"Ugh," Wren said into the mirror. "I look like a snot-nosed simpleton."

"That's because you are a snot-nosed simpleton," said Godfrey.

"Takes one to know one," she snapped back, tugging at the stiff collar. The Paragon uniform was tight, with far too many buttons, clasps, and straps. Getting it on was like solving a puzzle, without the sense of accomplishment at the end.

Godfrey smacked her hand away. "Stop pulling at it. You're going to rip something, and we don't have a backup!"

She gave a grunt of protest but left the collar alone. Her dark hair was in a low ponytail—the way Paragon soldiers with long hair wore theirs.

Looking in the mirror made Wren feel funny, because she reminded herself so much of her mother.

Her parents' faces had mostly faded from memory. They would've disappeared entirely if not for her one remaining family photograph, which was nailed into place above the small bed in her cabin.

She had her mother's watchful brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, and broad forehead, but where they differed was their smiles. Wren had her father's smile. Well, she used to...President Emory Glass had distorted it with a thick white scar on the right corner of her upper lip. It was a good reminder that the Paragon cared only for themselves.

Her parents used to wear their uniforms with pride. Wren looked curiously at herself in the mirror: what would they make of her now, a pirate?

She looked away and adjusted her cufflinks. It didn't really matter what they would think. They were long gone.

Godfrey pressed a satchel into her hands. "Take this. Titus says he fits inside, but he refuses to show me." He gave a frustrated huff.

"I won't suffer such an indignity," the fox said with a drawl, making Godfrey jump. Wren grinned—she'd gotten used to Titus appearing from out of nowhere. "I told you I could fit. That should be satisfactory."

Titus inspected one of his spiky metal claws and began to polish it. He was an automaton, made of gears and cogs, with a sleek metal exoskeleton and a good dose of magic. The mages weren't supposed to use their magic to "imbue objects with minds of their own", but Titus's creator Yugoslav had gone rogue. The mage had brought several automatons to life...and now Titus was the only one that remained.

"Fine!" Godfrey said. "But it's your own fault if your tail sticks out and you get caught." His plump cheeks were flushed, like they always were before a risky mission.

A young girl with dyed purple curls bounced into the room, holding something shiny and laminated.

"Here's your ID card!" Abigail sang, and handed it to Wren.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure." She plunked herself down on the bench, taking a moment to rest her eyes. At fourteen years old, Abigail had changed a lot from the stuttering, cautious child she once was. Her overalls were covered in grease stains from stoking the fires in the engine room, and her thick mechanic goggles were pushed, lopsided, up onto her dyed purple hair.

Wren inspected the identification card, running her fingers over it. The smoothness was good; the thickness just right; the colours spot on...

"Private Sharts?" she exclaimed.

Abigail burst into laughter. "I had to!"

Godfrey snatched the identification card out of Wren's hand and stared at it in horror. "What?! Why?" He whirled around to face Abigail. "It's supposed to be Cabot! This is a disaster—we don't have time to make a new one!"

"Don't worry," Abigail insisted. "I thought it through, I promise. It's more believable this way. Any old pirate would choose a boring name like Cabot. But Sharts? No one would ever choose a name like that." She tapped her temple. "It's genius."

Wren shrugged and grabbed the card back from Godfrey, who was muttering to himself—something about getting caught for certain and Abigail having completely lost her marbles.

A young man—built as tall and sturdy as a grain sack—barrelled into the room, breathing hard. "The guard just changed. It's go-time!" Teddy had only gotten bigger over the years, and it seemed he still wasn't done growing.

Wren's heart skipped a beat. Here we go. Chin up.

She forced herself to appear relaxed and started for the door.

She clapped Teddy on the shoulder as she passed. "Good man! Into the belly of the beast we go."

#

The snow crunched under Wren's black boots as she walked into Ice Gate, the northernmost municipality in Meraki.

It was a small community, nestled in amidst the white-capped mountains. Its residents had adapted to the bitter cold over the centuries, and you could barely see their eyes under layers of thick fur and leather. Two and three-story buildings were crammed tightly next to one another, like they were huddled together for warmth. Smoke billowed from every chimney as fires burned around the clock.

The streets teemed with midday activity. Merchants shouted at passersby from store windows, people dragged huge carts of salt, and white-winged terns flew overhead with the postage.

Public notices with President Emory Glass's steely eyes glared at Wren as she passed. Paragon propaganda was everywhere, declaring things like, "THE PARAGON AND THE PEOPLE, UNITED", "MERAKI NEEDS YOU: JOIN THE MILITARY TODAY," and "REPORT MAGIC SIGHTINGS: NEVER FORGET THE SETTLEMENT."

"Slow down," Titus hissed from the satchel at her hip. "You're walking too quickly."

Wren eased up.

"You're a Paragon soldier," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper so they wouldn't attract attention. Sound carried easily across the snow. "Be confident. If you look like you know what you're doing, they won't question you."

Titus was right. Taking a deep breath, Wren straightened her back, feigning utmost composure.

She made her way to the Paragon outpost that loomed over the town. It was like every other Paragon building: black, ornate, and impenetrable.

Well, nearly impenetrable.

Her job was simple. Get the goods and get out as quickly (and quietly) as possible.

Underneath her nervousness, she buzzed in anticipation. She enjoyed stealing from the Paragon-they needed to take a hit every once in a while, and be reminded that they weren't all-powerful.

Guards patrolled the Ice Gate outpost, surveying the area and cracking down swiftly on any disturbances. She didn't plan on being a disturbance.

As she approached the main gate, a soldier with a chipped front tooth sauntered over, holding his rifle to his chest. She held out her identification card and let the guard inspect it. He wouldn't check her name against the log-he never did. That was why they'd chosen him.

Wren leaned on one hip, hoping her face conveyed a sense of purpose and boredom, with a hint of annoyance. The usual Paragon cocktail. She hoped her attitude masked her age-she was young for a soldier, but the Paragon recruited younger.

The soldier handed the card back to her.

"Welcome back, Private Sharts," he grinned.

Wren gave a half-smile, like she was used to people giving her a hard time about her name, and walked into the outpost.

She made her way through the corridors. She'd never been inside, of course, but she'd memorized the blueprint and practiced the route to the supply depot.

She counted the rooms as she passed, trying not to be obvious about it. One, two, the armoury, four, five, the barracks, seven, eight, and...bingo.

She stood in front of the supply depot door. Now came the hard part.

Wren opened the door and walked inside.