CHAPTER 52 #3
“I’ll say this, though.” He looks me up and down, still assessing, still doubtful.
“You came out on top. The other recent hires didn’t get Aegises.
They’re getting free academic credits to compensate for the study time they’ll lose working for us.
Not you, though. You’ll come here next year, tutor with me, and sit through every lecture.
If the Heretics don’t break your head, maybe I will. ”
“Fine by me,” I say, because I agree I came out on top. “I’ll see you next year, Professor. In the meantime, I’ll need your number.”
Jerome transfers the information with a swipe of his Blood Ring, then adds, “I don’t think you’ve got it in you to pull this off, Waldsten. That’s obvious. But if you do, it’d be damned good. If we gut this nest, beak to tail, we’ll both walk away with Meritorious Service Crests.”
I stare at him, and the hope in his eyes mirrors the sudden, fiery rush in my chest. He’s talking about a medal for classified acts of service, the kind no one knows the details of but that everyone respects.
A future in politics like Dad’s wouldn’t be out of reach for me, then. The door would swing open by itself.
“I won’t waste it,” I say.
Then I turn and walk out, my steps fueled by the first hungry, all-consuming taste of purpose.
In the foyer, Henry sits in a chair, eyes open but vacant, frozen in that unsettling half-life they call standby mode.
I move past the robot, eager to get out the door and feel the Aegis on my skin in the open air.
But something stops me, pulling at the part of me that still believes in gratitude, even toward a machine that can’t feel it.
“Thank you, Henry,” I say softly. “For helping Charlotte and me, and for stopping Rosamund.”
Henry’s eyes flutter, seeming slightly more alive. “My pleasure, Miss Waldsten.”
I smile, then reach for the door when the robot speaks again.
“It would not be the first time.”
I frown, confused, until Henry lets out a low, clear whistle of only four notes, yet they’re etched into my memory like a brand.
It’s The Last Walk, the song played at executions and death duels.
They’re the same notes someone whistled on the Roaring Rails Express platform, warning me that Vincent Lee was planning to gut me in front of an audience.
“It was you? On the platform?”
Henry smiles faintly. “The Professor and I happened to be passing by.”
“But why?”
“Because I am programmed to help humans.”
Henry leans back into the chair, its eyes closing in a perfect imitation of rest. Then the robot slips a hand into its jacket pocket and pulls out a yoyo—matte black, larger than the toys sold in stores—and loops the metal strap around its index finger.
With a flick, Henry drops the yoyo. The string spins down to the floor, then climbs smoothly back into the robot’s palm.
Each rise and fall syncs oddly with the slow swell of its chest, the artificial breath Pinkies are programmed to imitate, often making us forget they’re just parts and wires.
On the third pull, Henry’s mouth curls into a small, satisfied smile.
“Goodbye, Henry,” I whisper.
“Goodbye, Miss Waldsten,” the robot says, the yoyo still rolling in patient circles.
I turn and slip out the door, my shock cooling as I step into the hall. But the moment I activate my Bond and pull up the home screen, it all rushes back.
Where Edmund’s entourage badge once sat, the Aegis badge gleams instead.
The name of the Blue who owns it is redacted, hidden behind layers of clearance I’ll never see, but the permissions are visible, scrolling down my feed in stark, impossible lines: Access to ninety-five percent of campus grounds, up from the old seventy percent.
Exemption from the behavior laws that keep low-citizens obedient in public, including formal speech and introductions.
And my civil credits aren’t just topped off; they’ve exploded into a number so large it exposes the fraud behind it all.
Two million. Enough to live on, to pay my debts and those of countless others, for the rest of my life.
Those advantages alone feel like a miracle.
But when I scroll further and see the note about my weapons restriction, my chest clenches so hard it shudders.
The crossed-out saber on my record—the punishment that made me stand there while Irene and Rosamund ripped out my spine and beat me with it—is gone.
I can carry a saber now. I can fight. I can win.
My hands tremble, my vision swimming as my pulse kicks in, dragging me forward with unstoppable force.
I skip the elevators and break into a run, my feet slamming against the stairs so loudly they echo.
I’m vaulting ten steps at a time, swinging around the rails, breathless as laughter tears from me.
I burst through the doors of the Genetic Engineering Facility and into the sunshine, shouting something wordless into the street. Students, Pinkies, professors all stop and stare, but I don’t care. I don’t have to.
Not anymore.
My blood might be green, but my power is blue.