Page 102 of The Bargain

Desdemona is such a conductor. Her siblings never feel the impact because she absorbs it all. Every blow meant for them stops at her skin, which looks perfect from the outside but is crawling with impact.

But even the best Faraday cage corrodes, eventually.

If I could, I’d enclose her inside another layer of metal—I’d be the shell around her shell. Let the current hit me instead, let her stay field-free, neutral, untouched and unburned, truly unscathed.

The doors to the exam hall slam open. Men pour in like a catastrophic flood, blocking out the daylight. There are five police officers, one of them listening to something on his radio. Their faces are closed and dark. You’d think they’re here to arrest a serial killer.

Mr Mazzati starts and rushes towards them, already frowning, already angry. I sit back in my chair, dropping the pen from my hand. It clatters to the table with a dull sound, the impact absorbed by my exam paper.

“Can’t this wait?” Mr Mazzati is snapping. “This is entirely inappropriate, what⁠—”

But the police officers ignore him. They barge past him, pouring into the ranks of desks, all converging towards the same point. More people are rushing in through the door: two men in suits, then Mrs Pointon, the head of science, and Mr Farzan, the exams officer, and finally, Mr North, the headmaster, looking pale and grim and seething with repressed fury.

“Elias Lennox?” says the police officer who reaches me first.

“Yep.”

“You’re under arrest.”

I shrug. “Sure.”

Then the police officers are grabbing me, shoving me roughly up to my feet by my uniform. One of them is reading me my rights, which, on paper, are the same as anyone else’s. I grimace as they wrench my arms behind my back, hard like I’m resisting, because in their eyes, my shrug and my indifference are acts of resistance.

Because to them, a kid like me not showing deference or shame is the ultimate show of defiance. A crime in and of itself.

“He’s an adolescent, not a hardened criminal! He’s done absolutely nothing to warrant this kind of treatment!” Mr Mazzati is bellowing. “This is outrageous—Mr North!”

Mr North, flanked by the two men in suits—lawyers, I’m guessing—who entered with him, is silent. His back is to the wall, just like it was when his own son was beaten up a few years back. He can do nothing but watch as the police officers drag me through an aisle of desks, my hips and thighs banging painfully into them as I’m pushed unceremoniously forward.

All around me, rich kids are looking up, wide-eyed and shocked at witnessing something that must feel entirely alien in their world. Benjamin Montgomery is flushed with indignance; Gabriel North, the headmaster’s son, is the only one who seems unsurprised. He nods at me when I walk past him, and I grin back. He was a great partner in physics, and I reckon he’s nowhere near as angelic as he looks.

Guess I’ll never find out.

When the police officers shove me towards the door, Mr North’s eyes meet mine in a silent apology. I nod to him exactly the same way his son just nodded to me.

And then I’m being dragged out of the exam hall. My backpack is left behind among all the rest, full of past papers I needn’t have bothered filling out, revision notes that, ultimately, won’t be of any use to me anymore.

Mr North, trying to keep pace with me, speaks quietly.

“Elias, we’ve tried to contact the Pearsons. They might be able to get you a lawyer, but⁠—”

The Pearsons won’t save me. They’ll just help the Hastings bury me.

“Don’t worry about it, sir.”

“I know you didn’t do it, alright? It’s just a matter of clearing things up, and⁠—”

“Sir.” I stop in my tracks, shoving back against the cops that have been propelling me forward. I meet Mr North’s gaze head-on. “I did it, alright? So don’t worry about a lawyer or anything like that. There’s nothing to defend.”

And this time, when the officers shove me forward, so hard I trip and almost keel forward, Mr North falls behind and disappears from my line of sight.

Outside, in the courtyard, the show continues: the production has pulled out all the stops. There are police cars with flashing lights, more Hastings lawyers, more police officers. Teachers try to herd students back into the buildings, but they’re surrounding the courtyard, hanging from every window. I spot familiar faces: Blaise’s appalled frown, Dimitri leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, head tilted in a wolfish expression, calculating and predatory.

The shame that makes my face burn is an old feeling, all too familiar. I look away from them all.

What’s the Brotherhood going to do for me now? Montgomery isn’t yet prime minister, Blackwood isn’t a duke yet, Kavinski’s kingdom waits for him far from here, in Russia.

Besides, I’m not naive. I know how rich kids work. They collect friends like accessories: if they drop a glove in the mud, they don’t need to bother picking it up. They can just leave it there and buy a new one.