The perimeter security of Sanctuary High School was a joke.

  That was the first thing I noticed when I transferred in. The fences were decorative chain-link, barely waist-high in some places. The security cameras were ancient, fixed-angle models with blind spots wide enough to park a van in. And the students... the students were soft. They walked through the halls with their heads down, staring at phones, oblivious to sightlines or exit routes.

  They had never been hunted. It was written in the way they walked.

  I preferred the back of the Science Building. It was a dead zone in the school’s social topography. The popular students congregated by the main gates to show off their uniforms. The delinquents smoked on the roof access stairs.

  The Science Building loading dock was for ghosts. And trash.

  I crouched behind a row of industrial recycling bins, the rough concrete biting into my knees through the thin fabric of my uniform stockings. The skirt felt flimsy, like costume silk. Everything here felt fake. Too bright. Too clean.

  But the hunger... the hunger was the only thing that felt heavy.

  My metabolic burn was a furnace. The Reliquary had modified my body to run heavy, stripping away the biological regulators that let a normal human function on two or three meals a day. I didn't get hungry; I got empty.

  A violent, hollowing sensation that made my hands shake and my vision blur.

  Having only a birth certificate and no identity history, I was technically sixteen years old, and that made me a junior.

  I was expected to attend classes with my classmates, which was a logistical nightmare. Sure, I had a childhood with a piece of shit booze-filled single dad and a brother that cared about me a bit. But I was ripped away from them before I could even learn the most basic things. I didn't even know what my real name was. I was the 42nd subject in their fucked up little experiment and that was it.

  I was emancipated, but I lived out of an old hideout and didn't have much in ways of income for now. My biological family had been murdered when I was taken, and died with pennies and a sake tab to their names.

  The Reliquary had a small library of 'human' books that I’d been allowed to study during downtime, but most of them were old, dusty things that smelled like mold and decay. There had been a few books on manners and a etiquette guide, but nothing that covered the intricacies of high school. I'd been 'homeschooled' by the wardens and taught the essentials of reading, mathematics, and basic science, but I knew it wasn't enough.

  So here I was, staring at the third bin from the left.

  I had been tracking the disposal patterns for three days.

  There was a student - someone rich, careless, likely a second-year based on the tie color, who passed by here every day after fourth period. They always bought lunch from the premium convenience store down the street, and they always threw half of it away because they seemed to only want the drinks and colorful snacks. And the bin was always emptied during fourth.

  It was wasteful. It was disgusting.

  It was a tactical resource.

  I lifted the lid.

  "There you are..." I whispered.

  It was there. Just like the pattern predicted. A pristine, plastic-wrapped katsu sandwich in a red box. Complete with tater tots, a water bottle, and an apple.

  And they'd thrown it away.

  I stared at it. It was sitting right on top of a pile of clean shredded paper from the faculty office. Only the slight scent of ammonia and ink. Nothing rotten. Nothing hazardous. It would be a risk to eat trash in a city alley, where diseases lurked in the shadows. But here, in the sterile, spotless confines of this strange prison, my Eye had calculated 93% chance of consuming the food safely.

  In the lab, food was a control mechanism. It was a reward for a confirmed kill, or a delivery system for sedatives. You didn't eat what they gave you unless you were ready to pass out for twelve hours and wake up with new scars.

  But trash? Trash was honest.

  Trash was discarded. Nobody drugged the garbage. If it was here, it meant someone didn't want it. It meant it was safe.

  I reached in, my fingers brushing against the cold plastic. The seal was unbroken. The bread looked soft. The pork cutlet was thick.

  My stomach let out a growl that sounded like tearing metal.

  I sat back on my heels, clutching the sandwich. I checked the corners. Sealed. I checked the expiration date. Today.

  "Jackpot," I breathed.

  I was just about to tear the plastic open with my teeth when I heard footsteps.

  Two sets. One light, skipping. One heavy, rhythmic.

  I froze, the sandwich halfway to my mouth.

  I peered around the edge of the blue bin.

  They were walking down the path that led to the courtyard. Star Sakura— no, Momoka, was clinging to Kaito's arm, laughing at something he’d said. She looked radiant, her pink-highlighted pigtails bouncing. She was practically vibrating with that terrifying, radioactive kindness she projected.

  And Kaito. Lunar Knight Capsicum.

  He was walking with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the perimeter. He looked bored, cool, and utterly untouchable. The white silky scarf he insisted on wearing, even with his school uniform, fluttered slightly in the breeze.

  I shrank back, hoping they would pass by. I didn't want to deal with them. I didn't want to deal with the way Momoka looked at me—like I was a new friend she just hadn't cracked yet. Or the way Kaito looked at me. Like I was a bomb that hadn't detonated yet.

  "Reimi-chan?"

  The voice stopped me cold.

  Momoka had stopped. She was peering around the corner of the loading dock, her dark brown eyes wide.

  I didn't move. I was crouched in the dirt, clutching a garbage sandwich.

  "What... what are you doing?" Momoka asked. Her voice wasn't judgmental. It was confused. Genuine, painful confusion.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She looked from me to the open bin. Then to the sandwich in my hand.

  "Reimi-chan, why are you... is that from the trash?"

  "It's sealed," I said, my voice defensive. I stood up, dusting off my knees but keeping the food. "It's perfectly viable. Someone threw it away."

  Momoka looked stricken. "But... but we have lunch! We were looking for you! Why would you eat that?"

  She took a step toward me. "Please put it down. That's dirty."

  I took a step back, clutching the plastic tighter. "It's safe. I checked the seal. Leave me alone, Momoka."

  Kaito sighed.

  It was a sharp, irritated sound. He gently disengaged Momoka’s arm from his and stepped forward.

  He didn't look at Momoka. He looked at me. His brown eyes were cold, assessing the situation with zero empathy. He didn't see a tragic victim. He saw a nuisance.

  "Give it here," he said.

  "No."

  "Void. Give it here."

  "I found it," I snarled, my hackles rising. "It's mine."

  He didn't argue. He moved.

  It wasn't a strike that I'd anticipated. It was a simple, fluid snatch. One moment I was holding the sandwich; the next, his hand blurred, and the plastic package was in his grip.

  "Hey!" I scrambled forward, my claws lengthening for a fraction of a second before I retracted them. "Give that back! That's 400 calories of—"

  Kaito looked at the sandwich. He didn't even inspect it.

  He reached into the open box in the bin, pulled out the water bottle, uncapped it, and poured the entire contents over the sandwich.

  He dropped it back into the bin.

  The bread turned to mush. The pork cutlet swam in a pool of lukewarm water and ink from the shredded paper.

  It was ruined. Irrevocably, completely ruined.

  I felt a snarl rip its way up my throat. It was inhuman. It was the sound of the Void Core rattling the bars of my ribcage.

  "You bastard," I hissed, my hands curling into fists. "I was going to eat that."

  Kaito capped the empty bottle and tossed it into the recycling bin next to the trash. He looked at me, adjusting his white scarf.

  "You're pathetic," he said.

  I blinked, blind with rage. "I'm hungry!"

  "Then find food," Kaito countered, his voice cool and detached. "Don't scrounge for it like a rat. It's embarrassing."

  He gestured toward the main building.

  "Momoka spent all morning talking about having lunch with you," Kaito said. "She dragged me to the store before class so we could pick up some yogurt drinks. And instead of meeting us, you're out here, digging through refuse."

  He stepped closer, invading my personal space. He smelled like ozone and expensive laundry detergent.

  "I don't care what you did in the Reliquary," he said, his voice dropping so Momoka couldn't hear. "But I won't let you drag her standards down to the gutter just because you have a martyr complex."

  My jaw tightened. Of course. It wasn't about me starving. It wasn't about the food. It was about her. It was about me embarrassing his princess.

  "I don't care about her standards," I lied.

  "I know you don't," Kaito said. "That is why I have to care."

  He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the dirt on my skirt with distinct distaste.

  "Clean yourself up," he said.

  I wanted to hit him. I wanted to drive my fist into his perfect, stoic face. But I knew, with sickening certainty, that he would catch my fist, break my arm, and then look bored while doing it if I gave him that sloppy opening.

  "You destroyed my lunch," I said, my voice shaking. "Now I have nothing."

  "That wasn't lunch," Kaito said. "That was garbage."

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a bento box.

  It wasn't a cheap plastic container I associated with school kids. It was a proper, lacquered box, wrapped in a dark blue cloth with a pattern of white rabbits.

  He tossed it at me.

  I caught it by reflex. It was heavy. Warm.

  I stared at it. Then I stared at him.

  "What is this?"

  "Food," he said.

  I looked at the box, then back at him. My paranoia flared.

  "Why?" I asked. "You don't like me."

  "No," Kaito agreed easily. "I don't. You're loud, you're aggressive, and you track mud everywhere."

  He crossed his arms.

  "But Momoka wants to eat with you. And if you sit at our table smelling like dumpster juice and eating trash, she's going to be upset. I don't like it when she's upset."

  I looked at the box. I started to untie the cloth, walking slowly along the retaining wall, keeping distance between us.

  "It's a trick," I muttered. "You probably put something in it."

  Kaito rolled his eyes.

  "Let's get away from the literal dumpster," he said dryly. "I have standards, too."

  He turned and walked back to Momoka, who was waiting by the corner. She looked at me with that same infuriatingly earnest hope. Like she really believed that I would eat lunch with her and we'd have a fun, normal conversation about math class.

  I sighed, and followed.

  I opened the bento.

  The smell hit me.

  Ginger. Soy sauce. Sesame oil.

  The rice was white, perfectly cooked. There was a small salad with sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, and the dressing was in a separate, sealed container. There were carrots, fried into perfect curls. There was a hard-boiled egg, sliced in half to reveal the yolk, which was somehow cooked to the perfect creamy consistency. And the goodies didn't end there.

  There was even a slice of orange on top of a tiny, decorative paper doily.

  And at the center of it all, was a pile of golden kara-age chicken, breaded and still steaming gently.

  I felt my mouth start to water.

  "Is it okay?" Momoka asked nervously. "I figured you'd like kara-age."

  I didn't know how she knew that. We hadn't had a conversation that lasted more than two minutes.

  "I... I guess," I stammered, not knowing what else to say.

  It didn't look like school lunch. It looked like something from a magazine.

  'Poison,' my mind insisted, though my stomach was screaming at me to shut up and eat.

  Kaito sighed. He reached into the box with his bare fingers, grabbed a piece of the chicken, and popped it into his mouth.

  He chewed. He swallowed. He looked at me, his expression bored.

  "If I wanted to hurt you, Void," he said, "I wouldn't use food. I'd use a sword. It's faster."

  He pushed the box back into my hands.

  "Eat," he ordered. "Before it gets cold. I hate cold chicken. But wash your damned hands first."

  I hesitated. I looked at Momoka. She was beaming now, her hands clasped together, oblivious to the threat assessment happening three feet away from her.

  "It's good, Reimi-chan!" she chirped. "I promise! Kaito-kun is a really good cook!"

  I looked at Kaito.

  "You cooked this?"

  He shrugged, looking away toward the sports fields. "Momoka can't cook. If I left it to her, you'd be eating charcoal. Someone has to make sure the team doesn't die of malnutrition."

  I looked down at the food.

  I ignored his jab and took a piece of the chicken. It was still warm.

  I took a bite.

  I expected it to be bland. Or overly salty. I expected it to be... fine.

  It was perfect. Beyond perfect.

  The batter was light and crispy. The meat was juicy.

  The seasoning was a complex balance of savory and sweet that made my brain short-circuit. It was crunchy, seasoned to perfection, and delicious even though it had clearly been sitting in his bag for a few hours.

  It tasted like... effort.

  "Well?" Kaito asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I swallowed. The food felt heavy in my stomach. Real. Grounding.

  "It's... edible," I muttered, looking away so he wouldn't see the sudden flush in my cheeks.

  "Edible," Kaito repeated dryly. "High praise from the girl eating garbage thirty seconds ago."

  "It's better than the garbage," I admitted. "Slightly."

  Kaito. Lunar Knight Capsicum. The boy who had broken my arm, skewered me with a saber, and burned me with his damned silver flame for good measure. The one who had dragged me through the mud and the blood. The boy who looked at me like I was a rabid dog that needed to be put down.

  He'd... made this.

  There were steamed broccoli florets, tamagoyaki rolled eggs, and carrots cut into the shape of cherry blossom petals.

  "Hey!" Momoka laughed, running over to us. "That means it's delicious! Reimi-chan has high standards!"

  She hooked her arm through Kaito's again, looking up at him with adoration.

  "Thank you, Kaito-kun," she said softly. "For making extra."

  "I didn't make extra," Kaito said, looking away, feigning indifference. "I just made too much marinade. It was illogical to waste it."

  I froze mid-chew.

  I looked at the carrots cut into flower shapes.

  You don't accidentally cut carrots into flower shapes because you "made too much marinade." You do that on purpose.

  He woke up early. He marinated the chicken. He cut the vegetables.

  He knew I wouldn't bring lunch. He knew I wouldn't buy lunch. He knew I was a feral thing that wouldn't ask for help.

  He prepared this.

  He poured water on my sandwich not because he was a bully—though he was definitely an asshole. But because he had spent hours making this, and he wasn't going to let me insult his effort by eating trash instead.

  I watched them walk a few steps ahead. Kaito was saying something to Momoka, his voice low and gentle.

  I took a bite of the egg. It was slightly sweet.

  I hated him. I hated his arrogance. I hated his stupid scarf.

  I hated how he looked at me like I was a problem to be solved.

  And I hated, more than anything, that Momoka clung to his arm, laughing and smiling at him like he was her whole world.

  She was too good for him. She was too good for all of us.

  But god damn it, the chicken was good.

  "Reimi-chan," Momoka called, "Come on! Let's eat together!"

  "Y-Yeah," I said, holding the bento tightly to my chest. "I'm... I'm coming. Just this once."