"Now, before I leave, let me remind you: Control of time-"

  "Requires respect for it. I know," Seraphina said, rolling her eyes.

  "Good." A grating, self-satisfied hum wormed through her ear for a second, then cut abruptly to silence. Narissa had finally hung up the phone.

  Immediately, Seraphina turned her phone off and stored it in her backpack. She didn't want to waste any more phone time, not when she had already burned through a quarter of her allocated minutes with the call - Narissa wasn't gracious enough to 'refund' the minutes she herself demanded. No matter the day's circumstances, the amount of time spent on a handheld glass screen couldn't exceed forty minutes: come hellfire, tsunami, or whatever emergency imaginable.

  Seraphina glanced around and let out a sharp, restrained breath. Her tour guide hadn't shown up yet, leaving her waiting awkwardly by the entrance of Wellston High School. She had arrived twenty minutes early, 3:40 on a Friday instead of 4:00, so she could only point the finger at herself.

  With nothing better to do, she pulled a Calculus textbook from her bag. Multivariate Calculus. Narissa had stressed the word to her, as if plain Calculus wasn't good enough for a 14-year-old. Seraphina worked through a few problems successfully, but her thoughts of Narissa eventually became too overwhelming a distraction, throwing her out of the right space to integrate a hyperbolic paraboloid. She stopped.

  Narissa. That was what she called her mother, not 'mom,' 'mommy,' 'momma,' or anything else of the sort.

  The tour would end at precisely 5:30 PM. Once it was over, her Chauffeur would take her to the Wellston Museum of History and Architecture, where she would spend time 'culturing' herself until exactly 7:00. She would then head to Wellston Towers for the night, where Narissa had reserved the top floor in advance. Seraphina would have until 8:00 to eat dinner (an optimal, pre-specified meal), then no more than an hour to complete her night routine and fall asleep. Morning training would begin at 5:00 AM the next day.

  Narissa would know if her heart rate didn't drop below 60 by 9:00, and she would know if it didn't cross 150 by tomorrow at 5:00 in the morning.

  "Control of time requires respect for it," Seraphina muttered under her breath. "Never mind that it's been five generations since anyone evolved from Time Manipulation to Time Control."

  She pursed her lips, already able to predict Narissa's response if she said that to her: 'Which is why you are working. To be the first in five generations.'

  That, and it is all I have ever known, she thought. That was why she always arrived twenty minutes early, why she carried around textbooks wherever she went. It wasn't because of some clever-sounding aphorism.

  ……

  "Excuse me, is that a double integral?"

  The voice of a girl came out of the blue, much closer than Seraphina would have liked. She spun in a hurry, silently cursing herself for the lapse in situational awareness, and found a tall redhead peering over her shoulder.

  "Sorry. Seraphina, right?" The girl seemed to grimace a bit, realizing she'd startled her. "I'm Meili, the one who's supposed to show you around - but if you're already on hyperbolic paraboloids, I'm not sure Wellston High has much to teach you."

  Belatedly, Seraphina realized that she'd never put her textbook away. Too sloppy. Back home, that would have…

  "To be perfectly frank, headmaster Vaughn was the main attraction for my parents." She stuck her hand out for a handshake, which was immediately, firmly accepted. "It's good to meet you regardless, Meili."

  Meili smiled and nodded, turning to lead Seraphina through the front gates. "I know someone else with a similar story," she said. "I'm not sure how much you've heard about the Lingard Clan, but they're concentrated in the northern part of Wellston City and the south of New Toronto. They're not known to send clan members here, but because of Vaughn, Arlo Lingard is attending. He's our soon-to-be king, just like you'll be Queen."

  That piqued Seraphina's interest. "Really? How strong is he?"

  "Not so impressive next to you, Miss 6.6." Meili quickly dashed her hopes. "Arlo's at 4.8 as a Freshman, and it's a bit of an open secret that he'll cap out around 7.3 like his mother and father. Still, if you're looking for anything resembling an equal of your age, that's him."

  As they walked into the school courtyard, Meili introduced herself, her age, and where she was from. Seraphina reciprocated, even though it was unnecessary. Just about everything she was comfortable sharing was already online.

  Coming from the South Atlantic to the Great Lakes Sector, she had been expecting cold weather, but the crisp April air was more refreshing than uncomfortable. Flowers in varying shades of violet, gold, and crimson decorated their otherwise rustic brick surroundings, each growing in sturdy-looking planter boxes. When she inspected them, she realized all the breeds were unfamiliar, despite her modest education in botany.

  "Are all of these flowers of local or regional species?" She asked.

  "Local, yes, but not natural," Meili said. "All of them are unique to the area, and under the right circumstances, they could grow here. But far too many fights occur in the courtyard. We get them delivered weekly from April to June instead." She paused. "Well, I haven't seen June here, but that's what Rei, our current King, tells me."

  Seraphina frowned. She disliked artificial naturality: in other words, the type of artificiality that powerful people preferred because it seemed respectful of nature and classy. Still, the realization made Wellston High feel much more similar to home, and she could suddenly imagine herself staying for nine months a year.

  "You're involved with both the current and future king." It wasn't a question, more of a statement of observation. "From the whole student body, the headmaster selected you to give me a tour."

  The meaning was unspoken, but Meili understood. "Well, I think it'd be arrogant to introduce myself as the future Jack, but that's how everyone thinks of me these days."

  Meili held open a door for her, and they entered what seemed to be the main school building. "I'm only a Freshman, I'm not especially experienced, and I'm just a 4.2. Even saying I grow a couple of points by August, there's going to be a group of five or six people in the lower fours who aren't much weaker than me."

  Seraphina couldn't discern whether it was the expected deference people tended to take before a god-tier or genuine humbleness. Or both. "But you're expected to hold the third rank, regardless. If that's true, the title will be rightfully yours."

  The words didn't seem to encourage Meili as much as she thought they would.

  "Thank you," she said. "But I'm not sure I like the idea of an endless group of people, all not much weaker than me, who think they have a chance to be Jack. As a joke, some of my friends set up a betting pool for when I'll get jumped."

  Seraphina let out a snort, failing to hold it back. "Truly? That seems a little cruel."

  "At first, it was verbal promises, but now they're bringing real, physical money. I'm not sure It's a joke anymore." By her tone and sardonic smile, Meili seemed more exasperated than worried. "But I can't be too mad. They'll help me out, anyway, if it comes to it…"

  "Maybe you find it weak," the girl suddenly added, "that the Jack relies on others for safety."

  There was something slightly expectant about how Meili said it, as though Seraphina's response mattered more here than earlier.

  "A little, yes," she said. "But it's also admirable in a way. At my current school, nobody would assist me if I was on the back foot." She compared their circumstances mentally. "Of course, part of it is the difference in level. Even the top twenty together wouldn't be able to affect god-tier combat, so they wouldn't try."

  Seraphina glanced around, eyes trailing past a hanging row of student-done oil paintings. They were all surprisingly good, mostly portraits of famous, recognizable gladiator matches. "I think I would like it if things were different here."

  They came to a stop at an intersection with three long hallways. The tour had been purposefully scheduled for after school let out, so they were empty of much save for long lines of lockers along each wall. They looked… Flimsy. They didn't have that particular, anomalous existence to them that objects reinforced by density manipulation possessed. A halfhearted jab and a whole row would crumple into itself like paper.

  "The lockers…" She trailed off, unsure if the observation would be reported as badmouthing to the headmaster.

  "Completely normal," Meili confirmed. "Most students don't store anything valuable in them - but elite-tiers and higher get special ones, so you can use them without worrying."

  Seraphina felt momentarily relieved. Then, her surprise at Meili's immediate, dead-on assessment of what she was thinking took over. It made her reconsider their interaction, and she realized that nobody her age had made such natural-feeling, unforced conversation with her in a long while. Many, many had tried. Seraphina understood she wasn't easy to talk to, given her level, formal demeanor, and abnormal background.

  It was a tempting thought, that she'd met someone she could easily mesh with, but there was a likelier explanation.

  Trying especially hard to understand me, Seraphina concluded. She didn't mind it much.

  "We have a classroom, the cafeteria, the gym, and the infirmary on the agenda. We'll do whatever order you like," said Meili.

  "Any order? Won't that waste time?"

  "Whatever you choose, there won't be enough physical things to occupy a whole hour. Really, what we talk about along the way will be more important; I was picked to give you more of a 'conceptual' tour than anything."

  "A classroom first, then. And 'conceptual?' Could you elaborate?"

  "In just a bit."

  Meili led her to the nearest classroom, which, if the maps and globes decorating it were any indication, belonged to a geography or social studies teacher. A large global map sat near the front of the room, all 200 sectors of the world sectioned and labeled. Someone had stuck a small golden star on the Great Lakes Sector.

  The room wasn't very special, all things considered, but Seraphina saw nothing disqualifying about it either. It was spotless, for one. The chairs and desks seemed high-quality, and she found nothing wrong with one after sitting in it briefly.

  "Let me give you a hypothetical," Meili said. "Say it's your first week of school, and low-tier Anne comes to you with a request. She says: 'Last year, Elite-tier Bob put me in the hospital for two weeks over a slice of Pizza. I'll never be able to do anything about it, but if you take revenge for me, I'll do anything you ask.'"

  On the blackboard, Meili quickly drew a picture of two stickmen in chalk, one prostrating to the other. "What do you do?"

  Seraphina considered it for only a moment. "I would ignore her. If she had something unique to offer, I might consider it."

  Meili nodded. She added the word 'elite-tier' with a little arrow pointing to the prostrating stickman.

  "Let's say Anne is strong, then. Last year, a group of elite-tiers ambushed her at once, leaving her a broken pile of flesh on the pavement. She can't take revenge, or she'll get ganged up on again – but if you put them in the hospital for her, she'll do anything you want until she graduates."

  How useful an elite-tier servant would be didn't have to be stated. They practically ran her parents' Villa. "I suppose I would help her… If she had multiple years left at this school, then almost certainly." She paused, feeling a little ridiculous. "But I can't help but wonder about the purpose of the question."

  "The point is that Anne's lying."

  There was a pause, allowing the leftovers of Meili's voice to echo in the room. "Pardon?"

  "Her mother and father found jobs in New Toronto, and she'll be transferring schools in two months. The people she names as the group that ganged up on her are just a bunch of people who bother her in different ways. Anne wanted to screw with them as a final 'fuck you' before she left and saw you as the best way to do it."

  It took Seraphina a few moments to process the twist.

  "What are you trying to say?" she asked. "You- are you doing this because you truly think something like that could happen?" She felt a little incredulous, almost betrayed, even though it had all been make-believe. She pointed at the stickman drawings. "This is the 'conceptual tour?'"

  "In the first few weeks of school, like I specified, yes."

  Meili started rapidly scribbling another drawing in chalk, this time of multiple stickmen with question marks above their heads and arrows between them.

  "That early on, you won't know any relationships or histories from previous years. People will come to you with horror stories of how they were wronged before, things so awful nobody would ever admit to doing. Without the context of this school's broader social layout - who's in which group, which groups have conflict - verification will be an impossible game of he-said-she-said. Some of it will be real, some of it will be lies, and some people who have been genuinely tortured will still exaggerate to get you on their side."

  The drawing was becoming messy, now ten figures connected by a scribbled, yarn-ball web of lines and blood droplets and whatever else. But she could envision it more clearly now: a school of expectant eyes, all locked onto her back, all wanting her in their favor. Then the image seemed more like a crowd of worms, each desperately squirming their way closer to an apple in the center, the strongest. That was middle school, to a lesser degree, so would it be so farfetched in high school? Squirming without care for truth or dignity?

  "All of this, and you'll have no idea what's what." Meli put down the chalk. "This is a school of fighting, I'm sure you've heard, so who hasn't been hurt before? Who doesn't hold a grudge with someone else?"

  Seraphina had resolved to try to make friends in high school, hoping her chances would improve at one of the strongest boarding schools in North America. The impromptu monologue felt like the aspirational equivalent of a sucker punch. "I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous. The way you're describing it, I should avoid talking to anyone the whole first week! So - so upperclassmen can't trick me into using me as some sort of weapon! Surely, they would fear retribution for the deception?"

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  "Many would accept the possibility," Meili answered, unfettered, "so long as they got to watch you take their worst enemies out first. There's a boy in my grade, Neil, with a super-hearing ability. He can't fight, and a group of mid-tiers orders him around every day like a slave. I'd bet any amount of money he'll ask you to cripple them. He'll offer you his ears, say something like, 'don't you want to know what people say behind your back?' - but It'll be a lie, because his hearing can't hone in on any specific person talking, and he'll lie about the extent of what he's suffered to make sure you accept. If you go along with it, he'll let you break every bone in his body with a smile on his face. All for revenge."

  'Most people don't have as much to lose as you do, miss 6.6.' She could practically hear Meili say it.

  "If you prefer to risk that people take advantage of you, you can try to hear them out. Or you could decide ahead of time that you won't say yes to anyone, no matter how appealing their offer is, no matter how badly they truly might have been wronged." She cleared her throat, changing her tone to an angry, accusatory one. "'Seraphina's so stuck up, she won't even talk to me!' 'Seraphina could avenge my ten shattered ribs in an eighth of a second, but I guess she can't even spare that much!' 'I can't believe Seraphina got tricked by a low-tier loser!'"

  Meili let out a long exhale, then returned to her original voice. "You don't want any of these. And It'll be even harder to counter because of your fame. Walking in, everyone at this school will know more about you than you know about them. Just about everyone has seen that video of you knocking a god-tier out at the snap of a finger. They'll do nearly anything to access that power for themselves, even for just a second."

  Seraphina had no rebuttal. She could think of little beyond the natural 'why the hell would I want to come here for school, then?' - but Narissa was already set on Wellston High. And was there any guarantee that other schools would be better? The picture was obvious, now, and frustratingly clear.

  Just as she started wanting to kick a desk over, or to activate her ability and punch out the floor, Meili raised up a palm.

  "But I wouldn't tell you all of this if I didn't have a way to help you."

  Meili reached into her backpack. She retrieved a thick stack of wire-binded printer paper and gave it to Seraphina. Each page was a forest of square-ish, small-fonted text.

  "It's information about the most severe conflicts each student has been a part of," said Meili, "including the extent of injuries. There are also very good, detailed descriptions of what their abilities are actually capable of. The whole thing is organized by person, alphabetically sorted by first name, and an order of magnitude better for student purposes than what the school records have on file. The current King and I worked together to create it - for my future use and yours."

  Meili retrieved another stack from her bag, presumably an identical copy, and began flipping through it.

  "If you don't want the start of the school year to be some kind of circus show or piranha feeding frenzy, use it. Say someone tells you they got put in a one-month coma... you can look them up to see if it's true. If it turns out that their most severe conflict put them in the infirmary for less than a week, you call them out publicly in front of as many people as possible. The same goes for when someone promises to compensate you with their ability: use it to know if they're lying about their ability, and then call them out for it if they are."

  Seraphina flipped to the Ns to see if Neil was listed, trying to catch Meili in a lie. It didn't work. Neil was there, and his document was exactly consistent with what Meili had said about him, down to the fact that a group of mid-tiers used him as a gopher every day.

  "Which will discourage anyone else from doing the same," She muttered. It made sense. Everything did, but she didn't know what to feel, having a real problem introduced and supposedly solved for her in the relative timespan of a toe tap. "You-"

  She cut herself off. The truly odd quality of the situation suddenly struck her.

  The girl in front of her was only a 4.2, not strong enough to put up any sort of fight. If Seraphina wanted, she could knock her out, throw her out a window, or do just about anything imaginable to her. Meili had to have known this from the start, so why was she risking herself? What gain did she receive that was worth riling the emotions of someone multiple levels above her? She was a future royal of Wellston, not some nobody with nothing to lose.

  "You- How long have you been-?" For the first time in a long while, Seraphina stuttered repeatedly. "Why are you doing this? I don't see what benefit you're acquiring from helping me; once I establish myself here, you'll never have a chance to be Queen."

  Finally, for once, that seemed to give Meili pause.

  "Is it better to be a large contributor to minor success or a small contributor to larger success?" The girl replied. "With Arlo and I as the two strongest students, we win a single sector title in senior year, or maybe none. With you, I'll be the Jack of a team that wins three titles in a row."

  She tilted her head to the upper corner of the room, thinking, then continued. "But… If it was just that, you're right, I wouldn't be doing this. So let me put it like this: the reason I'm not trying to get you to go and off someone is because I have goals beyond petty violence or revenge. If I'm going to be a royal, I want the school to run properly. Having our strongest student exploited like some kind of resource at the very beginning runs in the face of that."

  Meili grinned. "And if I can do a real favor for 'the eastern seaboard's strongest middle-schooler,' then I'll take the opportunity. Even if favors aren't always paid back."

  Seraphina had almost, almost begun to find the girl admirable… Until the last part. In what she knew was an immature move, she swiftly shoved the documents into her bag.

  "I don't owe you anything, and I haven't made any promises."

  Meili nodded, not an inch of dispute on her face. "Sure." She grabbed her phone and checked the time. "We still have over an hour left. That's plenty of time for the non-conceptual tour."

  A few steps, and Meili was out in the hallway like nothing had happened.

  "Come on, let's go."

  .

  .

  .

  The rest of the tour went by in a daze. There were no more surprises, the whole thing going by the book, and Meili sent her off with a perfectly normal goodbye when there were a few minutes to spare. The subsequent museum trip was hardly different. It was all repetitive walking, one thing blurring into the other, with information to process and understand but nothing of real significance.

  Wellston City's history as the sector's central hub of education and healthcare was interesting, but it was interesting in the sense that every city had something interesting about it. Among cities, Wellston had only a non-unique level of uniqueness - and even then, she'd experienced another similarly sized city with a similar focus on education when Narissa brought her to a business conference in New Oakland.

  So things passed in a blur of sameness. That was how Seraphina found herself sitting blankly at the table in her hotel suite, feeling like she'd blinked through the past few hours of her life. It wasn't a suite so much as a small house (observation from Jean, the lone servant accompanying her), but it was what Narissa always got.

  She was researching Meilli on her laptop, curious about the girl from the tour's events.

  Like all of her online activity, Narissa would see it, but Seraphina was confident the woman wouldn't take issue. It was information-gathering on a major powerholder at her soon-to-be school. More relevantly, Narissa would see it as an implicit acceptance of her future attendance at Wellston High. A week ago, she had put up a slight resistance (as resistant as she could ever be), ultimately resulting in plans for a visit to Wellston City. Seraphina had somehow managed to nudge the date enough that it fell when her parents were both on work trips.

  She couldn't find very much on Meili, regardless. She had quickly found the girl's ability, a rare physical enhancement type called 'Devil's Hands'… But it was rare enough that knowing its name wasn't enough to get much of a description.

  There was also a short, semi-viral video of Meili's victory in a turf wars match. Unfortunately, according to one comment, the only way to view the whole fight would be backward time travel to its original airing on Sector TV.

  The comments weren't very useful as a whole, either. Most of them were arguing about ring-outs as a method of victory, whether it was always cowardly or had the potential to be good if done right.

  Meili had pulled her higher-levelled opponent out of bounds from behind, which was unambiguously a cheap move, but it had taken strategy and planning to execute. Seraphina began scrolling through a particularly fleshed-out debate, curious about what both sides had to say, but she quickly stopped herself. Narissa had a very particular idea of what proper, productive internet usage should look like, and reading a conversation between two anonymous nobodies didn't fit.

  There was a creaking noise and some murmurings from the suite's doorway. A little after they stopped, Jean walked in and set a foil-wrapped plate on the table.

  "Your dinner. Made personally by the head chef, they wanted me to tell you." The servant unwrapped it, set the table in smooth, skillful motions, and then dipped his head in a bow.

  "I'll keep that in mind," said Seraphina.

  "I'm sure he will be happy to hear that." Jean straightened himself and glanced back to the doorway. "I'll be just outside. If you want my assistance with anything, don't hesitate to call."

  What I want, Seraphina thought, is to have somebody to eat with.

  But a servant couldn't do that for her, not in the way she wanted. She stared down at the familiar proportions of Chicken Thigh, Grilled Asparagus, and Quinoa.

  Have I had this exact dinner before? A few weeks ago?

  The chicken was a shade of reddish brown and smelled of aromatic curry. She associated the scent with seared chicken of that color, with asparagus roasted to the doneness before her and topped with a lemon slice. The Quinoa had tiny granules of garlic speckled in it, which felt appropriate to her in some odd, intuitive way.

  She took a small bite, finding that the taste was an exact match of subconscious, sensory-level familiarity. They're head chef for a reason, following Narissa's instructions this closely.

  She switched to the other portions, expecting to find something, anything off about the other portions… And felt the same familiarity.

  Seraphina frowned. She took another bite, then another, then another, hoping with each bite that all the ones before it had been flukes. After giving up on the portions by themselves, she tried putting two portions in the same mouthful, then all three at once.

  Familiar, familiar, familiar. She nearly whimpered.

  She could accept having her day pre-planned by the hour. She had accepted it, day after day since she was nine, down to what she ate and drank.

  But ever since she had managed to get a solo, one-night trip, she'd looked forward to this meal. Because it was her chance to taste something simply because she tasted it. Like the rare few times she ate at a restaurant that her parents didn't own, she wanted to like or dislike a meal because of her own preferences - not because of Narissa.

  Back home, the chefs were all there because Narissa had hired them. They made Narissa's rotating cast of meals, using exactly the techniques and seasonings she specified for nutritional precision.

  But this time was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be like the time the car broke down near a random roadside restaurant, where she ate the most delicious, unexpected meal of her life for twelve dollars and fifty cents. Not utterly subsumed by Narissa's whims and preferences. She ordered for me back then, didn't she?

  …So why is it still familiar?

  It was ultimately inconsequential. Totally meaningless. What was a plate of food compared to the other problems in Seraphina's life? What was something like taste when she'd already relinquished her hold of time?

  Her fork clanked against the empty plate, and only then did she realize she was done. She tried licking it clean but failed to find even a speck of unfamiliar seasoning. Then she tried again.

  And again.

  Before she knew it, she'd licked a tasteless utensil more times than she could count. There was only the saltiness of teardrops at the corners of her mouth.

  So stupid. Seraphina sniffled. Getting worked up over something so small. She was thankful, now, that Jean had left the room. If he saw her like this, sniveling like a weakling over food, of all things, it was his job to report it.

  She downed a glass of water, shotgunning it back. Then she dabbed at her face with a napkin and took slow, deep breaths to calm herself.

  A large part of it was the date: April 24. Three years ago, about this time in the spring, her older sister had run away from home without so much as a goodbye. Now suckered into an emotional, contemplative state, Seraphina couldn't stop herself from thinking of it.

  Leilah had been studious, hardworking, and responsible. The desertion came as a shock to everyone, most of all her younger self. Seraphina had been so angry, so disappointed back then - and she still was - but as she aged and learned about the world, she began to understand.

  Narissa's controlling. Their father's cold, selfish indifference. Daily beatings, blood transfusions, and broken bones. Pre-loaded bank cards for their birthday presents, but never anything requiring consideration.

  When she was 10, Seraphina had convinced herself it was normal. That her parents weren't out of the ordinary for god-tiers, that her lifestyle was just how it was for people like her. As Narissa liked to say, nobody reached the top without pushing themself to their limits day in and day out.

  But many of her older caretakers had worked for other god-tier clans before coming to hers. They were the ones who said things like, 'You work exceptionally hard, young miss.' They were the ones who whispered their pity to themselves when they thought nobody was watching – things like, 'No wonder she ran away,' or 'I've never seen anything like it.'

  Nobody else ran away. Was Leilah just exceptionally lazy, singularly weak-willed enough that only she couldn't withstand it?

  The other explanation was more likely. The children of other god-tier clans - members of families who cared about level as much as anybody - didn't live like Seraphina and Leilah did. And the difference had to be night and day, enough to be commented on by a neutral observer with pity and surprise. Seraphina had begun leaning this way a year ago, and she was far more sure now.

  According to nearly every rumor, the other clans still consistently reached their maximum ability potential or came close to it. What was the problem, then, with simply emulating what the other clans did? Was all of their work, the strictness in their development and lives, just to reach the same peak a few years earlier than others? So they could make it to the top at age 17 instead of 20?

  Did such a minor period of relative power matter at all in the span of a whole life?

  Seraphina wasn't sure, but she was sure these same questions had sat in Leilah's head when she ran.

  When she managed to pull herself to reality, feeling no better than before, Seraphina found her hand reaching for her phone to call Leilah's number. It wasn't because of logic. Her sister had likely canceled the phone number long ago, and Narissa would surely disapprove. Still, before her rational mind could tell her no, she unzipped the front pocket of her bag where she kept her phone.

  A sheet of folded notebook paper fell out. It was labeled 'Message For Seraphina' in large, bold writing.

  She blinked in surprise. Have I ever used this pocket for anything else? I'm sure I never put this in here. Jean was still out, probably taking a call, and she still had five minutes left for dinner.

  She opened the message.

  Hi Seraphina, It's Meili.

  We're in the final few minutes of the tour - I'm writing this as I watch your bag while you're in the bathroom. Because you said you'd be leaving immediately, I thought I'd leave a message instead of holding up your schedule.

  I wanted to apologize. Thinking back on it now, the way I suddenly pushed my concern onto you was a bit… Inconsiderate. Maybe mean-spirited. There was probably a better way I could have gone about it.

  When you asked about Arlo's level as soon as I brought him up, it made me think of you as the type of person who thinks only about levels. So it felt especially important to get it across - people who can't even touch you in a fight can still harm you in other ways. Still, I might have gone a bit far.

  And it's not like I don't understand. Large differences in level make interaction difficult, which I'm sure you've dealt with for years. I imagine it's frustrating to have nobody you can think of as a peer at your school.

  I put something else in your bag's left pocket as a 'sorry.' I hope you find it interesting.

  ***Beautiful***

  "Seraphina's stopped crying," said Alicia. "No tears or blur. Her vision's basically normal."

  "But did she read through the message?" I felt antsy from waiting. "You said she opened it, but did she react to the final line?"

  "I think so. She just started unzipping the left pocket. Ah, now she sees your 'present.'"

  Alicia squinted her glowing eyes. In what was becoming a habit, she rapidly spun a strand of purple hair between her index finger and thumb. "That's the final important thing, right? Should I stop? I think I should stop."

  "Um. Yeah, that's good enough." Saying it took longer than I would've liked. "Sorry for making you do this."

  "I already agreed to it, didn't I?" Alicia deactivated her ability, but she was still clearly uncomfortable. She made a self-critical face. "Well, okay, I guess I do have some odd feelings about this. I mean, know she's incredibly powerful, but she's still just in middle school. Was all of this really necessary?"

  "Yeah." I let out a long breath. "I think it was."

  Sorry, Seraphina. I'm not sure a single person in the sector can be honest with you.