Max Anders stood at his office window, forty stories above Brockton Bay. The city sprawled beneath him like a chess board, each district a piece to be moved and captured.

  Victor's polished shoes clicked against the marble floor as he entered. "The quarterly reports, sir."

  Max didn't turn from the window. "Go ahead."

  "Medhall's profits are up 37% this quarter. The FDA fast-tracked three of our new drug applications. Othala's contributions in the testing phase have cut development time in half."

  "Good." Max's reflection smiled in the glass. "Though it makes me think of that Dallon girl. Panacea. Such potential, wasted on emergency rooms and clinics."

  "Sir?"

  "Think about it, Victor. Her power - true biological manipulation. Put her in our labs for even three weeks..." He turned, spreading his hands across his mahogany desk. "We could revolutionize cancer treatment. Make billions. Instead she plays Florence Nightingale, healing one peasant at a time."

  Victor nodded. "The profit potential would be astronomical."

  "Exactly. Quick fixes versus systematic solutions." Max shook his head. "Short-sighted, just like her adoptive family. The Dallons lack vision."

  "Speaking of systematic solutions," Victor pulled out another folder. "The Elite sent feelers through their shell companies. They're interested in our cancer research division."

  Max's jaw tightened. "Uppercrust's people?"

  "Agnes Court. She suggested a partnership."

  "The Elite doesn't partner. They consume." Max drummed his fingers on the desk. "Have legal draft a response. Polite but firm."

  Victor moved to the next report. "Street level operations. Oni Lee hit our distribution center on Baker Street. Two soldiers in medical - burns and shrapnel. Nothing critical."

  "Lung's getting bold again." Max picked up a crystal paperweight, turning it in the light. "And the Merchants?"

  "Pushing into the northern edge of our territory. Skidmark's dealers are working the high schools. Except Winslow." Victor hesitated. "Which brings me to recruitment. Numbers are down across the board, especially among the youth demographic."

  "Explain."

  "Our usual recruitment pools - disaffected teens, dropouts - they're drying up. Particularly at Winslow. Students are... focused. Grades are up. Attendance is up. Even the troublemakers are joining study groups."

  Max raised an eyebrow. "A master. You think there's a master at work?"

  "Tinker actually. "Intelligence suggests it. Study guides appearing out of nowhere. New audio systems in the PA. Students displaying unusual dedication to their studies." Victor spread photos across the desk - printers being moved, computer parts, wiring. "Two of our prospects spotted these girls moving equipment."

  Victor slid two photos forward. "Emma Barnes and Taylor Hebert."

  Max picked up Emma's headshot from a modeling portfolio. "Barnes... Alan Barnes' daughter?"

  "Yes. Her mother was injured in their home six months ago. Spinal injury. Made a miraculous recovery via panacea's peasant healings, though she still needs assistance." Victor tapped the file. "Potential trigger event."

  "And the other?"

  "Taylor Hebert. Mother died in a murder suicide about two years ago. Father is Daniel Hebert - recently elected president of the Dockworkers Union."

  Max's eyes narrowed. "Daniel Hebert. That could be... inconvenient. The shipping contracts-"

  "There's more. Alan Barnes works at the same firm as Carol Dallon. New Wave connection."

  "Interesting web of relationships." Max studied Taylor's yearbook photo. "Two traumatic events, both with potential trigger points. Both with useful connections." He looked up at Victor. "How certain are we about the tinker theory?"

  "The evidence fits. Equipment movements match tinker behavior patterns. The effects are subtle but widespread. Classic infiltration approach."

  "And the PRT?"

  "Nothing. They've logged the academic improvements but classified it as low probability master activity."

  Max leaned back in his leather chair. "Could be a front. Someone else is pulling strings, using these girls as cover."

  "Unlikely." Victor shook his head. "We've monitored their movements. The Barnes girl has modeling connections, but nothing suspicious. Hebert is the more reclusive of the two. She is the one I would figure most likely to be the tinker."

  "And our people inside Winslow?"

  "That's the concerning part." Victor pulled out a stack of test results. "We ran assessments on our junior members. Academic performance is up across the board. Physical fitness improved. Even their technical skills showed marked improvement."

  Max's eyes narrowed. "But?"

  "They're... less receptive to our message. Not openly resistant, just... preoccupied. More focused on studies, sports, college applications." Victor spread the papers across the desk. "One of our most promising recruits - star quarterback material - turned down an invitation to a rally. Said he needed to study for the SATs."

  "Interesting." Max traced a finger along a graph showing rising test scores. "Can they still be utilized?"

  "Yes. Their capabilities have increased - better fighters, better strategists. But the passion, the dedication to the cause..." Victor gestured vaguely. "It's dulled. Like they've found other priorities."

  "And you're certain this is the Hebert girl's work?"

  "The timing matches her arrival. The equipment movements, the study materials, the new PA system - it all points to her." Victor tapped another report. "We intercepted some of their 'study guides.' They appear normal, but our labs detected traces of specialized inks. UV-reactive compounds we couldn't identify."

  Victor pulled another file from his briefcase. "There's also this girl. Sophia Hess. She's undergone... significant changes over the past months." Victor laid out surveillance photos. "Previously aggressive, territorial. Had multiple disciplinary incidents. Now..." He spread before-and-after images across the desk.

  The photos showed a stark transformation. Earlier shots captured a lean, coiled-spring of a girl, stance radiating hostility. Recent images showed softer edges, both physically and in demeanor. Her posture is more relaxed, expression open.

  "She's been seen regularly at the Barnes residence, acting as caretaker for Mrs. Barnes. Our sources say she's practically moved in."

  Max studied the images. "And her relationship with the Hebert girl?"

  "That's the most telling part. Before this year, Hess was openly antagonistic toward Hebert. Multiple reported incidents of bullying, though nothing was ever proven. Now..." Victor slid forward a photo of Sophia and Taylor sharing lunch, Sophia accepting food with an eager smile. "She's practically domesticated."

  "The optics are... interesting." Max's lips curved. "A black girl, former bully, now playing servant to the white girl who 'put her in her place.' That would be a PR nightmare if this got out."

  "Especially given the racial undertones. The Empire could spin this-"

  Max put up his hand. "Blackmail is a possibility, but a last resort. This needs a... softer touch. We also should take care of a potential Teacher scenario."

  "Teacher?" Victor's brow furrowed.

  "Think about it. Young tinker specializing in mental manipulation through educational materials? The timing's suspicious. Teacher's been quiet since the Birdcage, but his network remains active."

  "You think she could be one of his?"

  Max stood, straightening his tie in the window's reflection. "Either way, we need to verify. Have Krieg reach out through his European contacts. If Teacher's involved, there will be a money trail."

  "And if she's independent?"

  "Then we proceed carefully." Max picked up Emma's headshot again. "Alan Barnes is ambitious. His daughter's modeling career is taking off. Perhaps Medhall's pharmaceutical division needs a fresh young face for our new anti-acne campaign."

  Victor nodded. "The father would be grateful for the opportunity."

  "Exactly. We build bridges, not walls. If this Hebert girl has found a way to improve cognitive function, physical performance..." Max's eyes gleamed. "Well, that's exactly the kind of breakthrough Medhall's research division has been looking for."

  "Sir, if I may - what about the effects on our recruitment?"

  "Sometimes, Victor, the direct approach isn't the best one. If these girls can enhance performance, imagine applying that on a larger scale. Why fight for the streets when we could own the boardrooms?" Max straightened a pen on his desk. "For now, we watch. Document everything. And most importantly - make sure our people at Winslow keep taking those study guides."

  Max settled into his chair, steepling his fingers. "Let's approach this from another angle. What's Winslow's current computer lab situation?"

  "Outdated. Most machines are over five years old. Half don't even boot anymore."

  "Perfect." Max pulled out a notepad. "Draft a proposal. Medhall's new educational outreach program - bringing technology to underprivileged schools. We'll start with a full lab renovation."

  Victor made notes. "Computers, printers, networking equipment."

  "Make it state of the art. Throw in some 3D printers, laser cutters. The kind of tools a young tinker would salivate over." Max's pen scratched across paper. "But deliver it in phases. Small donations first, gauge the response."

  "And our recruitment strategy?"

  "Time to evolve. These kids are responding to achievement, to success." Max stood, pacing. "So we show them what success looks like. Less street corner rhetoric, more... inspiration. Successful white professionals mentoring promising students."

  Victor nodded. "The savior angle."

  "Exactly. We're not attacking minorities - we're elevating everyone through proper guidance and leadership." Max's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Have our people dial back the racial rhetoric. Focus on excellence, achievement, proper values. The natural hierarchy will establish itself."

  "I'll adjust the messaging. And the equipment donations?"

  "Start next week. Nothing too flashy - just enough to catch a tinker's attention. Let's see what kind of breadcrumbs she follows."

  Taylor sprawled across Emma's bed, idly flipping through one of her study guides. "Did you see the test scores from Mr. Gladly's class?"

  "Ninety-two percent passing rate." Emma beamed from her vanity mirror, brushing her hair. "Even the gang kids are turning in homework now."

  "And sports? The track team destroyed their last meet."

  "Coach Wilson can't stop bragging about it." Emma set down her brush. "Oh! Did you hear? Medhall's donating a whole new computer lab. Brand new everything."

  Taylor sat up. "Really? That's... unexpected."

  "See? Your tech is changing things. People are noticing." Emma spun in her chair. "The good kind of noticing."

  "About that..." Taylor chewed her lip. "Blackwell called me in yesterday."

  Emma froze. "What happened?"

  "She knows something's up. Not the details, but..." Taylor flopped back on the bed. "She basically told me she doesn't want to know what I'm doing, just to keep doing it. Said the school board's thrilled with the improvements."

  "That's good though, right? Administrative support?"

  "I guess. Just feels weird having her basically give me permission to..." Taylor waved her hand vaguely.

  "To help everyone succeed?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Because that's what you're doing. Look at the difference in just one semester."

  Taylor rolled onto her stomach, picking at Emma's bedspread. "She offered me the old equipment from the computer lab too."

  "That's perfect! You needed more processors for-"

  "No, you don't get it." Taylor cut her off. "She basically winked and said some of the new stuff might get 'lost in transit' too."

  Emma's brush clattered to her vanity. "The principal suggested you steal school equipment?"

  "Not in those words, but yeah." Taylor buried her face in the comforter. "What kind of message is that sending to the person in charge of influencing minds?"

  "That she trusts you're using it for good?"

  Taylor lifted her head. "Or that everyone has their price. That ethics are flexible if the results look good enough."

  "You're overthinking this." Emma moved to sit on the bed. "The old equipment was going to be junked anyway. And if some of the new stuff helps more students succeed..."

  "That's what I'm worried about. It's too easy to justify. Help more kids, take a little more. Where does it stop?"

  "You're not Heartbreaker or Teacher. You're helping people learn, not turning them into slaves."

  "Through mind control." Taylor flopped onto her back. "Even if it's gentle. Even if they want it. I'm still changing how people think."

  "For the better! Look at Sophia-"

  "Exactly! Look at Sophia. We completely rewrote who she is. And now Blackwell's basically giving me permission to do it to the whole school."

  Emma was quiet for a moment. "Is that really such a bad thing?"

  Taylor stared at the ceiling, her fingers drumming against her stomach. "That's what scares me. Every time I see a problem now, my first thought is 'I could fix that with my tech.'"

  "And that's bad because...?"

  "Because I'm fifteen, Em! I shouldn't have this kind of power over people." Taylor rolled to face her friend. "Yesterday I caught myself thinking about how I could help the cafeteria staff be more efficient. Not with better equipment or training - with actual mind control."

  Emma pulled her legs up under her. "But you didn't do it."

  "No, but I wanted to. And that's the thing - it would work. It would make lunch better for everyone. The staff would probably even be happier, more fulfilled in their roles." Taylor pressed her palms against her eyes. "Just like Sophia's happier now. Just like the students are doing better."

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  "You're helping-"

  "I know! That's what makes it so hard to stop." Taylor's hands fell to her sides. "Everything I do works. Everything gets better. People improve. And each time it gets easier to justify the next step."

  Emma stayed quiet, watching her friend wrestle with the moral implications.

  "What happens when I decide to 'help' someone who doesn't want it? When I convince myself it's for their own good?" Taylor's voice dropped. "I already did that with Sophia. Sure, she's nicer now, but we basically erased who she was. And I keep thinking about doing it to others."

  Emma leaned forward, tucking her legs under her. "You know what my dad always says about being a lawyer? Every conversation is a negotiation."

  "That's different-"

  "Is it? Every time we talk to someone, we're trying to change their mind about something." Emma counted off on her fingers. "Teachers want to influence how we think about their subjects. My modeling coaches want to change how I present myself. Even ordering coffee involves convincing someone to make it exactly how you want."

  Taylor rolled onto her side. "But they have a choice whether to listen."

  "Do they? Really?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Society basically forces kids to sit in classrooms for twelve years, absorbing whatever teachers tell them to think. Parents shape their kids' entire worldview before they're old enough to question it. How is that different from what you do?"

  "Because I'm literally rewriting their brains!"

  "And words don't? Everything we experience changes our brains - that's literally how learning works." Emma shifted closer. "You're just more efficient at it. Instead of spending years trying to convince someone to be better, you can help them get there faster."

  Taylor frowned. "That sounds like justifying mind control."

  "I'm saying maybe it's not as different from normal human interaction as you think." Emma shrugged. "Everyone tries to influence everyone else. Through words, through actions, through peer pressure. You're just more honest about it."

  "And more effective," Taylor muttered.

  "Exactly! Instead of letting people fumble around trying to improve themselves, you can actually help them get there." Emma gestured toward the window. "Look what you did for the school. For Sophia. They're both better off now."

  "But-"

  "But nothing. You're not forcing anyone to be evil or hurt others. You're helping them be their best selves." Emma poked Taylor's shoulder. "The only difference is you can do it without all the messy trial and error the rest of us have to go through."

  Taylor sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "Maybe you're right. But that just makes it scarier. If I can justify anything..."

  "That's why you have me." Emma bumped Taylor's shoulder with her own. "Your personal ethics alarm. If you start going supervillain, I'll let you know."

  "Promise?"

  "Cross my heart." Emma drew an X over her chest. "Besides, you're way too much of a goody-two-shoes to go full evil mastermind. You felt guilty about taking outdated computer parts the school was throwing away."

  Taylor managed a small laugh. "True. And I guess having Blackwell on board does make things easier. No more sneaking around with the announcements system."

  "See? Now you can focus on important things. Like helping me pass chemistry this semester." Emma flopped back on the bed. "Seriously, why haven't you made me better at science yet?"

  "Because someone told me I needed to work on my self-control." Taylor poked Emma's side. "And because you'd never learn anything if I just downloaded it into your brain."

  "Ugh, fine. Be responsible." Emma rolled her eyes. "But can you at least make the study guides a little stronger? Just for me?"

  "Nope. You get the same ones as everyone else." Taylor stood up, stretching. "Consider it practice for my ethical restraint."

  "You're the worst best friend ever." Emma threw a pillow at her. "Using me as your moral compass AND making me actually study."

  "That's what friends are for." Taylor caught the pillow and tossed it back. "Someone has to keep the mind-controlling tinker honest."

  "And someone has to keep the honest tinker from overthinking everything." Emma sat up. "Now come on, help me with these notes. No mind control required."

  Madison perched on the edge of a cafeteria table, her legs swinging. "Did you see the track team's times? We actually beat Arcadia in the qualifying rounds."

  "Not just track." Julia scrolled through her phone. "Chess club destroyed them last week. Like, completely wiped the floor with them."

  "About time." Charlotte adjusted her glasses. "I'm sick of them acting so superior just because they've got fancy facilities."

  The girls clustered around their usual lunch spot, picking at salads and comparing notes on recent events.

  "My cousin at Arcadia's getting nervous." Madison grinned. "Says their principal called an emergency meeting about 'maintaining academic standards' after our SAT prep scores came out."

  "Please." Julia rolled her eyes. "They're just mad because we're finally giving them real competition. Did you know our GPA average is only point-two below theirs now?"

  "Point-one-eight," Charlotte corrected. "And rising. My calc study group's killing it lately."

  "Speaking of study groups." Madison lowered her voice. "Everyone's fighting over Taylor and Emma's guides. Even the seniors are trying to get copies."

  "I heard Principal Blackwell's starting some kind of exchange program." Julia leaned in. "Like, sharing our study methods with other schools."

  "Yeah right." Charlotte snorted. "Like Arcadia would ever admit they need our help. They're too busy bragging about their 'superior learning environment' and perfect attendance records."

  "Well, they won't be bragging for long." Madison's eyes gleamed. "Coach Wilson says we might actually have a shot at states this year. In multiple sports."

  "God, can you imagine their faces?" Julia clasped her hands together dramatically. "The mighty Arcadia, defeated by little old Winslow?"

  "We've still got work to do though." Charlotte tapped her notebook. "The language department needs help, and don't get me started on the art programs."

  "One step at a time." Madison hopped off the table. "But at least now? We've got a real chance."

  "So..." Julia dragged out the word. "Speaking of competition, who's everyone crushing on these days?"

  Madison's cheeks flushed pink. "I'm actually seeing someone."

  "What?" Charlotte sat up straight. "Since when?"

  "A few weeks." Madison twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "But I don't want to jinx it by talking about it."

  "Oh come on." Julia nudged her. "At least give us a hint. What grade?"

  Madison shook her head, lips sealed but smiling.

  "Fine, keep your secrets." Charlotte turned to their senior friend. "What about you Sarah? Got any college plans lined up?"

  Sarah stretched, her letterman jacket riding up. "I mean, yeah, probably college. My parents keep pushing for it."

  "But?" Julia prompted.

  "But honestly?" Sarah shrugged. "I'm more interested in finding the right guy and settling down. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd rather get my MRS degree than spend four years stressed about finals."

  "Seriously?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

  "What? There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a wife and mother." Sarah defended. "Besides, have you seen how much college costs these days? I'd rather put that money toward a house."

  "No judgment." Madison raised her hands. "Different strokes and all that."

  "Plus," Sarah grinned, "there's this super cute pre-med student who comes into the coffee shop where I work..."

  "Now that's the kind of detail we want." Julia leaned forward eagerly. "Spill."

  "It is weird though." Charlotte furrowed her brow. "Like, when did all this start? Last semester we were-"

  The PA system crackled to life, soft instrumental music drifting beneath Principal Blackwell's voice. "Good afternoon students. A reminder that chess club meets today after school in room 204. The track team-"

  Madison perked up. "Oh! That reminds me - did you guys hear about Sarah's new workout routine? She swears it doubled her endurance in just two weeks."

  "The one from the study guide?" Julia pulled out a worn notebook. "I've been meaning to try that. My serve's still weak and volleyball tryouts are coming up."

  "You should totally join." Charlotte nodded along to the announcements' background melody. "The team could use someone with your height."

  "Speaking of height." Madison giggled. "Have you seen how much muscle Greg's put on since joining weightlifting? Who knew he had it in him?"

  "Right?" Julia's eyes widened. "And he's actually talking to people now. Like, full conversations without stammering."

  "The whole school's different." Charlotte started gathering her things as the lunch bell approached. "Remember when we used to have fights in the hallways every other day?"

  "Can't remember the last time I saw any gang colors." Madison stood, stretching. "Hey, want to hit the library? I heard they just got those new study carrels with the built-in white noise machines."

  The girls packed up, their earlier questioning forgotten as they discussed afternoon plans, the soft music from the PA system fading out behind Principal Blackwell's final announcements.

  Max Anders adjusted his tie as he walked through Winslow's main entrance, flanked by his PR team and school board representatives. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air - maintenance crews had worked through the weekend to prepare for this media event.

  Principal Blackwell wrung her hands. "Mr. Anders, this donation from Medhall is unprecedented. Thirty new computer stations, upgraded networking infrastructure..."

  "Please, call me Max." He flashed his practiced smile at the news cameras. "Medhall believes in investing in our community's future. These young minds represent tomorrow's scientists, researchers, innovators."

  The tour proceeded through freshly-cleaned halls to the computer lab. Students in clean attire demonstrated educational software, their posture perfect, answers rehearsed.

  "Notice how engaged they are," Blackwell gestured to a group hunched over their screens. "Our academic scores have improved dramatically this semester."

  "Excellence breeds excellence." Max nodded to a blonde student wearing an Empire tattoo poorly hidden under his sleeve. "We're adjusting our youth outreach programs as well. Less focus on division, more on elevation. Showing these kids what they could achieve with the right guidance, the right opportunities."

  "The Empire's changing their tune," Victor murmured as they exited the lab. "Recruitment pamphlets now talk about 'preserving European cultural heritage' and 'advancing Western civilization.' Photos of successful professionals instead of street fights."

  "Times change. Methods adapt." Max murmured back before pausing to shake hands with a teacher. "Our people tell me the Hebert girl's been scrounging parts from surplus stores, dumpster diving behind electronics shops. A proper lab setup might catch her attention."

  "The equipment's clean?"

  "Triple-checked. Nothing traceable." Max straightened a 'Medhall Supports Education' banner. "Sometimes the best way to catch a mouse is to lay out cheese and wait."

  Skidmark kicked open the door of the Merchants' hideout, a stack of study guides clutched in his trembling hands. His dilated pupils darted across the grimy walls covered in spray paint.

  "These fuckin' books are a goddamn conspiracy!" He slammed them onto a table, scattering needles and empty beer cans. "Look at this shit - proper nouns all capitalized like they're better than the other words!"

  Squealer looked up from her latest vehicle modification, grease smeared across her face. "You're high as balls again."

  "Nah nah, you ain't seeing the big picture baby." He jabbed his finger at a page. "These fancy-ass grammar nazis think they can tell us when to use big letters? That's what's wrong with society!"

  "Holy hell, Skids." Squealer dropped her wrench. "We got actual problems with the Empire moving into our territory and you're worried about capital letters?"

  Skidmark paced, his stained jacket flapping. "We're gonna show them! Gonna write everything in lowercase. That'll teach those punctuation fascists!"

  "Round up the crew!" He shouted to the handful of strung-out Merchants lounging on ratty couches. "We're gonna hit the library! Liberate all them words from their capitalist oppression!"

  "It's capitalization, not capitalism you moron." Squealer buried her face in her hands.

  "Same difference! Both keeping the little letters down!" Skidmark grabbed a can of spray paint. "First we free the I's - why's it gotta be uppercase when it's alone? That's discrimination!"

  "I'm going back to work on my truck." Squealer stood up. "Try not to get arrested over the alphabet."

  "You'll see! This is bigger than all of us!" Skidmark waved the study guide like a battle flag. "Tonight we ride against proper grammar! No words left behind!"

  The other Merchants just stared, too high to comprehend their leader's crusade against capitalization.

  Taylor traced her finger along the embossed golden lettering of the invitation. The heavy cream cardstock practically screamed expensive.

  "Dad, look what came in the mail." She held up the envelope. "Medhall's hosting their annual Halloween gala. They're inviting top students from local schools."

  Danny adjusted his glasses, examining the invitation. "That's quite prestigious. Though I'm not sure about you attending a corporate party..."

  "Emma got one too." Taylor pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. "Her dad says it's legitimate. Apparently they do this every year for promising students."

  "The pharmaceutical company?" Danny's brow furrowed. "I remember when they used to send representatives to the union meetings. Always trying to get dock workers to sign up for their medical trials."

  Emma burst through the front door, waving her own invitation. "Taylor! Did you get yours? We have to go shopping. I'm thinking something in forest green for you brings out your eyes."

  "I haven't even said yes yet." Taylor shot her father a pleading look.

  "Well..." Danny rubbed his chin. "I suppose if Alan's letting Emma go..."

  "Perfect!" Emma grabbed Taylor's arm. "Mom's taking me to get a dress tomorrow. Come with us?"

  Taylor folded the invitation carefully. "It'll be nice to dress up for once. Though I'm surprised Medhall's interested in Winslow students."

  "Why wouldn't they be?" Emma twirled, already planning outfit combinations. "Our test scores are way up. The whole school's improving."

  Taylor's room hadn't changed much since middle school - same astronomy posters, same overflowing bookshelf. Emma flopped onto the bed while Taylor settled into her desk chair.

  "A masquerade ball." Taylor pulled up images on her laptop. "At least the mask will help with my nerves."

  "Sophia's pretty upset she didn't make the cut." Emma examined her nails. "Though her grades aren't exactly stellar."

  "She's been... different lately." Taylor minimized a window showing complex diagrams. "More focused on helping your mom than schoolwork."

  "Speaking of different." Emma sat up, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I heard through the modeling agency that there might be some interesting people at this party. Including a certain someone's son."

  "What are you plotting?"

  "Nothing." Emma stretched like a cat. "Just that Medhall's CEO has a boy about our age. Very private, very mysterious. Perfect masquerade material."

  Taylor rolled her eyes. "I'm not looking for some fairy tale romance."

  "Come on, every genius needs her prince charming." Emma grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest. "Someone who appreciates that big brain of yours."

  "You've been reading too many romance novels." Taylor clicked through mask designs. "Besides, I doubt any CEO's son would look twice at me."

  "You'd be surprised." Emma's smile turned knowing. "Sometimes the quiet ones are exactly what you need." Her eye's widened. "I just had the best idea."

  Emma dragged Taylor through the agency's glass doors, past racks of designer clothes and bustling assistants.

  "Trust me, Marissa owes me a favor. She'll hook us up with the perfect dresses."

  A willowy woman with platinum hair clicked over on stilettos. "Emma, darling! And this must be your friend."

  "Taylor." Emma beamed. "We need something spectacular for the Medhall gala."

  Marissa circled Taylor, professional eye assessing. "Hmm. Lovely bone structure. Height's good for couture. But we'll need to do something about that hair."

  "What's wrong with my hair?" Taylor's hand flew to her curls.

  "Nothing a good stylist can't fix." Marissa clapped her hands. "Girls, let's make magic happen."

  The next hour dissolved into a whirlwind of fabric and pins. Taylor found herself squeezed into dresses worth more than her dad's monthly salary while Emma twirled in flowing silks.

  "Perfect!" Marissa held up an emerald gown against Taylor's frame. "But of course, nothing's free. We'll need some test shots for the junior line."

  "Test shots?" Taylor froze.

  "Just a few photos. Emma can show you the poses." Marissa gestured to the photography setup. "Think of it as practice for the gala."

  Emma adjusted Taylor's hair under the lights. "Relax. Pretend you're working in your lab."

  "My lab doesn't have spotlights." But Taylor tried to loosen her shoulders as the camera clicked.

  "Turn slightly left." The photographer directed. "Now pretend you're sharing a secret."

  Emma leaned in, whispering, "Just imagine everyone at the gala when they see you in this dress."

  Taylor managed a genuine smile, the camera capturing the moment.

  "Beautiful!" Marissa scrolled through the photos. "These will work perfectly for the fall campaign. Now, about those gala dresses..."

  It was the night of the gala. Emma emerged from behind the dressing screen in a sweep of crimson and black silk. The dress hugged her curves, the bodice a deep blood red that faded to midnight at the hem. Delicate black lace overlay traced up from the floor-length skirt, creating the illusion of shadows climbing the fabric. The sweetheart neckline plunged just enough to be daring while staying elegant, edged with intricate beadwork that caught the light like drops of dew.

  "The back is the best part," Emma spun, revealing the corset-style lacing that zigzagged down her spine, red ribbon against black mesh.

  Taylor stepped out next, and even Marissa gasped. Her gown seemed to absorb light, the black fabric so deep it appeared almost liquid. Silver threads wove through the material in an asymmetrical pattern, creating an ethereal web that shifted with every movement. The dress clung to her frame before floating out at the hips in layers of gossamer and tulle.

  "The mask completes it." Emma handed Taylor a delicate silver creation.

  The spider mask was a masterwork of metalwork and crystal, curving around Taylor's eyes and extending delicate legs across her cheekbones. Tiny gems studded the joints, throwing rainbow prisms when she turned her head.

  "The contrast is perfect," Marissa adjusted Emma's crimson choker, a black crystal pendant nestled at the hollow of her throat. "Light and dark, predator and prey."

  "Though which is which?" Emma smirked, sliding on long black gloves that reached past her elbows. Her hair fell in carefully styled waves, the red a stark contrast against the dark fabric.

  Taylor's own gloves were fingerless black lace, the silver threading matching her dress. Her dark curls had been tamed into an elaborate updo, strategic strands left loose to frame the mask.

  "We look like we stepped out of a gothic fairy tale," Taylor turned, watching the silver threads catch the light.

  A sleek White limousine pulled up to the curb, the chrome gleaming under the streetlights. The driver stepped out, his uniform crisp and professional.

  "Compliments of Mr. Anders, ladies."

  Emma squealed and grabbed Taylor's arm. "A limo! Can you believe it?"

  The driver opened the door with a flourish, revealing a plush leather interior lit by soft blue ambient lighting. A bottle of sparkling cider chilled in an ice bucket.

  "Oh my god, oh my god." Taylor bounced on her toes, careful not to disturb her elaborate hairstyle. "This is like something out of a movie."

  They slid into the back seat, their dresses rustling against the leather. Emma immediately reached for the cider, popping the cork with practiced ease.

  "To us." She poured two flutes. "And our grand debut."

  Taylor took a sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. "I can't believe we're actually going to a real gala. With actual important people."

  "Important people who want to meet us." Emma preened, checking her lipstick in a compact mirror. "Did you see the guest list? Half the city's elite will be there."

  The limo glided through the streets of downtown Brockton Bay, the girls pointing out landmarks through the tinted windows. The Medhall building rose before them, its modern glass facade illuminated from within. A red carpet stretched from the entrance, lined with potted plants and security personnel in dark suits.

  "Look at all the photographers!" Emma pressed her face to the window. "This is better than any modeling event I've been to."

  The limo joined the queue of expensive cars waiting to drop off guests. Taylor squeezed Emma's hand, both of them practically vibrating with excitement.

  "This is going to be the best night ever," Emma declared as they pulled up to the entrance.