REN PLUTO
The hallway was a tomb.
Ren leaned his back against the cold damp stone, arms crossed. Guard duty. A cheap two-bit bouncer.
His blazer still stank of paint. His hands were raw—skin cracked and stinging from glue and the soot-dust concoction he'd scraped off the floor.
Exhausted. Running on fumes. The adrenaline from the fix was gone, leaving behind a cold gray vibrating dread.
You're an idiot. His own voice snarled in his head.
He'd just given her the Coudhayes. Handed the mouse the goddamn poison.
The journal pressed against his spine. Don't trust the mice.
And he'd just given her a vial of the school's biggest secret. Hadn't just trusted her. Armed her.
The door to 734 hissed open.
Ren didn't flinch, but his hand instinctively went to the pry bar still shoved in his waistband.
Zelie.
Transformed. Stopped. Looked him up and down. Slow clinical assessment.
"You look like shit." Her rank for him was a reminder.
"You look..." Ren's eyes raked over her. "Like you're trying to be seen."
Zelie's smile was all teeth. "That's exactly the point. They expect the Pigs to be cowering. They expect us broken. I'm not giving them the satisfaction."
She started to walk away.
"Don't get caught staring at the new paint job, Ren. It's pathetic."
Gone. Click-clack echo of expensive perfume and pure uncut ambition.
A second later, Sayer appeared.
No sound. No warning. Just... there. Standing in the doorway. Hoodie pulled so low her face was a black hole.
She looked at him. Just... looked.
"You're drawing attention." Her voice a dry rustle.
"So are you."
"No." Sayer said. "You're guarding the door. You look like a dog. You look guilty."
She didn't wait for a reply. Just... drifted. Didn't walk. Flowed into the hallway shadows. A piece of darkness. Vanished.
Ren's jaw clenched. Hated that they were right. He did look guilty. He was guilty.
He shoved off the wall and went back inside.
The room was a disaster. Stale sweat. Wet paint. Panic.
Ravi in the center. Not sunshine and rainbows. A goddamn field medic in a warzone.
In front of Jules. A wreck. Dressed, but looked like a car crash.
"You have to walk, Jules." Ravi's voice low, firm, desperate. "I don't care if you're crying. Cry while you walk. But you will walk. To class. Sit down. Not give them the points. Understand?"
Jules hyperventilating. Face blotchy red mess. "I can't. My rank... 490... I can't—"
"Your rank is 490." Ravi's hands on Jules's shoulders. "Not 500. You're here. Alive. You're going to walk."
Ren scoffed. Ugly sound. "You gonna hold his hand all the way to class, 455?"
Ravi's head snapped up. Eyes bloodshot. Looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Golden Retriever gone. This was a tired cornered dog.
"Someone has to." Ravi's voice a low furious hiss. "Or did you have a better plan? You're too busy picking fights, Ren. A wolf who runs off alone gets shot. We're a team whether you like it or not. That means everyone crosses the finish line. Even the damaged ones."
Ren hated it. Hated the team bullshit. Hated the soft approach.
But... he looked at Jules. Still crying. But standing. Nodding.
Ravi was handling it.
Working.
Ren hated that it worked.
He snarled and turned away. Stalked toward his other problem.
Maven.
Her bunk was a goddamn lab.
Toiletries bag open—not makeup and shampoo. Travel-sized test tubes. Tiny plastic. Digital pocket scale. Box of microscope slides.
Hunched over. Hair tied back in that stupid efficient knot. A single black-purple drop of Coudhayes on a slide.
Holding it up to dim gray light from the slimy window. Smelling it. Taking notes in a small book—not words.
Cipher. Symbols. Chemical equations.
Not a mouse. Not a fixer.
A scientist.
Ren felt the journal press against his back. Don't trust the mice.
This girl... wasn't faking her fear. She was faking her incompetence. A thousand times more dangerous.
He walked over. Boots silent. Stood right behind her.
She didn't flinch. Too focused.
"Find anything?" He growled.
She jumped. Yelped—tiny pathetic sound. Spun around. Hand flying up to cover her notes. The real vial hidden under her pillow.
The Mouse was back. A reflex.
"I... I don't know." Stammered. Eyes wide. Terror flooding back. "It's complex. Not just a sedative. Organic compound. It—it's—"
"Lying."
"What?"
"You're lying." Ren's voice flat. He crouched. Got in her face. "You know something. What is it?"
"I don't!" Voice cracking. "I just got it. I just fix things—"
"The journal." Ren lied. Eyes locked on hers. Feeding her info. A test. "It mentioned a glitch. A weakness in the system."
He watched her. Watched her think.
Saw her eyes flicker. She knew. Connecting the drug to the system.
"I don't know anything about a glitch." Whispered. "I don't know—"
Lying. He knew it. She knew he knew it.
Paranoia back. Cold thick choking knot in his gut.
"Get up."
Ravi at the door. Voice hard.
"All of you. Now. We walk to breakfast. Together."
A march.
The seven of them. A freak show. The Pigs. Ranks 430, 448, 455, 485, 490, 495, 500.
The bottom of the food chain.
They walked into the main hall. Bright now. Full.
Everyone looked.
Tier Twos. The Strivers. They sneered. Saw the exhaustion. Jules's red puffy eyes.
"Look at the Pigs."
"Heard they had a party."
"That one's been crying. Minus two points."
Ren's hand balled into a fist. A Tier Two kid with perfect crisp uniform deliberately shouldered past.
"Watch it, trash." The kid muttered.
Ren snapped.
Didn't think. Acted. Grabbed the kid's collar. Spun him. Slammed him back against the stone wall.
Crack. Head hitting stone echoed.
The hall went silent.
"What did you call me?" Ren snarled. Face inches from the kid's.
"Ren! No!"
Ravi there. Yanking his arm. "Ren, don't! The cameras! Points! That's what they want!"
Ren breathing fire. Wanted to hit him. Feel the kid's jaw break.
"He's right, Wolf." Nyx's voice. Cold. "He's not worth the minus fifty."
Ren looked at the kid. Terrified.
Shoved him hard. Let go. The kid scrambled away.
Ren turned. Ravi stared at him. Face a mix of fear and pure uncut fury.
"You're a liability, Ren." Ravi hissed.
"He's a problem." Ren shot back. "I'm a solution."
"You're a child."
Ren was about to hit him.
"Shut up." Nyx. "Both of you. We're here."
The amphitheater. Philosophy of Ethics.
A pit. Dark wood. Cold. Two hundred students scrambling for good seats.
Ren stalked to the back. To the shadows. Seat by the exit.
Nyx. Ravi. The others filed in around him. A protective broken fucked-up little circle.
Dean Thorean walked onto the stage. No mic. Voice like silk over a blade.
"Ethics." He began. "Is usually taught as a framework for doing 'good.' At Vara Rose, we do not care about 'good.' We care about 'necessary.'"
Ren scoffed. Head back against the wall.
"Let us begin with a classic." Thorean said. "The Trolley Problem."
He explained the setup. Five people. One person. The switch.
Hands shot up. Eager desperate ass-kissing Tier Ones.
Thorean ignored them all.
His eyes—cold, gray—scanned the upper rows. Past the Tier Twos. Landed...
Right on their unit.
Right on him.
"Mr. Pluto." Thorean's voice was a calm cultured purr that cut through the silent room. "Rank 498. A new development. You seem... agitated. The Trolley Problem. What is your answer?"
The entire room turned. Two hundred pairs of eyes.
Ren felt the spotlight. The target.
He stood. Slowly.
Tired. Pissed. Running on fumes and paranoia.
"The problem's stupid." Ren growled.
A collective gasp.
Thorean... smiled.
"Explain, Mr. Pluto."
"You're asking the wrong question." Ren's voice filled the silent room. Low gravelly rasp. "You're asking 'who do I save?' The real question is... who built the trolley? Who tied the people to the tracks? And why the hell am I at the switch doing their dirty work?"
He was talking about the trolley.
He was talking about RNUKE.
Dead silence. Ren stared at Thorean. A challenge.
Thorean's smile... widened. The smile of a shark that just tasted blood.
"An excellent answer, Mr. Pluto." He said. "A perfect answer."
He turned to the class.
"Mr. Pluto, you see, has just identified the real lesson. He understands that ethics are a weapon. And the person who controls the scenario controls the outcome."
Thorean's eyes—cold reptilian—locked back onto Ren.
"But he's also just made a fatal error."
Ren's blood went cold.
"He's shown his hand." Thorean's voice dropped. Soft intimate threat. "He's just announced to a room full of predators that he's dangerous. And that... is a tactical liability."
Ren felt it. A hundred pairs of eyes. Not just looking anymore.
Aiming.
He saw Darian Blackwood in the front row. Turn his head. Look at Ren. Really look at him.
Ren sat down. Heart hammering cold dead rhythm against his ribs.
The war wasn't over.
It hadn't even fucking begun.