“Micah, did you remember to chop the vegetables?” his mother asked from the kitchen.

“Yes, mom,” he called back. He was busy rearranging the seat cushions, dusting, and tidying up the sitting room for the “nice dinner” they were about to have. Nice. Terror-inducing. Dinner. Afternoon lunch. All the same things, really.

“You did?” she said. “Oh, I found them. That was quick.”

Yes. Yes, it was.

“Did you wash them?” she asked.

Micah paused in the middle of moving a cushion and frowned.

“Uhm, no?”

Was he supposed to have washed them again? Didn’t you do that afterward? He didn’t know. His mother sighed and turned the faucet on, so Micah assumed it wasn’t that big a deal. He hurried up. He still had to lay out snacks, make refreshments, and then get changed. He skimmed a little on the first of the two and told his mother he was going to do the latter as he ran upstairs.

Getting more things could always be a good excuse to leave the room later, so he wanted to leave himself that option. And anyway, he really didn’t have the time. Ryan and his parents were supposed to get here soon and Micah had to be ready before then.

“Remember to comb your hair!” his mother called up after him.

Micah scowled and thought, Haha, very funny.

Ever since his mother had found out he didn’t like his new haircut, she wouldn’t stop teasing him about it. It was probably her version of payback for not telling her why he got it cut in the first place. Personally, Micah thought this evening was going to payback enough.

On the other hand, that was Ryan’s fault. Couldn’t he have just said his parents didn’t have the time, or forgotten to ask them, or something? But noo, of course, he had to agree to come!

Didn’t he understand how awkward this would be? He hadn’t even used that healing salve Micah had made for him—which still hurt, by the way—so now he was going to show up covered in week-old bruises. That was bound to spawn a dozen uncomfortable questions. Questions Micah didn’t have any answers to.

He wrestled himself out of his clothing with a lot of grunting and into the “fancy” ones he always wore to occasions like this. After the first button, he paused and frowned. This was the same shirt he’d worn to apologize to Linda. Would wearing it be bad luck? Shaking his head, Micah buttoned it up anyway. Then he tied his indoor shoes, checked to make sure he looked nice and proper—his bruises were practically gone by now—and climbed out the window.

Sticking out of his pocket was his mother’s hunting knife.

On the ground, Micah dusted off his hands and knees and circled around to their front door. He hoped his parents would still think he was getting changed as he looked down the street, frowned, then looked the other way.

Which direction would Ryan and his parents come from? Left? Right? Where did they even live? Why didn’t Micah know any of this?

We are real friends.

He scowled. As if.

If they ever got over this fight, Micah was going to ask Ryan a billion questions and not going to take no for an answer.

Of course, there was always the possibility that they wouldn’t get over this … Especially if Ryan kept on acting the way he did.

How would he get into the Tower then? With Lisa? Micah liked her, sure, but she ... wasn’t really the type of person to hang out with like that. She wasn’t Ryan. And anyway, wouldn’t that cause a fight between the two of them? Micah didn’t want that. He didn’t want to fight with friends at all if he could avoid it.

Was not being able to go into the Tower for six months really a good enough reason to do that?

Micah groaned and tousled his head in frustration—that was the one good thing about his new haircut; he could do that without making his parents angry. But answering that questions would have been so easy three months ago. Now, it was, too, but for an entirely different, entirely more frustrating reason.

Micah paced while he waited. A minute turned into two, turned into five, and he sat down on their doorstep. He really hoped they would get here before his parents noticed. He really hoped everything would work out.

Thankfully, a group of three came walking down the street a few moments later. From the left? Closer to the Tower. Micah ran the street names through his head, but he couldn’t guess which one it was. He got up to meet them, the trepidation making his hands sweat.

It turned out Ryan’s parents looked … exactly like Ryan. Well, his father did. He even had the same smile when he spotted Micah standing there, waiting with his one hand holding his arm behind his back. The only difference was in his hair. Ryan clearly got his light hair from his mother; his dad’s was the opposite color.

And his mom— Micah blinked. Was she pregnant? Her stomach had a small bump, barely there at all, but she was otherwise thinner than that. Micah didn’t know if he was allowed to ask. How embarrassing would it be if he did ask and she wasn’t pregnant? So much for a good first impression.

Micah gulped when Ryan’s father extended a hand towards him and said, “You must be Micah. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You have?

Micah switched his knife over to his left so he could shake it. The man’s grip almost crushed his, but Micah smiled anyway.

There, he thought. That was a good handshake. It immediately made him like the man, which wasn’t exactly helpful. It made him more nervous because he was kind-of-sort-of in a fight with his son and the reason why his face looked—

Micah glanced at where Ryan stood a few steps back and frowned. What was up with his face?

“I’m David,” Ryan’s father said. “Which means that you can call me David. None of that ‘Mr. Payne, sir, my lord’ nonsense.”

Micah needed a moment to realize he was joking. Then he chuckled nervously.

“It’s great to finally meet you, David, m’lord,” he said. Mr. Payne’s smile immediately broadened. “I’m Micah, but, uh, you already knew that … ”

He glanced over at Ryan again. His bruises were gone and the cut on his cheek looked almost healed already. Had his instructor maybe given him something for that? He also wore a proper shirt that he had tucked into the waist of long pants. Micah hadn’t known Ryan even owned a proper shirt and long pants. Yesterday, he looked like an angry, brooding mess that would get into a fight with anyone that looked at him wrong. Today, he looked like he could be a drummer boy for the new year’s parade. The only thing that was off was how he stood a few steps back and kept his head down. He wouldn’t look Micah in the eye.

Fine with him. Then Micah just wouldn’t look him in the eye either.

Ryan’s mother also held out her hand, gently nudging Micah out of his thoughts.

“Noelle,” she said. In her other arm, she cradled a bundle of flowers. “It’s nice to meet you, Micah. You’re a lot different from what I imagined.”

He was?

“Uh ...” he said as he shook her hand. What was he supposed to say again? “It’s nice to meet you, too. Are you pregnant?”

Oh no.

It just slipped out!

“Oho,” Mr. Payne said and slapped him on the shoulder. “This one is brave.”

Ryan’s mother quirked a smile and blushed a little.

Micah didn’t know what that meant. He just apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I know you’re not supposed to ask—”

“And definitely not so soon,” Mr. Payne said. “The last time I asked a woman that, I had to get stitches.”

Noelle swatted her husband’s arm away, thankfully, and looked at Micah with a smile.

“Yes. I’m pregnant,” she said. “Did Ryan not tell you?”

They looked at Ryan, who still had his head down. He must have noticed, though, because he looked up a little and did a little shrug.

“No,” Micah said. “No, he did not.”

A billion and one questions.

“Well, I guess it’s not something you talk about during alleyball,” his mother mused.

“Uh, no,” Micah said. “I guess not.”

He blushed a little out of residual and general embarrassment.

Was this going well? Yes? No? Maybe? He could hear his own heartbeat. Maybe they were just being polite? Maybe they hated him already? Maybe they knew Ryan and he had fought and were going to tell his parents? Maybe Ryan’s dad would pull him aside and threaten him?

Micah didn’t know.

“So, are you the greeting committee?” Mr. Payne asked, glancing at the door.

Micah realized he was making them stand outside.

“Oh, no, no. My parents think I’m upstairs,” he said honestly. “I just needed to …”

He glanced at Ryan.

“Oh, of course,” Mr. Payne—David, he told himself—said and stood aside.

When Micah stepped closer, he realized Ryan was also holding a bottle of wine behind his back. Gifts. They had some, too, but Micah suspected he couldn’t give them his. They were alchemical, after all, and Ryan conveniently hadn’t told him his mother was pregnant.

Hey, Ryan, he considered saying. Then he reconsidered. He just held the handle of the knife towards him instead.

“Can you give my mother this?”

Ryan frowned and moved his arms back, away from the knife. Or maybe away from Micah.

“What? Why?” he asked.

“As a gift,” Micah said, nudging it a little. “It’s her hunting knife, the one I lost and found again. I can’t exactly hand it back to her myself.”

Micah knew Ryan’s parents were watching, but they didn’t say anything. He couldn’t begin to assume what they might be thinking. He did assume if they had something to say, they would say it.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea …” Ryan said but carefully took it anyway.

Micah let go with the tiniest sigh.

“What would she think of me, handing her a knife?”

Micah shrugged. “It might remind her that you were the one to bring me back,” he said.

“They carried you back,” Ryan said absent-mindedly, pulling the blade out a little. He frowned at it. “Fancy.”

Micah was aware of that. At least, ever since he’d gone to pick it up yesterday. The smith had commented on it. Why did his mother own such a high-quality hunting knife? Maybe they just liked nice things?

“Not in the way that counts,” Micah said.

Ryan frowned and looked at his parents. Micah followed his gaze. Their expressions quickly shifted away from something he didn’t quite catch, and they both pushed the corners of their lips down and shrugged. It looked kind of funny, the way they both did it. It seemed like an inside joke.

Micah longed to be in on it.

Ryan sighed. “Alright.”

Micah sighed as well. One less thing to worry about.

“Great,” David perked up. “Now, where’s the food? I’m starving.”

Micah smiled a little at that. That kind of humor, it wasn’t something he knew from his parents. They never really made jokes. They were much older than Ryan’s, too. In their mid-fifties compared to Ryan’s probably early thirties? It made sense, since Maya, Micah’s eldest sister, was twelve years older than him.

He led the way to the house and held the door open for them, getting amused quarter bows in return. Ryan rushed past instead. Micah thought he saw a glimpse of something shimmer on his face.

“Micah?” his own mother was yelling up the stairs. “Are you read— Oh! You’re here already,” she said, noticing their procession.

Ryan’s parents had been glancing at their shoes and whispering something to each other, but they looked up with wide eyes when she addressed them and greeted her back.

Were they wondering whether or not to take off their shoes? They had guest slippers. Should Micah go get the guest slippers?

“Ah, you must be Noelle!” his mother said, hugging the woman.

She seemed surprised.

“And you must be, ah, ‘Micah’s mother’? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Noelle said, holding out the flowers. “We brought gifts.”

“I’m Elissa. Why, these are lovely. You shouldn’t have.”

Micah felt awkward about the introductions, so he quickly slipped past them to go get the slippers. Should he wear them, too? It might be awkward for Ryan’s family to wear them while his own walked around in shoes. So he kicked his off—his parents would swat him if they saw him do that—and put them on instead. When he came back, his father was also there, shaking David’s hand and inspecting the bottle of wine.

Ryan was re-introducing himself to his mother. His father joined her.

“It’s nice to see you again, Ryan,” she said. “I hope you’ve recovered from your injuries?”

“Oh, I wasn’t actually injured back then, Mr. and Mrs. Stranya,” he said politely. “I’m sorry if it came across that way, or if I frightened you. I just headed straight to your house and didn’t really think about anything else.”

“Oh, no need to apologize,” his mother said. “If anything, we should be the ones doing it. We weren’t exactly in the best of minds either, back then. It was just a very intense time. Nevertheless, we would like to thank you for bringing our Micah home.”

“I didn’t do it for the thanks, ma’am,” Ryan said.

David tousled his son’s hair then, and Ryan quickly tried to escape from under his hand.

Micah stood outside of their little group of smiles and clenched his jaw. So this was why Ryan had agreed to come here today. So he could be all chummy with Micah’s parents. So much for them not liking him. They hated the Tower, Ryan didn’t want Micah in it, he was the bad guy here, and they were all perfect for each other.

They were all on the same side.

“Micah, did you bring the gifts?” his father asked him.

“No, I got the slippers first,” he mumbled.

“Well then go get the gifts,” he whispered. “And tuck your shirt in properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Micah handed him the slippers and headed down the hallway to get the gift basket from the kitchen. It was full of soaps, condiments, flowers, and one not-so-subtle pamphlet for Prisha’s bathhouse his parents had had made a year ago. All in all, it was way too much. Micah stuffed his shirt in before he picked it up with both hands. Then he brought it to the sitting room, where they were all settling down.

Ryan’s mother looked like she’d witnessed a murder when she saw him walking in with it.

All Micah wanted to do was drop it and run.

“I’ll take that,” David said, getting up from his seat.

“You shouldn’t have,” his wife said nervously.

“Oh no, it’s the least we could do,” Micah’s mother said. “It’s all the good things my daughter uses, too, in her bathhouse. Do you know my daughter Prisha?”

“I know of her,” she said. “Ryan’s told me stories.”

He did?

“It looks wonderful. Thank you.”

Micah chewed his lip as he watched Ryan’s parents again. How much had he told them? The way they were glancing at him, the weird expression he’d glimpsed earlier … Had Ryan told them about their fight? Or maybe they had guessed it for themselves already? They must have seen their son’s bruises before they magically disappeared, and the barest hints of Micah’s might be visible in the right light …

It wasn’t that hard to put one and one together.

Oh, no.

So they were just pretended to be nice.

“... yes, and then you just take another left and you’ve found it,” Micah’s mother was saying. “You should visit sometime.”

“We will,” Noelle assured her.

Her husband was busy poking through the contents of the gift basket.

Their mothers smiled at each other.

Micah felt like throwing something.

“Micah, didn’t you make something, too?” his father asked him.

“Huh? Oh, I did,” he said and immediately cringed. “But they’re, uhm, standard healing salves I made myself?” He turned to Ryan’s mother. “And since you’re pregnant … I heard you’re not supposed to bring alchemy anywhere near a pregnant person?”

Noelle nodded a little.

“I’m sorry,” Micah said.

David looked up and gave him a brief smile. “It’s the thought that counts, Micah. Thanks, bud.”

He blushed. If David was talking to him like that, there was no way he could know his son and he had fought, right?

He didn’t know what to say. He felt awkward just standing around there, though, so Micah slipped into the armchair on the one end of the table. That was a mistake because now he sat opposite Ryan, who looked even more awkward wearing those slippers than he had standing outside before.

He was busy raising them up a little and staring at them.

“You’re expecting?” Micah’s mother asked. “How delightful. How far along are you?”

“A little over three months … “ Noelle answered and slowly, the conversation shifted in that direction.

Micah just sat there silently, smiling, trying not to be noticed. It wasn’t that hard since their parents talked as if they had somehow known each other forever. The conversation carried over to baby names and Ryan’s parents looked guilty for some reason. Micah’s parents were busy telling them about their “perfect” naming system they'd agreed on when his mother was expecting Aaron.

“I get to name the boys,” his father said and then pointed at his wife. “She gets to name the girls.”

“It worked out perfectly because we have two of each,” she added.

David looked surprised at that, then somewhat interested. His wife less so. His son didn’t even seem to have heard.

Ryan looked much the same as Micah as he sat there, but instead of awkward and flustered, and admittedly a little angry, he was just awkward and silent. That was until Micah’s parents asked him something. Then he just lit up and was the proper, perfect kid that answered everything with “Sir” and “Ma’am” and “Why yes, of course.”

Why didn’t he lick their shoes while he was at it?

“So Ryan,” his father asked eventually.

Again! Micah thought. Ryan’s back straightened a bit and he looked up from his slippers to offer the man his full attention.

“Why do you go into the Tower?”

Ryan’s eyes widened.

Micah’s did, too. He hadn’t thought that his parents might ask that, just like that. Weren’t you supposed to tip-toe around that sort of stuff?

The gig is up! his mind shouted.

“I’ve always wondered that, too,” his mother said with a much more tolerant tone. “I’m aware it’s to further your Path, or so I’ve been told, but what exactly is your Path?”

“Uhm ...” Ryan gulped and glanced at Micah for the first time.

Don’t look at me. Micah thought. I don’t know!

“[Exemplarism Path], ma’am,” he said slowly. “It’s—”

“It’s a unique Path. It has to do with animals,” David took over.

“Animals?” His father seemed surprised.

“Yes, it helps him understand how they act? For example, one of the Skills he got is [Bird Singing].”

He looked at Ryan then and his son quickly chirped a few tunes. Micah knew them as his “nothing to see here” tunes.

Micah’s father looked incredulous.

“Because of the Skills he gets, the school was at a loss on how to teach him,” David explained. “There have been … others, who had similar Paths. They thought it was best for Ryan to emulate them.” The way David talked sounded strangely stilted to Micah. “And that sadly meant going into the Tower.”

Ryan was nodding along with an obviously nervous smile. Micah’s parents didn’t seem to either care about or notice.

Only then did Micah spot his mother’s hunting knife still lying next to Ryan in the armchair. He frowned at it openly. Hadn’t he given it back yet?

“So you observe monsters then?” his father asked.

“Uhm, yes, sir. For example, their differences to regular animals. How they work, how they behave,” Ryan said. “It’s really been helpful these last two years. But, uh …”

“But?” his father asked.

“There’s only so much I can learn in there?” he said and belatedly added. “Uh, sir. I’m really looking forward to the Zoology classes at the schools I’m applying for.”

“Ah, it’s that time for you, then …”

“Your mother let him keep it,” Noelle whispered next to him. Micah almost jumped. She had leaned over to talk to him and nudged her head in Ryan’s direction, at the knife.

“Oh,” Micah whispered. Then he added, “Thank you.”

“My wife, actually, also deals with animals in her work," David said.

“Huh?” Noelle said and leaned back towards the conversation.

The moment she wasn’t looking at him, Micah frowned again. Why would his mother let Ryan keep the knife?

“Oh. Yes, I do,” Noelle said. “I’m new, though, so I don’t have that many stories to tell.”

“New?” his mother asked. “Did you work someplace else before then?”

“I used to work as an office worker at Westgate. Uh, the western gate, that is,” she said. “Copying reports, making accounts, running errands and the such. But then Ryan got his Path and we figured he needed animals to make it work. So I went around the neighborhood in my free time, collecting all the stray pets and animals that I could find for him.”

“Remember your hands?” David asked.

Noelle smiled a little and explained, “They bit, so I ran around with bandaged hands for a while. I would always set them down in front of Ryan when he got home, but they’d just run off again. Sometimes, I’d spend hours with the animals before then. I liked it so much, I got a Skill from it that helps me approach them without them running away. So I switched to a different branch at the gate—customs—where I deal with the animals coming in and out of the city.”

Cool, Micah thought.

“And you think Ryan could join you there, one day?” Micah’s father asked. For the first time that afternoon, he didn’t sound disapproving.

Not cool, Micah added.

“Well, maybe,” his mother said. “But I’m more of what you might have called a stablehand a few years ago. I really mostly deal with horses and mules, and the stray hyraffe coming through. I think our Ryan could do so much more.”

They looked at their son then, and his father went for his hair again, but Ryan immediately dodged away.

“Mom,” he said, embarrassed.

Micah’s parents looked happy.

Micah himself was confused. Ryan wanted to work at Westgate someday? With animals? What happened to him wanting to become a climber?

“Well, I’ve got to go check on the food,” his mother said, getting up.

“Oh, of course,” Noelle said.

“What are we having?” David asked and Micah’s father started to explain.

“Can I help?” Micah whispered as his mother walked past.

“No,” she said. “Talk with our guests. You’ve barely said a word all afternoon.”

He took her arm before she could run off.

“But I forgot to make refreshments,” he said.

Anything to get out of here, really.

His mother frowned but turned to their guests with a smile.

“Would anybody like any refreshments?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Noelle said politely.

“Uh, no thank you, too, ma’am,” Ryan said.

David glanced at Micah before he answered. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind some water if you have it?” he said.

Thank you, David!

“Alright then,” Micah’s mother said and Micah shot up. He ran off into the kitchen and breathed. His mother came in after him, though, so it didn’t last long.

Micah got the pitcher out of the cupboard, and the leaves, and started filling it up. David only wanted water, but they were going to need drinks for dinner anyway. Plus, Micah wanted to make this moment of freedom last as long as he could. He told his mother they needed some ice and headed down into the basement, to get them from the icebox.

He heard the sound of fish sizzling on the pan before he closed the door and idled in the basement for a few minutes.

When he finally did leave to fill up that glass of water, his mother called, “Food is almost ready.”

Ryan frowned at him when he came into the kitchen. Because Micah had been gone so long?

Again, Micah caught a glimpse of something flicker on his skin and frowned right back at him. What was up with his face?

David walked between them then, thanking Micah, and taking the glass of water off his hands. He didn’t drink from it, though.

His father settled down at the head of the table and his mother took the one to his left. That left Micah to take the seat next to her and their guests the three seats on the opposite side.

Micah noticed Noelle starting to sit down opposite him, but then his father pulled the chair one seat up for her out and she sat down there instead. He himself took the bottom end, which left …

He definitely knows, Micah thought as Ryan settled in opposite him.

Ryan didn’t scowl back. He didn’t even look at Micah at all. Instead, he smiled as Micah’s father handed him the pitcher. That was so unfair. Why was Micah suddenly the angry one? Ryan had looked like he wanted to get into a fight all week!

They had fish, cooked vegetables, potato corners with garlic cheese, and a weird red kraut that Micah didn’t like, but his mom put a helping of on his plate anyway. He passed the bowl of potato corners over to Mr. Payne and waited until they all had something. Then they dug in.

For a while, all there was were the sounds of cutlery and plates scraping against each other, people chewing, and making happy sounds that all translated to “Yum.”

Mrs. Payne was drinking whatever it was that they had brought with them, which was weird, until Micah heard it was non-alcoholic. He wasn't interested in trying himself, though. He poked at his food.

His father picked up the conversation again.

“So David,” he asked. “What do you do?”

Their dads were sitting at almost opposite ends of the table, which meant if they talked, escaping the conversation was pretty much impossible.

“Oh, I work in security at the Hillside Inn over on Oak Street,” he said.

“You’re a [Guard]?” Micah asked, surprised.

David smiled at him. “Well, I was. My [Worker] levels have slowly started catching up. Westhill is just such a quiet place, I don’t have much to do. Thankfully. I mostly help out with carrying things around. It’s a perfect place to raise children, though.”

Micah’s father smiled.

His mother smiled, too, but it didn’t look happy at all.

“Well, except for if the children get themselves into trouble,” she said.

Oh, no.

“No wonder your son Ryan is such a good fighter, then,” she went on. “I’m sure he got it from you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ryan said.

So Micah wasn’t the only one who noticed the similarities.

David smiled at his son, chewing. Like father like son, they seemed oblivious to where Micah’s mother was going with this.

“I was wondering then,” his mother went on. “If maybe Ryan could show Micah a few things?”

There was a pause.

That was not what Micah had been expecting.

“Uhm, what?” Ryan asked, putting his fork back down.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard,” his mother said. “But Micah got into a fight on Sunday.”

“Mom,” he hissed.

“I’m not prying!” she said, holding her hands up a little. “I’m just worried. And since Ryan is learning from an instructor, I thought maybe he could teach you.”

“Teach Micah what?”

“How to fight,” she said as if it were obvious.

“How to defend himself,” his father calmly corrected her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ryan said harshly and went back to cutting his fish.

His mother seemed surprised. All evening long, he’d been agreeing with her, saying “ma’am” after every sentence, and smiling after all. She probably hadn’t been expectíng him to say no.

“May I ask why not?”

“Because Micah shouldn’t be fighting,” Ryan said simply.

Not this again.

“What if he gets into trouble?” Micah’s father asked.

“Then he should get help.”

“What if I’m attacked?” Micah asked himself, cutting into the conversation. They couldn’t just talk over him. “What if someone comes at me with a knife?”

“If someone comes at you with a knife,” David, of all people, said. “You run the other way.” He pointed his fork at Micah as he said it, and spoke in a voice that allowed for no argument.

Micah felt outnumbered.

“Well, what if one of my friends gets into trouble?” he demanded.

“Oh?” Ryan asked with a passion. The air around him began to warp with heat essence. “Is that what you did on Sunday, then? Fight for a friend?”

Micah tried to hold his stare, but he couldn’t. Ryan looked just as angry as he had all week.

The adults, meanwhile, were glancing between them. Micah’s mother especially. She seemed overly interested and even a little … happy? Content? She seemed somehow proud of Ryan.

At least, he finally had her approval, Micah thought. Hurray for that.

“Micah tells us you weren’t there on Sunday,” she said slowly. “But I see you must not be happy about it either.”

“No, I am not, ma’am,” Ryan said.

Micah tried to ignore them.

“Well?” his father asked Micah, though.

He frowned back at him. Well, what?

“Did you fight for a friend?”

Micah immediately looked back at his plate.

“No,” he mumbled.

His father harrumphed.

There was a pause again before everyone continued to eat in silence.

“Well, it wasn’t all bad,” his mother said eventually. “He made those healing salves for himself afterward. He’s been working on them all week. Haven’t you, Micah?”

“Yeah …”

He couldn’t really muster any enthusiasm about it. They were right, he was wrong. Wasn’t that the gist of it? He was the bad guy here. Even David had turned on him. The only one who hadn’t said anything was Noelle, but she kept on glancing at him like she wanted to.

Was there any way Micah could turn this around? Could he maybe tell Ryan about his [Fighter] Class? Would that make him happy or would it just make him angrier? Micah knew it had made himself angry, at first. Getting a Class from fighting with your friends … it was horrible. But was that really why he had gotten it?

Maybe he could tell him about the armor he had bought, instead? Ryan valued safety. But then again, what was the point?

It was only six months, he told himself.

And what about afterward? Would Ryan still not take him into the Tower? Would he freak out each time Micah went alone? And what would Micah’s parents say when he eventually told them that he wanted to use Tower ingredients? What would they say when he finally told them about his combat callings?

Micah just wanted—

“Micah?” his mother asked, interrupting him. “Maybe you would like to show Ryan the salves you made?”

Micah perked up a bit at her suggestion, trying not to frown. What? There was something in her expression, he noticed. The way her smile hid something else. Something was fishy here, and Micah wasn’t even in the mood to laugh at his own pun.

“Uhm, sure,” he said slowly.

Ryan looked confused when he got up, but Micah nudged his head at the door so he got up after him, hastily wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“Uhm, thank you very much for the food, Mrs. Stranya,” he said, as if they were leaving. “It was great.”

His mother smiled patiently.

Micah led them up the stairs.

Near the top, Ryan let out a heavy sigh and started saying, “Uhm, look, Micah, I’m sorr—”

“Shh,” he interrupted him. He dragged Ryan down to sit next to the railing at the top of the stairs. Then he pointed towards the kitchen and whispered, “Listen.”

For some reason, Micah’s mother suddenly wanted him out of the room, and Micah wanted to know why. He could barely hear their conversation from up here, but Ryan could, with his [Enhanced Senses].

And then he could tell Micah.

“Tell me all the juicy bits?” he asked.

Oh, Ryan mouthed, still wearing a frown, but he did tilt his head towards the kitchen.

Here, in the gloom of the hallway, Micah definitely saw something flicker along his jawline when he did. And then his thoughts were suddenly elsewhere. He thought he finally knew what was up with Ryan’s face. No wonder he'd avoided looking at Micah all day. He probably didn't want him to see.

Now that Micah had, he just didn’t know if he should laugh or not.

“They’re just exchanging pleasantries,” Ryan whispered on the stairs. “‘How’s the food? Oh, it’s great. How did you make it taste like this? I used these and these spices.’ That sort of stuff.”

Micah didn’t really seem like he was listening. For some reason, he’d dragged Ryan up to sit here and spy on their parents after ignoring him all day, and now all he was doing was staring at him. It was sort of uncomfortable. Ryan was acutely aware of his [Essence Sight] then. Maybe he'd seen?

Eventually, the other boy was hovering right next to him and Ryan didn’t have any room to escape. He was already pressing his head against the railing. He was pretty sure Micah knew.

“Micah, haven’t you heard of personal—”

“Are you wearing magic makeup?” Micah interrupted him.

“What?” Ryan asked with a fake laugh at the back of his throat. He shoved the other boy's face away. “No. That would be ridiculous.”

Yes. That would be ridiculous.

Especially since Ryan’s face felt strangely hot right now, even though he was basically murdering [Hot Skin]. He hoped it was just the embarrassment at being found out—how had he thought he could keep this from Micah?—but his skin also sort-of itched and Ryan wasn’t sure it was supposed to be doing that.

For now, he just focussed on not blushing.

Micah looked like he was musing something. Then he scampered off into his room.

“Hey!” Ryan hissed after him but got no response. “Where are you going? I thought we were spying on them?"

Not that Ryan was really in the mood for that.

Micah came back right away with a book in his hand. It had a large crease dividing it halfway through and looked sort-of homebound. He sat back down next to Ryan and showed him the cover. It read, “Janet Mays. The Benefits and Dangers of Cosmetics-Based Alchemy and its Uses in Traditional Recipes. An Essay.”

Now Ryan did blush. He even had her book?

Micah grinned.

“I knew it!” he said. “You’re just full of surprises.”

Says the guy who punched me, Ryan grumbled.

“How do you even know Janet?” Micah asked.

“I went to their shop.”

“You did?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he demanded, not just a little flustered. “Show up looking like a delinquent? That was bound to get your parents talking about the fight. I didn’t even know you’d lied and told them I wasn’t there, Micah, so thanks for the heads-up on that.”

Micah’s smile vanished and Ryan turned back to the kitchen. It was mostly to distract himself, but then he thought he’d heard something.

... about this fight? Micah’s mother was asking. He didn’t catch the beginning.

“How much do your parents know?” Micah mumbled next to him.

Everything, Ryan thought.

Oh, we heard about it from Ryan, David said. But he wouldn’t tell us any details. He seemed very upset about the whole—

“Ryan?” Micah asked, speaking over them.

“Not now,” Ryan hissed. “They’re talking about the fight.”

“What?” He scooted closer, probably to hear for himself. “What are they saying?”

We probably know just as much as you, his mom said.

Ryan grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “My parents are covering for us.”

Well, Micah just showed up all the sudden covered in bruises with his hair cut short, Mrs. Stranya went on. He seemed very upset, but he wouldn’t tell us who he fought with. I was wondering if you maybe knew any names?

Somebody cut his hair off? his mom asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Ups. Ryan had forgotten to mention that bit. Almost everything, he corrected himself. Now they probably thought he had something to do with it. As if Ryan would cut off Micah's hair. He'd glue it back on if he could.

“Covering?” Micah was asking next to him. “What do you mean 'covering'?”

Ryan tried to ignore him.

Well, Ryan has gotten into some scraps with kids from Westgate from time to time, his father said, but it never got so out of hand that they would cut someone else’s hair off. That’s terrible.

Micah’s mother sounded exasperated. I’m more worried about the bruises, you see? So he really wasn’t there on Sunday?

“Did you tell them?” Micah was still talking.

Ryan shushed him.

No. But I’m sure if Ryan had been there, his mom said and coughed. When she kept on talking, her voice sounded louder and strangely stilted. I’m sure he would have helped Micah.

Oh, drat. Ryan quickly leaned away from the railing, almost bumping into Micah, and smiled guiltily. His mom knew he was listening.

“Ryan?” Micah demanded.

“What?” he turned on him.

“Your parents are lying for me?” he asked. He seemed furious. At Ryan? Why?

“Yeah, what about it?”

Something about the way Ryan had answered must have stumped him, because Micah frowned and finally gave him some space.

“Nothing, it’s just … surprising. You never lie,” he said.

What?

“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked. “I lie all the time. You’ve seen me lie, Micah.”

“What? No, I haven’t,” he insisted.

Of course, he had.

“Remember when Prisha wanted to come with us into the Tower?” Ryan asked. “I lied then?”

“You did?”

Did Micah seriously think Ryan didn’t lie? At all? Who the hell did that? It was human nature. Ugh, this was one of his weird hang-ups again, wasn’t it?

“But you said ... ” Micah mumbled.

“That it would take weeks for her to get permission,” Ryan explained. “It doesn’t take that long to fill out a form and get a stamp, Micah. A few hours at most, and that’s if you have to wait in line.”

Micah looked at him, seeming lost.

“I lied to your parents all evening?” Ryan tried next because Micah knew he wanted to become a climber. Had he believed that bit about wanting to work with his mom someday? Ryan had seen the animals she had to deal with and he wanted to keep all his fingers.

Still, Micah stared.

Ryan didn’t know if he should laugh in frustration or not.

“I lied about my dad having the day off,” he confessed.

It took a moment, but then the realization finally seemed to sink in and Micah deflated with an awkward smile.

What was he smiling about?

He just said, “Oh.”

Ryan leaned back against the railing and sighed. This afternoon had been tiring. Talking to Micah’s terrifying parents had been tiring, because whatever you said, you had to make sure it was something they wanted to hear. He could have fallen asleep right there, if not for the make-up burning on his skin. He just wanted to go home and wash his face off. He just wanted to go home and start over.

Eventually, Micah mumbled, “Ryan?”

“Yeah?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Why are you here?”

Oh. That.

He shrugged. “It seemed like an opportunity to do … something. I don’t know.”

“Right.”

They were silent for a long while. Ryan briefly focussed on the kitchen again, to hear what they were talking about. The summer festival? And then about grilling. His dad said he had enough food for one weekend, but his mom said she could still go for a steak. ("What, so old lady Bera can yell at us again?" — "Only because of the smell. You burnt the food, remember?" — "I’m hurt. My pride, woman.")

And Suddenly, Micah’s father was suggesting that they all grill together sometime.

Oh, please, no, Ryan thought.

He tuned out before he could hear any more.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked to where Micah was just sitting there, doing nothing. His look wandered down to the book lying in his lap. That crease looked pretty bad. Had he done that, too?

Ryan sighed. It was now or never.

“I’m sorry about your books," he said.

Micah seemed to wake up, but then he quickly shook his head.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m sorry about punching you.”

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Ryan offered.

“I'm sorry about what I said," he countered.

Ryan almost laughed then, because it had been so simple. Four sentences and they'd apologized. But the laughter wouldn’t come out. Where it should have been was only frustration.

“I just …" he started. "I wanted … You do know how dangerous what you did was, right, Micah?”

How mad did you have to be to climb down the Tower through a maze of rubble to kill some first floor monsters without proper equipment?

Micah nodded. “I did apologize.”

“It didn’t seem earnest,” Ryan grumbled. “Did you even tell someone where you went?”

Micah looked like he wanted to run off again.

“No,” he admitted.

“What if you’d been trapped again? How would we have found you?”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t respond.

Ryan sighed. At least now, he knew if Micah went missing again, the Tower was the first place he was had to search. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do on his weekends, after all.

“Have you had any dreams since then?” he asked finally.

“Once or twice,” Micah mumbled. “But only once about that place.”

That place? The Salamander’s Den, Ryan assumed.

Once per week compared to every day … Ryan took a deep breath. Then he wrenched something out of himself.

“I’m proud of you, Micah,” he said, and he meant it. “For facing your fears. But, please, please don’t ever do that again. Not on your own. Not like that. The Tower is dangerous. You need to be more careful. You don’t have to be a fighter, you know that, right?”

Micah had been nodding along with his words a little while he spoke, the barest hint of a smile on his lips, but then he suddenly paused and looked up at Ryan awkwardly.

“Well, actually …” he said.

Oh, no. What now?

“I sort of got the Class.”

“What?” Ryan asked. “When?”

Micah looked at him, just looked, and it clicked. Ryan had leveled up from their fight, too, after all.

“Oh,” he said and hung his head a little. “Well, that sucks. I know you didn’t want to get it like that, Micah. I’m sorry.”

Micah was vehemently shaking his head, though.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I thought that at first, too, but … I don’t think that’s why I got it. I think … that fight was the first time I stood up for myself, Ryan. Like really stood up for myself. Without lying or pretending. And I actually fought you, another person, for what I wanted. So I think that’s the type of [Fighter] I am. The type who fights for what he wants.”

The type who fights for what he wants? Ryan wondered, horror dawning on him. This kid was going to get him killed someday, wasn't he?

Micah seemed to be thinking equally painful thoughts, because he looked at Ryan and asked, “Can I show you something?”

Before Ryan could answer, Micah had gotten up and snuck into his room again.

Ryan waited a moment, but he didn’t come back. He couldn’t listen to the conversation downstairs anyway—his mom knew he was spying—so he followed after him.

Inside his room, Micah was lifting up his mattress a little and getting something out from between it and the frame.

It was a tiny bundle of folded paper.

When Micah dropped the mattress again, Ryan sat down on the edge of it and waited. Micah unfolded the bundle of papers three times before he handed it to him. When Ryan looked them over, he went very, very still.

He knew these papers. He knew them all too well. They were the information pamphlets that the Guild handed out for their school.

“I want to go there,” Micah confessed.

Ryan looked at him and after a moment, he started laughing. He couldn’t help himself. It was just— It was all too much. Micah was too much.

Micah was staring at him like he’d gone insane, or maybe he was hurt that Ryan would laugh at what he wanted, but Ryan just let himself fall back on Micah’s bed and did it anyway.

When he was done, he said, “Alright. Me, too.”

“Me, too?” Micah asked.

“Gardener has been pushing me to go there,” Ryan explained. “I never really had a reason to, until now.”

There was no way Ryan could keep Micah from doing stupid things, he realized. The least he could do was go with him and keep him safe.

“You mean you'll go there with me? Together?” Micah asked, climbing on the bed. He seemed so excited.

Ryan shook his head a little. He had to get some things out of the way before he could join in on that. For one thing—

“What are you going to tell your parents?”

“Oh,” Micah said. “I, uhm, I thought I wouldn’t tell them. At first, I mean. I can take the entrance exam and if I get in, I’ll tell them, and if I don’t ….”

He trailed off and Ryan nodded in understanding. That seemed like a solid plan. But what about afterward?

“And what if they say no? What if they don’t support your decision?”

Now Micah’s face turned grim. He gently took the pages out of Ryan’s hand and searched them for something. Ryan knew what it was. On page six, he pointed at the word “scholarships.”

Yes, Ryan knew about the scholarships.

“I thought I could get one—”

“Seven weeks,” Ryan interrupted him.

“What?”

“In two to three weeks are our final tests in the classroom,” he explained. “In four weeks is graduation—for me, at least. In seven weeks is the first entrance exam. In eight it’s the physical exam. Not only do you have to get the best possible grades on your classroom tests, Micah, you also have to do the same for an extended entrance exam because you’ll be applying to skip two classroom years. It’s not uncommon, but it does mean we’ll have to teach you two years worth of information in five weeks. Not to mention get you in form for the physical entrance exam a week later. And then you have to have a convincing enough reason to get the scholarship if you qualify for it.”

Ryan had thought Micah might despair at that information, but when he looked up at him, he had a look of absolutely resolution.

“I know,” he said.

“And you still want to do it?” Ryan asked, leaning up again.

“Yes. I want to try, at least.”

Ryan let out a breath.

Then there was nothing left to say, was there? They were really going to do this. If it worked out … great for them. And if it didn’t? At least, Ryan was going to distract Micah for the summer.

“Alright, then. I’m in,” he said.

This time, it wasn’t an empty promise of someday, like they’d made for the Sewers or to go camping. If this was going to work, they had to start tomorrow. Maybe they could go to Lisa for help? But before then, Micah tackled him and they fell off the bed, laughing.

When they went back downstairs, friends again, their parents looked amused.

“What was all that laughter about?” his mom asked.

“Micah told me about his fertilizer potion,” Ryan said. He could feel Micah looking at him as he did. “About what he uses for ingredients.”

He looked to Micah then for his part in the story.

“Huh? Oh, I, uh, can’t exactly use dung,” he quickly said, blushing a little.

Micah’s mother looked like she wanted to say something about the use of the word “dung” at the dinner table.

“... so I use dung beetles instead.”

Ryan grinned at his parents.

“How weird is that?”

"I think it's awesome," his dad said.

When they finally left the Stranya’s home an hour later, Micah and his parents waved at them from their doorstep. The moment Ryan's family stepped around the curve of the street, though, all three of them groaned in exhaustion.

“Those are absolutely horrible people,” his mom said with a smile.

“What did you get yourself into?” his dad asked, carrying the oversized gift basket with both hands.

Ryan just shrugged. He himself was carrying two jars of healing salve, one of which had "Ryan?" written on the bottom. With a question mark.

Trouble, probably.

Then he scratched at his face, grimaced, and told his parents he was going on ahead before he ran off to go wash it off. It probably really shouldn’t be burning like that. And neither should he be smiling, but he did it anyway.