Page 111 of Prey It By Ear

There’s a brief commotion, a shuffle of feet and a suppressed giggle before two first-years streak past the reading tables, barely daring a glance at either of us as they flee for their lives. Aubrey watches them go, arms folded, then shakes his head as he returns to me.

“I like it when you scare the dickheads,” I say, dropping my bag on the table closest to his desk. “It’s kind of hot.”

He snorts, but there’s pride in it. “No one will ever disrespect my mate in my presence, not even the Council’s favored offspring.” That said, the dragon settles onto the chair opposite me uncomfortably. “Now. How did your morning go? Anything new we need to deal with?”

“Rockland tried to bait me again,” I sigh glumly. “I kept my face as flat as possible, hit record on my phone, and let Bowser stroke his crossbow in the corner like the world’s most happy-faced threat. She didn’t like that much, but it’s not like she can escalate from ‘insulting my entire existence’ to actual violence and get away with it. At least, not yet.”

Aubrey laughs—a real, belly-deep one—and the sound is so amazing I want to record it for proof. “You’re getting better at keeping your cool, lunchable. Most people would have buckled under all this stress and pressure by now, but you are continually adapting to rise above it.”

“I don’t have the luxury of letting it stop me,” I say before I take a huge bite of the sandwich and lick sriracha from my fingers. “Even when I have a group project to turn in with no help, or the Heathers will make it a fucking spectacle.”

He frowns. “Do you think they’ll show this time?”

I lean back and stare at the ceiling, counting each ornate molding to calm my nerves. “If they’re going to, it’ll be during my lunch window today. If not, the only option is tomorrow night, after closing and before our Friday class. Which means if they bail again, I’m going into the presentation blind.”

“What if they never show up at all?”

Shrugging, I take another bite, swallow, and then give a rueful expression. “Then I do the whole thing myself, they add in whatever, and the Khan cousin decides what our grade is without addressing their bullshit. It’s not like I’m going to out-argue him, but at least I won’t be labeled the one who tanked the assignment.”

Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, Aubrey tilts his head curiously. “Show me what you have so far.”

I pull my tablet from the bag, open the document, and slide it over to him. He reads it quietly, his lips moving as he does so. I’m glad I cleaned up the typos and passive voice before coming in here because he’d definitely notice them. He and Rennie are the best editors, and they demand perfection each time they review my work.

When he’s done, the big guy slides it back and nods, his chin tilted up like a king bestowing a knighthood. “This is very good, snack-size. You said exactly what the Khan wants to hear without giving him a single thing he can use against you. You’ve even hedged the family legacy part enough that no one can call you disloyal.”

I feel my shoulders drop a full inch. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says as he grins. “The only thing I’d change is the wording on the bit about Council seats. Make it sound a little more neutral so you’re not calling your mother out for illegal tricks to keep her power. Let history speak for itself.”

Nodding, I scribble a note in the margin and then let the silence stretch as I consider what he said. For a long, peaceful minute, the only sound is the old library clock ticking away the seconds.

After a while, I say, “I’m so tired of this, Aubrey. Not just the group project, but the way everyone’s on edge all the time. Sometimes I wish I could just run away and live in a big castle with you guys as my dragon horde.”

“You could. We’d build you one full of first editions, cozy blankets, and toys. Fitzgerald could sneak in snacks through the ventilation system. We’d never have to deal with anyone unless we wanted to.”

I laugh, feeling the last dregs of the morning’s rage dissipate. I eat a few more bites of my food, mostly for effect, and let the weight of the world go slack again for a few precious minutes. “But that’s not who we are, right?”

The look he gives me is knowing and fond as he murmurs, “No, it isn’t. We’re all far too committed to righting wrongs to do that kind of cowardly shit.”

Bully for us, but it’s become fucking exhausting, so this hero thing better work out soon.

The Batman Theme

Fitz

I hit the stairs at a dead sprint the second my last class lets out, mentally tabbing through everything that needs to line up so I can do what I’ve planned. By the time I reach the quad, I’ve already pre-mapped the kill box (the staff housing units), checked the security cam feed, and updated the group chat so the home crew knows I’ll be working late for plausible deniability.

I see Dolly’s group project email still sitting unanswered on my phone, and for a half-second, my heart hurts because she did everything right. The Heathers will one hundred percent twist it into another fuck-you parade by Friday, and she’ll have a bad day.

I’ve got a thing or two to teach those overgrown Chihuahuas about psychological warfare before this semester ends, though.

The main drag is clogged with a herd of post-session canids, so I shortcut over by the lake and head for the paths to the staff housing beyond the admin building. My shoes squeak as I hit the pavement, so I make a note to replace the soles, then remind myself I’ll be swapping them out for Dolly’s black ballet flats before the actual op. The point is not just to break into Rockland’s shithole and ruin more of her semester, but to do it in a way that leaves her unable to pin down who is fucking with her and why. Style points matter, especially when I’ve done such a good job so far. The goal is to either keep her occupied so she can’t bother my Baby Girl or have her lose her shit in such an irredeemable way that Midori has to put her on leave.

Once I get to my location, I take the gym bag I prepared earlier off my chest and duck behind the buildings into the liminal space where they back up against the mountains. I strip off my hoodie and pull on the dark compression shirt. It’s not about blending in; it’s about minimizing forensic evidence. I picked the tightest black joggers I own, donning them in a flash and then putting my feet into Dolly’s old ballet flats. Luckily her big bunny thumpers are about the same size as my feet because the tread pattern is unidentifiable and they make zero sound even on linoleum. I do a little shuffle as I adjust everything, leaving the clothes bag stowed by a basement access door.

I pick up my backpack next. It’s loaded with micro-cams, a spool of hair-thin cable for hard-wire connections, a mini multi-tool with enough blades and picks to make a Boy Scout wet himself, my lock-pick set, and the Bluetooth tap module I built last year. I check and recheck each item, snapping everything back into pouches in the order I’ll need them. My phone goes in an armband and is running my custom app: it displays a live schematic of the staff housing, overlays the access point MAC addresses, and will log every device I pop or plant in the next hour.

It’s time to wreck it, baby.