Taylor hunched over her workbench, UV light illuminating the seemingly blank pages. "The patterns need to be perfect. One wrong curve and it won't sync with the brain's natural rhythms."

  "But look how normal it appears." Emma held up a completed guide under regular light. Plain text about algebra formulas and study tips filled each page. "No one would suspect a thing."

  During lunch period, Emma approached a group of lost-looking freshmen. "First year can be rough. Here's something that helped me last year." She passed out three guides, her smile bright and reassuring.

  Taylor handed another to Sarah, one of their track teammates. "The diagrams really helped me understand chemistry better."

  The results emerged slowly but steadily. The freshman who took the guides started showing up to class prepared, notebooks organized. Girls who previously slouched through halls now walked with purpose, clothes neat and homework complete. Boys who used to disrupt class found themselves volunteering to help younger students.

  Mr. Gladly caught Emma after class. "That study guide you gave Tommy - it's remarkable. His whole attitude changed." He tapped his desk. "Would you have more? Maybe for the whole class?"

  "Of course." Emma's smile widened. "Taylor and I made plenty. We just want to help everyone succeed."

  "Wonderful! I'll announce it tomorrow." Mr. Gladly gathered his papers. "You know, other teachers might be interested too."

  Back in the basement, Taylor added another stack of completed guides to their collection. "This is working better than expected."

  "And no one suspects anything." Emma sorted them by subject. "They think it's just good study habits rubbing off."

  "UV ink was the key." Taylor adjusted her glasses. "Slower, but safer. And once the patterns take hold..."

  "They pass it on naturally through example." Emma packed the guides into her bag for tomorrow. "Creating the perfect environment for more to follow."

  Taylor slumped in her chair, dark circles under her eyes. Papers and half-assembled guides cluttered every surface of the Barnes' basement workshop.

  "I can't keep up." She rubbed her temples. "Three more teachers asked for class sets today."

  Emma paced between the workbenches. "Can't you just make them faster?"

  "It's not that simple. Each page needs precise UV patterns. Rush the process and they won't work right - or worse, they'll have unpredictable effects."

  "What about your workshop at home?"

  "Already running at capacity." Taylor gestured at the stacks of incomplete guides. "Plus Dad's getting suspicious about the power bill."

  Emma flopped onto the couch. "We could say no to the new requests..."

  "And risk losing our momentum? The whole school's finally clicking into place." Taylor kicked her chair in frustration. "But between maintaining Sophia's conditioning, your mom's care routines, and now all these guides-"

  "Could we get help?" Emma sat up. "Maybe teach someone else to make them?"

  "Too risky. One mistake in the pattern alignment..." Taylor shuddered. "And explaining the tech would raise too many questions."

  "What about another workshop location? My dad has that empty storage unit-"

  "Power requirements are too specific. I need stable current for the UV curing process." Taylor gathered her hair into a messy bun. "Plus proper ventilation for the binding chemicals."

  Emma's phone buzzed. Another text from Mr. Gladly asking about guides for his afternoon classes.

  "We need to figure something out fast." Emma showed Taylor the message. "They're not going to stop asking."

  Taylor pushed aside a stack of half-finished guides. "The real problem is production capacity. I've spent months perfecting the patterns, but what good is perfect tech if we can't make enough of it?"

  "What do you need?" Emma picked through a box of salvaged electronics.

  "More UV LEDs, circuit boards, specialized ink." Taylor pulled out a drawer filled with dismantled calculators and old phones. "I've stripped everything useful from both our houses that wouldn't be missed. The basement's picked clean."

  Emma brightened. "We could charge for the guides. Even a few dollars each would help buy supplies."

  "Winslow?" Taylor snorted. "Their idea of new equipment is whatever they find at yard sales. Remember those ancient computers in the lab? Half of them still run Windows 95."

  "But the guides work. The teachers see the results."

  "Blackwell pinches every penny like it's her personal savings account." Taylor fiddled with a partially assembled binding machine. "By the time they approved a purchase order, we'd be graduating."

  Emma slumped against the workbench. "What about private sales? Some of the richer kids-"

  "Too risky. Money trails lead to questions." Taylor swept her hair back in frustration. "And we need industrial quantities now, not just a few parts here and there."

  "There has to be a way." Emma kicked an empty supply box. "We can't just stop when it's working so well."

  "I know." Taylor stared at her dwindling stock of materials. "All this effort perfecting the formulas and patterns... but what good is perfect tech if we can't produce enough to matter?"

  Taylor's head snapped up, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Wait. What if we're looking at this backwards?"

  "What do you mean?" Emma stopped pacing.

  "Remember that closet of broken printers near the computer lab? And those stacks of old monitors in the storage room?" Taylor's hands flew as she sketched in the air. "Winslow's a goldmine of obsolete tech. They can't use it, can't sell it, but they have to pay to dispose of it properly."

  Emma wrinkled her nose. "That junk? Half of it probably doesn't even turn on."

  "Exactly!" Taylor grabbed a screwdriver and spun it between her fingers. "But I can strip the UV bulbs from the scanners, salvage the circuit boards, even extract usable ink from those cartridges they can't match to working printers anymore."

  "And you think Blackwell would just give it to us?"

  "Not give - trade." Taylor's grin widened. "We offer her a complete set of study guides for every class. She gets to report improved test scores and student performance. All we want in exchange is to 'help clean up' some storage spaces."

  Emma's eyes lit up. "The school saves money on disposal fees..."

  "And we get an endless supply of parts." Taylor bounced in her chair. "Plus, it gives us a perfect cover for being in weird parts of the school. We're just the helpful students clearing out old equipment."

  "Think she'll go for it?"

  "After Mr. Gladly shows her how well the guides work?" Taylor started gathering their prototype guides. "She'd be crazy not to. Especially since it won't cost her a penny from the budget."

  Taylor perched on the hard plastic chair in Principal Blackwell's office, her prototype study guides laid out across the desk. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dusty blinds.

  "These results from Mr. Gladly's class are... remarkable." Blackwell adjusted her glasses, flipping through test scores. "But you're saying you want access to our storage rooms in exchange for more guides?"

  "Yes, ma'am. The old equipment takes up valuable space, and proper disposal is expensive." Taylor kept her voice steady. "We'd handle all the removal ourselves."

  Blackwell's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what exactly would two students do with broken printers and monitors?"

  "My father's dock worker association does some side work in electronics disposal." The lie slid out smoothly. "He can ensure everything is handled properly, and it would save the school disposal fees."

  "Mr. Gladly speaks very highly of these guides." Blackwell tapped the stack of papers. "Claims they've improved comprehension across all skill levels."

  "We've refined the format through trial and error." Taylor gestured to the clear layout and organized sections. "Students find them easier to follow than traditional textbooks."

  Blackwell leaned back, fingers drumming on her desk. "And you're willing to provide these for every core subject?"

  "As long as we have access to materials, yes." Taylor clasped her hands to hide their trembling. "We just want to help other students succeed."

  "Very well." Blackwell reached for a form. "I'll authorize access to the storage areas. But-" She fixed Taylor with a stern look. "I expect to see continued improvement in test scores. And the removal process cannot disrupt normal school operations."

  "Of course. We'll be discreet." Taylor accepted the signed permission slip, careful not to snatch it too eagerly. "Thank you for this opportunity."

  "Don't make me regret this decision, Miss Hebert."

  Taylor paused at the doorway, her hand on the handle. A new idea crystallized in her mind.

  "One more thing, Principal Blackwell." She turned back, projecting an air of hesitation. "I've been reading studies about how background music improves learning environments."

  Blackwell's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

  "What if we played soft instrumental music during morning announcements? Nothing distracting - just gentle classical pieces." Taylor pulled out her phone, fingers dancing across the screen. "Here's some research showing improved test scores in schools that implemented similar programs."

  A knowing smile crossed Blackwell's face. "Ah, so this is what you were building up to with the study guides."

  "The guides are important too," Taylor said. "But combining approaches could maximize results."

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  "And I suppose you have a playlist ready to go?"

  "I could put one together by tomorrow." Taylor's heart raced at how perfectly Blackwell had fallen into her assumption. Let her think this was the real goal all along.

  "Fine." Blackwell waved her hand. "Work with the office staff to set it up. But keep the volume reasonable - I don't want complaints about students not hearing announcements."

  "Thank you, Principal Blackwell. You won't regret this."

  Taylor slipped out of the office, clutching both permission slips to her chest. The music would work far better than she'd hoped - delivered directly through the school's speaker system to every classroom at once.

  "Kids these days with their classical music." Blackwell shook her head, shuffling papers on her desk. "In my day, we had Led Zeppelin, The Who - that was real music. None of this Mozart nonsense."

  She reached for her coffee mug, grimacing at the cold dregs. A slim volume caught her eye at the corner of her desk - bound in plain black leather with gold lettering spelling out "Principal Blackwell's Administrative Guide."

  "Did Miss Hebert forget-" She picked up the book, frowning. "Don't remember seeing this before."

  The pages felt oddly smooth under her fingers as she flipped through what appeared to be standard administrative procedures and guidelines. Her eyes caught snippets about "effective leadership" and "maintaining order."

  "Must be one of those self-help management books." She set it beside her computer. "Though I don't recall ordering anything like this."

  The afternoon sun caught the gold lettering, making it shimmer strangely. Blackwell found her gaze drawn back to the book repeatedly as she tried to focus on her email.

  "Well, might as well take it home." She slipped the book into her bag. "Could use some fresh perspective on running this place anyway."

  Sophia trudged through Winslow's hallways, her backpack hanging off one shoulder. Something felt different about the place. The usual tension, the undercurrent of violence that used to excite her - it had faded like an old photograph.

  Students clustered in small groups, heads bent over those study guides Taylor and Emma kept pushing. Even the Empire kids seemed less aggressive these days, more focused on their books than picking fights.

  Her uniform felt tighter across her chest and hips. The track coach had mentioned her "changing physique" last week, suggesting she might want to switch to shot put or discus. The thought made her blood boil, but she couldn't deny the evidence. Her morning runs left her winded faster, and her patrol routes had shortened.

  A sophomore - Mike or Mark from her English class - stumbled into a locker, his eyes fixed on her as she passed. His gaze wasn't on her face. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized where he was looking.

  "Take a picture, it'll last longer," she snapped, but the usual venom wasn't there. Part of her preened at the attention.

  The morning announcements crackled over the speakers, some classical piece playing softly beneath the voice. When had they started doing that? She couldn't remember, but it felt... right. Soothing. Like Taylor's cooking or helping Mrs. Barnes with her exercises.

  Sophia shook her head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to settle over her thoughts whenever she questioned these changes. The bell rang, and she headed to class, unconsciously swaying her hips just a little more than necessary.

  Sophia slid into her desk, the plastic chair creaking under her. The study guide sat unopened on her desk - she'd forgotten to read it last night after patrol. Her eyes kept drifting to the cover, its simple blue design somehow compelling.

  "Earth to Sophia." Emma waved a hand in front of her face. "You're drooling over that study guide like it's a chocolate cake."

  "Just tired." Sophia straightened her back. "Was out late."

  "Patrolling again? You should take better care of yourself." Emma's voice carried an odd note of satisfaction despite it being a whisper. "Speaking of taking care, Mom asked if you could come by this afternoon. She needs help with her physical therapy."

  The thought of Mrs. Barnes waiting for her, needing her help, made Sophia's chest warm. "Yeah, sure. Not like I have anything better to do."

  Taylor appeared beside their desks, dropping more study guides on empty seats. Her movements were precise, deliberate. When had the skinny girl gotten so... confident?

  "Here." Taylor placed a paper bag on Sophia's desk. "Made extra this morning."

  The smell of fresh baked goods wafted up. Sophia's stomach growled. She should say no. Should stick to her protein shakes and lean meats. But her hands were already opening the bag.

  Mr. Gladly started his lecture, his voice mixing with the background music from the speakers. Sophia bit into what turned out to be a blueberry muffin, her free hand absently flipping open the study guide. The words seemed to dance on the page, drawing her in.

  A note landed on her desk. Some guy asking her to the upcoming dance. Last year, she would have torn it up. Today, she found herself considering it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go. To be normal for once.

  The thought should have disgusted her. Instead, it felt... right.

  Two Empire Eighty-Eight wanna-bes, Derek and Justin, loitered near the school's dumpsters, sharing a cigarette behind the tech building. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot.

  Derek elbowed Justin. "Check it out."

  Through the propped-open door, they watched Taylor Hebert and Emma Barnes making trips back and forth, loading outdated computer monitors and printers into Emma's dad's SUV.

  "Ain't that the Hebert girl? The one who turned this place into some kind of nerd factory?" Derek crushed his cigarette under his boot.

  "Yeah. Barnes too." Justin straightened up. "My sister says they've been handing out those study guides everywhere."

  Taylor emerged again, arms wrapped around a bulky CRT monitor. Emma followed with a printer stacked on top of a box of papers.

  "Should we..." Derek cracked his knuckles.

  Justin grabbed his arm. "Hold up. Something ain't right about this. You notice how everyone's different lately? Even some of those looking to join Hookwolf's crew's been acting weird, spending more time reading than fighting."

  They watched as Taylor nearly dropped the monitor. Emma rushed to help, and they caught fragments of their conversation.

  "...careful with that one... special modifications..." Taylor's voice drifted over.

  "...need it for the new batch..." Emma replied.

  Derek's eyes narrowed. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "Yeah. Jewish girl stealing school property, probably selling it or something." Justin pulled out his phone. "Better let Brad know about this."

  "Nah, man. Look at how organized this is. Principal's car is still here - they got permission. Something bigger's going on."

  The girls made another trip, this time with cables and smaller equipment. They worked with practiced efficiency, like they'd done this before.

  "We should follow them," Derek whispered. "See where they're taking all this stuff."

  Justin nodded, pulling his hood up. "Yeah. But keep your distance. Barnes' dad's got connections, and something about that Hebert girl gives me the creeps."

  Derek's beaten-up Civic stalled twice trying to follow Emma's SUV. By the time they got it running again, the girls had vanished into Brockton Bay's afternoon traffic.

  "Nice going, dipshit." Justin slumped in the passenger seat.

  "Like you could do better." Derek banged the steering wheel. "Let's head back to school. Maybe we can figure out what they were loading up."

  The Civic lurched into the nearly empty parking lot. They found the tech building's side door still unlocked.

  Inside, fluorescent lights flickered over empty shelves where computers had been. Justin rifled through a drawer while Derek checked the storage closet.

  "Got something." Justin held up a crumpled paper. "Work order. Says they're 'recycling' old equipment. Approved by Blackwell herself."

  "Here too." Derek emerged from the closet with a notebook. "Some kind of music playlist? Looks like it's for the morning announcements."

  "That's above our pay grade." Justin snapped photos with his phone. "Let's show William."

  William lounged behind his desk at the Empire's downtown front business, barely glancing up from his paperwork as Derek and Justin stumbled through their report.

  "So they're recycling old equipment. What's next, gonna tell me about their paper drive?" William shuffled some documents.

  "But sir, it's the Hebert girl-" Derek started.

  "And they had this weird music thing-" Justin added.

  William waved his hand. "Look, I appreciate you boys trying to prove yourselves, but-"

  "They were taking printers," Derek blurted. "And monitors. Loading them up real careful-like."

  William's pen stopped moving. "Printers? Electronics?"

  "Yeah, and Taylor was real specific about handling some of them. Called them 'special modifications' or something," Justin said.

  William leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Tell me everything. Every detail."

  The boys brightened, tripping over each other to describe what they'd seen. William nodded, asked pointed questions about dates, times, patterns they'd noticed.

  "Good work, boys. This could be exactly what we needed." William pulled out two twenties. "Get yourselves something nice. Keep watching, but don't get too close."

  After they left, practically floating on air, William locked his office door and pulled out a secure phone.

  "Sir? William here. I might have a line on a new tinker in Brockton Bay."

  The flickering neon from the pachinko parlor cast alternating shadows across Lung's face as he reclined on his leather chair. Ken and Mike stood before him, shifting nervously.

  "The study guides, they're different," Ken said, pulling one from his jacket. "Look how many of our guys are using them."

  Lung's mask gleamed in the dim light. "Different how?"

  "Everyone who reads them... changes." Mike wrung his hands. "They stop coming to meetings, spend all their time studying. Even Liu - you know Liu? Guy who used to boost cars? He's talking about college applications now."

  "And this concerns me?" Lung's voice rumbled like distant thunder.

  Ken stepped forward. "But sir, these aren't normal guides. They're from that white girl, Hebert. Something's not right about-"

  "Enough." Lung stood, towering over them. "You waste my time with complaints about study guides? Of course our people excel in academics. It is expected. Natural."

  "But sir-" Mike started.

  "Are you suggesting our youth are weak-minded? That some girl's study materials could influence them more than their own culture?"

  The temperature in the room rose several degrees. Ken tugged at his collar, sweat beading on his forehead.

  "No, sir. Of course not," Ken backpedaled. "We just thought-"

  "Do not bring such trivialities to me again." Lung turned his back on them, a clear dismissal.

  They scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. The sound of their footsteps faded down the hallway as Lung settled back into his chair, the matter already forgotten.

  Skidmark sprawled across a stained mattress in the Merchants' hideout, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the ceiling. Empty syringes and beer cans littered the floor around him.

  "Yo, Skids!" Squealer's voice cut through his drug-addled haze. She waved papers in front of his face. "Check this shit out."

  "The fuck you wavin' at me?" He batted at the papers, missing completely.

  "Some of our runners picked these up at Winslow. Study guides or whatever." She dropped them on his chest. "Thing is, Mush started reading one. Now he's talking about getting his GED."

  Skidmark lifted a page, holding it upside down. "The fuck? Mush can read?"

  "That's what I'm saying! He's been at it for hours, all proper-like." Squealer kicked an empty beer can. "Even cleaned his corner of the warehouse."

  "No fucking way." Skidmark squinted at the page, turning it sideways. "These some kind of... mind-fucking papers?"

  He held the study guide close to his face, then far away, then close again. "Holy shit, the words are dancing. Look at 'em go!" He started giggling. "They're doing the fucking macarena!"

  "You're high as balls." Squealer snatched the papers back. "I'm telling you, something weird's going on."

  "Wait, wait." Skidmark sat up, swaying. "If these make people smart... and we sell 'em instead of drugs..." His eyes crossed. "We could... could..." He flopped back onto the mattress. "What was I saying?"

  "About the study guides?"

  "No, no... about the dancing words. They were wearing little sombreros." He reached for the ceiling. "Come back, little word-dudes! The party ain't over!"

  Squealer shook her head and walked away, leaving Skidmark making finger-guns at imaginary dancing letters.

  "Pew pew! Take that, semicolon! You ain't so tough now!" His voice echoed through the warehouse. "Nobody puts parenthesis in a corner!"

  Emily Piggot scrolled through the daily reports on her monitor, rubbing her temples. Her desk groaned under stacks of papers detailing the latest Empire Eighty-Eight and ABB confrontation. Three injured, one dead, property damage in the millions.

  A notification popped up - another report requiring review. She clicked it open:

  SUBJECT: Winslow High School Academic Performance Analysis

  CLASSIFICATION: Low Priority

  POTENTIAL PARAHUMAN ACTIVITY: Master/Stranger Rating 1 (Low Probability)

  Her eyes skimmed the data. Grade point averages up 22% across all subjects. Athletic performance showing marked improvement - track team qualified for state finals, wrestling team undefeated.

  "Computer, flag report status?"

  "Report locked at low probability assessment. Requires manual override for escalation," the system responded.

  Piggot tagged the report for baseline monitoring. No need to waste resources on what was likely just improved teaching methods or motivated students. She had real problems to deal with - Kaiser's latest territory push had left half of downtown in chaos.

  She clicked on the next report: "Empire Eighty-Eight Chemical Weapons Acquisition Attempt." This was what mattered. Academic statistics could wait.

  The Winslow report disappeared into the system, its status permanently fixed at low priority due to a database error. Any future updates would remain buried under the flood of gang violence reports crossing her desk.