It's a half-measure, M'yu kept telling himself as he sat alone in his room with his books. Aevryn's not going to change anything but which rotting Cap is in charge here, and when he takes the seat, he'll be just like the rest of them. M'yu flipped a page, realized the words might as well be in a foreign language, and slammed it down on the bed with a growl. He couldn't think straight. Sleep dragged at his mind, blurring his sight, while visions of political revolutions chased away any thoughts of math. Aevryn had given him three days to make up his mind, on the condition that he not repeat a word of their discussion to anyone else.

He hadn't specified what happened on day three.

M'yu rubbed at his face, trying to clear his head. Springing from bed, he paced in front of the fireplace. It was still going strong, despite the draft. The maids had done a better job than even he'd learned to do, spending all those years chasing away wet weather. He thought about dousing it so the cold could give him some clarity, but he hated to waste such talent, and good wood besides. And anyway, what in the world could give him clarity in a time like this?

His eyes flicked to the nightstand and the witchcandy hidden beneath. The stuff couldn't clear his mind, but it could sure as fire keep him from sleeping if he made it to.

He tore his gaze away, pacing again. He needed to talk to Karsya—after growing up in the Magnate's house, she knew more about how these snakes worked than anyone he knew. His thumb rubbed the stone necklace. A blister caught on a tiny fissure, and he wondered how many times he had done that tonight.

There was no way he could get to the Gloam and back in time for the morning. But if he skipped school, maybe, just maybe he could make it—

Assuming the Gloamers didn't kill him as soon as they saw him. He groaned, sinking onto the footchest. Massaging his temple, he let the heat of the fire wash over him. What he needed was to keep to the plan. Get a powerful card. Find the central system. Hack the program so hard its own father wouldn't recognize it.

M'yu blinked, a plan starting to form in the back of his mind. He scrambled around the bed, back to his books. Back to his nightstand.

If he was going to do this, he would have to be perfect. The perfect student. The perfect apprentice. The perfect suckup.  And he wasn't going to have one inch of time for sleep.

He worked the witchcandy bundle out from under the nightstand and opened it up gently. Crumbling some with the cloth, he tipped a bit into his mouth and thought of danger, of dying, of running so hard you can't breathe and then running some more. The witchcandy took effect, dashing through his veins, heightening his senses and widening his drooping eyes. His breathing hitched, heart hammering, and he grabbed back up his textbook and paper. The numbers danced beneath the witchcandy fog, but he beat the black swirls back with a hasty Control! The page sharpened, and he started scribbling answers down.

He hadn't realized dawn had broken until three sharp raps came at his door. "Are you ready?" Aevryn called.

With a jolt, M'yu shoved the witchcandy bundle—noticeably dented—back beneath the nightstand. "Yes, sir!"

"Then get down to the hover."

M'yu threw his books together, tugged on fresh clothes, and hurried downstairs, accepting Evriss's proffered biscuit with a nod of thanks. The sky was clear and bright. Stabbing needles radiated across his cheek, into his jaw and ear, sharpening his focus. His hands shook with energy, and he held his books tight so Aevryn wouldn't see.

"Have you thought any more about our business?" Aevryn asked as the hover rolled across the city.

M'yu shook his head, mouth full of biscuit. Buildings and snow glittered outside the windows. His eyes danced over individual flakes, counting, wondering if you could write a program to calculate the average density of falling flakes in a given area—

"Boy!" Aevryn said, and M'yu's head snapped to him, realizing it wasn't the first time he'd said something. Aevryn sighed. "Please tell me you're not that dreamy-eyed at school."

M'yu shook his head tightly. "Not a problem, sir. It won't be a problem. I won't let it be—"

Aevryn held up a hand. "Enough. Never use three words where one might do, alright? Just. Here." Aevryn handed over an ice-pail. "Evriss packed you lunch. We left too early yesterday, but that shouldn't be a problem anymore. Perhaps then you won't have to eat like a starving cat, anymore." Aevryn tilted his head at M'yu. "You don't... always eat like a starving cat, do you?"

"No, sir. That is to say, I don't have to, sir. I didn't know I did until—"

"Brevity, boy."

M'yu clamped his mouth shut.

Aevryn's eyes narrowed. "Were you up all night doing homework?"

"I told you I needed a tutor."

Aevryn's head cocked. "No, you didn't."

"Oh. Well, I meant to. I need a tutor."

"I'm your tutor. We'll work on your lessons if we have time tonight."

"What about the LMS?" M'yu had been fascinated by the device Aevryn had shown him last night—a metal skeleton that triggered an electro-magnetic field around the wearer. They hadn't gotten to do much with it other than put it on; they'd talked too long about Nightsale and the Tsaright and come to no conclusion, but M'yu was dying to see it in more detail.

"We'll fit it in." Aevryn turned to the window, muttering under his breath, "We'll have to."

"What do you mean?" M'yu asked.

Aevryn hesitated, and the hover rolled to a stop. "Oh, good. We're here. Don't get into trouble; I mean that." The door opened, and he shooed M'yu out before driving away.

It was early, but not half so early as yesterday, and students trickled out from other hovers toward the entrance. With a bounce in his step, M'yu went off to make his morning meeting.

As he pushed the bathroom door open, a fist connected with his ribs. The hit was weak, but M'yu dramatically stumbled to the side. Ruslan kicked the door shut and pushed M'yu up against the wall.

M'yu hitched his breath sharp and erratic, not difficult when every muscle in his body was tensing for a fight. "What do you want, Ruslan?" With one hand, he clutched his books tight to his chest. "I came like you asked."

"We didn't finish our talk yesterday." The boy bared his teeth like a dog smelling blood. "And I think we need to set some things straight."

"Anything, sir, of course, whatever you want." M'yu fumbled with his books like some kind of nervous wreck; with his tongue, he probed his pulsing sore to keep him from smiling.

Ruslan's teeth flashed in the dim bathroom lights. "Perfect. Our first item of business: Sviya is mine. You keep your distance."

M'yu blinked, caught off guard. "Yours?"

Ruslan caught a fist of M'yu's shirt. "Was my Rightspeak too good for your dumb street ears to understand?"

M'yu tensed, body language shifting from a cower to fighting stance. Ruslan leaned in close, and M'yu focused all his energy into not kneeing the boy in the groin. Control, he demanded as his body shook for action.

Ruslan's breath came hot against M'yu's ear. "You made it out of here last time, but I don't make mistakes twice. Cross me again, and I will show you no mercy."

M'yu's books dropped to the floor, loose papers fluttering everywhere. Ruslan cursed as M'yu snagged the papers out of the air around them. "Sorry. Sorry, sir," he muttered, grabbing a fistful with his left and dipping into Ruslan's pocket with his right. Pulling both hands back to his chest, he hid Ruslan's card among the papers and crouched, stacking the items together. "Sorry about that."

"You are such an oaf." Ruslan stepped back, sneering down at him. "This is why the only thing guttersnipes like you should be doing in the Capital is cleaning its houses."

M'yu's teeth grit, throat burning. He kept his head down, determined not to let Ruslan see through the facade, and finished piling his items.

"As long as you are here"—Ruslan's boot stepped atop M'yu's stack—"you'll be my slave. Someone needs to keep up with you, after all."

He knocked M'yu's stack over with his foot, and the books tumbled across the tile. "Pick them up."

M'yu shook, hands curling tight.

"Pick it up, snipe!"

Methodically, he scooped everything up again, guarding it with one arm, while the boy snickered. "Better," Ruslan said. "Your first stack was messy."

A knock came at the doors, and M'yu rose, holding his things.

"Try not to embarrass your master," Ruslan sneered. "Keep your head down, keep your hands off Svi, keep doing what I tell you—and maybe, just maybe I'll let you make it."

Ruslan reached for his coat, and M'yu's face blanched. He rushed for the door, jabbing the weak lock with one of his picks and yanking it open before Ruslan could try to unlock it with his linkcard. An older boy scowled at him as he came in and brushed past. M'yu nodded at Ruslan as he held the door open. "Sir."

Ruslan's furrowed brow was replaced with a smug smile. He slipped out in front of M'yu. "Good boy."

M'yu's face reddened, but as the warning bell rang, he followed the rat through the halls. In Master Drakswit's class, Ruslan took the seat next to Sviya, and M'yu settled into the dangerous middle-row territory. He thumbed his coat and the hidden pocket he'd cut in last night. The rectangle of Ruslan's linkcard greeted his fingers before Master Drakswit began lecturing and M'yu abandoned his victory for pen and paper.

To his teachers, M'yu was polite and respectful, staying behind to ask extra questions, showing that he was keeping up with the material they'd assigned—and the material they hadn't. Instead of using her for a shield like he had yesterday, he kept his distance from Sviya. He hadn't thought she'd notice one way or another, but he kept catching her stray glances throughout the day.

In the halls, M'yu stuck to the most crowded swathes. After searching for camera blind spots, M'yu dipped into dozens of pockets, only ever picking the most distracted targets. Whenever he came up with a linkcard, he slipped it into a random target's pocket. The game was even easier than it had been on the streets; in the Gloam, rich folk were antsy and over-aware of all the lesser-thans around them. Here, M'yu was just one more face in the crowd and they had more important things to think about than whether their linkcard was being shuffled off to someone else.

During lunch, M'yu snuck off to the bathroom. Pulling the stall door tight behind him, he stuck two pins in the lock crossways to keep it jammed. Lid down on the toilet, M'yu sat and gently removed Ruslan's linkcard. The screen glimmered in the weak lighting, and M'yu tapped to wake it up.

The word PASSCODE blinked up at him, along with a box for a three character entry. M'yu probed his sore, then winced. The witchcandy from this morning was starting to wear off, and he wondered how hard it would be to sleep in this stall.

Shaking it off, he focused back on the card. He thought about inputting the initials of Ruslan's first, last, and House name. The guy was conceited enough for it, but so were half these Caps. No, that was too easy.

M'yu bit his lip, unsure how many attempts would lock him out or, worse, send some sort of alert to someone. The whole reason he needed to get in there right now was to disable any protections like that. This had to be right, and right the first time.

M'yu thought of some of Ruslan's other favorite words: slave, snipe, oaf, sir. M'yu's lip curled. He almost entered that last one, but there was something off to it. Ruslan didn't ask permission for things, and he certainly wasn't going to be polite every time he wanted to get into his linkcard.

M'yu stuck a hand through his curly mop. Last time he had to break a password, he'd used the oil marks on the screen as cues, trying different combinations of the letters where the sediment was the highest. Ruslan apparently played with his card more than the engineer had, though, because the thing was covered in finger oils. It was dirty enough that no individual spots stood out. His hand dropped, and his tired eyes blurred. If he had to brute force this password, he might as well stick it back in Ruslan's pocket and call it a day.

He stood up, flushed the toilet just in case anyone was out there, and stepped back out into the main area. In the mirror, he saw the wall the Ruslan had pushed him against, the floor he'd kicked his books across, and his lip curled. He'd played the patsy, and for what? To nick a card he couldn't even get open. His foot scuffed the floor. Maybe he should just go along with Aevryn's plan, out Nightsale: all the bootleggers and gang kids and hired muscle that hid bodies just for a bit of food to eat. Spend the rest of his life under the Caps, bossed around by snots like Ruslan. Keep your head down, keep your hands off Svi, and keep doing what I tell you to.

M'yu spun and punched the wall. His hand hurt, but his cooped-up muscles reveled in the motion. After a second punch, and then a third, the pain outweighed the thrill, and he slid down the wall, at a loss. He yanked Ruslan's card back out of his pocket. If he was going to give up, he might as well at least try once.

One shot. Three letters. Which three?

He stared at the card till his vision blurred, then poked his sore with his tongue. The pain widened his eyes; he wondered how much worse his sore would be if he'd eaten that whole witchcandy truffle at the Magnate's dinner. His mind drifted to Sviya sitting across from him, her head tipped back in bliss. The way she'd denied her need to have been saved, imperious and embarrassed. The way the witchcandy lights rolled easily around her porcelain hand and wrist, like she wasn't scared it would kill her one day, like she'd been doing it her whole life.

And Ruslan, down the dinner table, staring at her too.

The passcode letters blinked at him, and he blinked back. Fingers flying, he typed three single letters: S V I.