactly so. Instead, she retreated to her bed with her plastic tubs of food. She would really rather avoid another awkward conversation about hormones and feelings.

She watched her mother head back downstairs, avoiding eye contact as much as she could. Tomorrow morning, Ayame would confront the woman properly. She had to stop helping others at the risk of her own life.

Ayame would make sure of it.