Zoey's alarm went off at 7:15 AM and she considered destroying her phone.
Just a quick squeeze. The screen would crack, the battery would pop, and the horrible sound that dragged her out of the most comfortable position she'd found in hours would stop forever. Her Body stat could handle it. Her bank account could replace it. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that Angelica would somehow find out and be very disappointed in her.
She slapped the phone silent and sat up.
The dorm room at Starlight University was, by any reasonable standard, obscene. Five-star hotel energy from floor to ceiling. Designer carpet, solid wood door with an individual key lock, enough square footage to fit her old bedroom twice over with room to spare. The morning sun came through the window at the angle that made the whole room glow warm and golden, which was the same angle that sold her on this place during the campus tour with her parents. Her weight equipment took up one corner. Her gaming setup took up another. A framed photo of her on the Olympic podium sat on the shelf because Tiffany put it there and Zoey kept "forgetting" to take it down.
The body next to her hadn't moved.
Jamie Hollis was face down in her sheets, one arm hanging off the mattress, his back bare and marked with scratches that definitely weren't there when he came over last night. His breathing was the slow, heavy rhythm of someone whose soul had temporarily left his body. His legs were tangled in the blanket like he'd been fighting it in his sleep, and knowing what she'd put him through, he probably had been.
'We killed him,' Inner Zoey observed.
'He's breathing.'
'Barely. Look at him. That man is hanging on by a thread.'
'He said he could keep up.'
'He says that every time. And every time, we prove him wrong. At what point does this become domestic abuse?'
Zoey swung her legs off the bed. She was in her panties and nothing else, which was standard for any night Jamie stayed over. Clothes didn't survive. That was just a fact of her life now. The soundproof walls that she'd been so excited about during the campus tour had proven their worth several times over this semester. Several times over last night alone, actually.
She stood up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor. Sniffed them. Acceptable. Sports bra from the dresser. Hoodie from the back of the chair. Socks that didn't match because matching socks always found a way to not be a thing the longer you lived in a place.
She looked down at Jamie again. He was out cold. The boy who talked a mile a minute, who texted her good morning every single day like it was a religious obligation, who once drove a bleeding stranger home because he was a fan and that's just the kind of person he was. That same boy was currently drooling into her pillow with his body arranged in a position that suggested his muscles had given up on cooperating with each other sometime around round three.
'He lasted longer than last time,' Inner Zoey noted.
'Did he though?'
'... No. But he made more noise. That counts for something.'
'Bitch, he was begging.'
'And it was fucking adorable.'
Zoey leaned down and pressed her lips against the back of his neck. Jamie made a sound that could generously be described as human and did not move a single other part of his body. She pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, grabbed her bag and keys, and left.
The hallway outside her dorm was quiet this early. Most of Starlight's students didn't have the discipline to be up before nine, which was fine by Zoey. Less people to recognize her, less phones aimed at her face, less of the specific awkwardness that came with being an Olympic gold medalist and undefeated FTL world champion trying to walk to class in sweatpants and mismatched socks.
She took the elevator down past the rooftop with its infinity pool and hot tubs, past the floors of luxury suites, and stepped out into the morning air. Starlight's campus was everything the tour guide Miguel had promised and then some. Wide pathways, buildings that looked expensive because they were, the StarHub complex visible across the quad with its massive gym that had made her consider leaving her home equipment behind. She hadn't. But she'd considered it.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked it while walking.
Group chat. Callie and Katlyn.
Katlyn: spring break in 9 days. i already booked the rental. three bedrooms, ocean view, hot tub on the balcony. zoey you are not bringing work
Callie: IF SHE BRINGS BOXING GLOVES ON THIS TRIP I WILL PHYSICALLY THROW THEM INTO THE OCEAN. I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH THEY COST. INTO THE WATER THEY GO.
Katlyn: she's bringing them
Callie: i know but i want it ON RECORD that i said no
Zoey typed back: i won't bring gloves
Callie: LIAR. LIAR LIAR LIAR. YOU BROUGHT THEM TO MY GRADUATION WEEKEND AT BLUE RIDGE. YOU BROUGHT THEM TO KATLYN'S BIRTHDAY AT GOLDEN GATE. YOU WILL BRING THEM TO THIS TRIP AND I WILL THROW THEM INTO THE PACIFIC.
Katlyn: atlantic
Callie: WHICHEVER OCEAN IS CLOSEST TO THE RENTAL I WILL THROW THEM INTO THAT ONE
Zoey put her phone away with a grin. Nine days. A week of doing nothing with her two oldest friends from the normal side of her life. No cases, no unification meetings, no Angelica scheduling her existence into fifteen-minute blocks. Just the beach and her homegirls.
She wouldn't bring the gloves this time. But she'd still train on the balcony while they slept in.
Her phone buzzed again before she made it across the quad.
Coach Scott: ESPN wants to do a feature on the gym. Full crew. They want both of us for interviews.
Zoey: when
Coach Scott: Next month. I'll handle the details. Just show up and don't say anything crazy.
Zoey: so don't talk
Coach Scott: Exactly. Stand there, look scary, let me do the magic. I've been practicing my sound bites. Listen to this one: "I saw it in her eyes the first day she walked into my gym." Good right?
Zoey: you've used that one in every interview for the past year
Coach Scott: BECAUSE IT'S TRUE AND IT SOUNDS GREAT. You don't fix what isn't broken, kid.
The man was insufferable. Completely and utterly insufferable, and she loved every second of it. Coach Scott had done three magazine features, two podcasts, and a local news segment in the last month alone. All of them featured the same talking points delivered with the same smug grin on his fat, bald, beautiful face. "An Olympic gold medalist and an undefeated FTL world champion, both trained under my roof." He said it like he was reciting religious scripture.
His gym was the most famous boxing gym in the world now. Fighters from all over the world trying to get in. He'd expanded twice and was planning a third location. Her students, the kids she'd taught when they were barely old enough to make a fist, were tearing through circuits worldwide. Dylan ranked number one in the FTL lightweight division. Clementine undefeated in six fights. The gym was a factory and Coach Scott sat at the center of it like a fat spider that had caught every fly it ever wanted.
The walk to her morning class took her past the dining hall, which had more fast food options than her entire neighborhood back in Krey ever had. Here, she could get anything she wanted at any hour.
She slid into her seat in the lecture hall three minutes before the professor started. The class was easy. Everything academic was easy now. Her Mental stat meant she could read a textbook once and hold most of it, process lectures in real time, write papers in a single sitting that came back with grades she didn't feel like she earned. She was three times sharper than anyone else in the room and it didn't matter because she still didn't want to do the homework.
Laziness scaled with intelligence. Universal law. The smarter you got, the more creative your excuses for not doing shit became.
'Pay attention,' Inner Zoey said.
'I am.'
'You're drawing shit on your notebook again.'
'I can multitask.'
'It doesn't even look good. Why don't you learn to draw well at least?'
'Why don't you learn to shut the fuck up?'
'What the fuck did you say to me, you little fucking bitch?'
Halfway through the lecture, her phone vibrated. Text from Alexander.
It was a selfie. Him and Lindsay holding their official A-Grade insignias. Lindsay with a wide smile on her face, something that is rarely seen. Alexander throwing a peace sign with that stupid pink hair of his catching the light. Below the photo: We did it!! Youngest A-Grade magjistars in decades!! Lindsay already updated her portfolio. Three times.
Zoey stared at the photo.
Alexander and Lindsay. The student council duo who introduced her to the magji world at Sun Valley High. The boy she'd punched square in the face because she thought he was going to kill her. The girl who couldn't look at her for weeks. Two magjistars who had no business being anywhere near A-Grade at their age, and yet here they were, holding the proof with their own hands.
She'd taught them. She figured it was because of her teaching skill they reached this far.
She typed back: nice job you two. Go wipe out them daemons.
Alexander's reply was instant: Lindsay's already been recruited by three other OM branches. She's ranking them by benefits package.
Sounds like Lindsay, Zoey sent.
She's already being offered high positions on councils. A lot of other branches are really interested in her magji fighting league idea. She's to help them create their own and work out any kinks.
Zoey nearly laughed out loud in the lecture hall. She put her phone away and went back to drawing on her notebook.
Class ended. She gathered her stuff and walked out into the hallway where Tiffany was waiting for her.
Leaning against the wall with her purple hair in a high ponytail, wearing a Starlight sweater she'd cut into a crop top, reading a textbook that Zoey was fairly certain wasn't for any class either of them were enrolled in.
"How was class?" Tiffany fell into step beside her.
"Boring."
"Mine was boring too! But I got a 97 on my midterm!" She held up her phone showing the grade with the enthusiasm of a child who'd discovered fire.
"How are you even here?" Zoey had been asking this question since the semester started and had yet to receive a satisfying answer. Tiffany had been an assassin. A literal, professional, Grade-A assassin. Her educational background should consist entirely of killing people in creative ways. And yet here she was, enrolled at one of the top universities in the country, passing every class, turning in assignments on time, getting better grades than half the student body.
"I took the placement exams! Like a regular girl!" Tiffany said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"With what education?"
"I was raised in the normal world too, remember?! Plus you'd be amazed how much free time you get between contracts. I read so many books in safe houses. Science, history, philosophy, romance novels, cookbooks, field guides for identifying poisonous plants..." She counted on her fingers. "I also did online certificate programs! Did you know you can get certified in Data Analytics for free? I have three of them."
'She's better at life than us,' Inner Zoey said flatly.
'Its so fucking embarassing.'
'She was a killer, Zoey. A professional killer. And she has better study habits than we do.'
'I refuse to acknowledge it, you dumb bitch.'
'I'd beat your ass, bitch!'
They walked across the quad together. Tiffany had, against all odds, become a campus fixture. She was aggressively social in a way that made Zoey's introverted soul shrivel up and die, but it also meant she knew half the student body by name within the first semester. People waved at her constantly. She waved back at every single one. She'd joined two clubs, a study group, and intramural volleyball despite having never touched a volleyball in her life. She was thriving, which was both impressive and deeply unfair.
"Oh! Before I forget!" Tiffany spun to walk backward, facing Zoey while somehow not colliding with anyone. Assassin spatial awareness. "I saved you a muffin this morning. Blueberry. Because I know you like blueberry even though you said you don't, but I saw you eat three of them at that bakery last week. You bypassed chocolate chip for blueberry. Three times."
"I don't like blueberry."
"The evidence says otherwise, Z."
"Evidence smevidence."
"You're so cute, you know that?" Tiffany grinned. "Also, is Jamie still alive? I heard noises last night."
"The walls are soundproof."
"I was coming back from the vending machine at 2 AM and your door was shaking."
"Why are you looking at my door?"
"It was just there. I gotta pass it to get to my room next door."
"Tiffany."
"I'm just asking if he's alive! As a concerned friend and roommate! Rule three says I can't sneak into your bed but it doesn't say I can't worry about the structural integrity of your bed frame!"
"He's alive."
"Is he mobile?"
"... He'll be mobile by this afternoon. Probably."
Tiffany clasped her hands together. "You broke him again."
"I didn't break him."
"You absolutely broke him. That boy walks in on two legs and crawls out on zero. It's a little inspiring that he keeps coming back, honestly."
'She's not wrong,' Inner Zoey admitted.
'Shut up.'
'We're a menace and Jamie Hollis is either the bravest or the dumbest man alive.'
'He's brave. And sweet. And he does that thing on the back of our neck that makes us forget how words work.'
'... Yeah. He's the best…'
They grabbed food from one of the dining halls. Tiffany ordered enough for three people and showed no signs of slowing down. Zoey got a wrap and a choco milk and they ate outside on a bench overlooking the main lawn. Students moved between buildings in clusters. A few recognized Zoey and whispered to each other. Most had gotten used to it by now, but there was always someone new with a phone.
Zoey checked her messages between bites. A video from Everett. His son grabbing Bruce's glasses off his face while Bruce made faces at him. Alicia's voice in the background: "Bruce, if you let that baby break your glasses, I am not buying you new ones." Everett's quiet laugh behind the camera.
She watched it twice.
The baby had the Winters eyes and the Sinclair forehead and a full head of dark hair that stuck up in every direction. Lucus and Alicia had been at war over that child since the moment Everett walked out of the delivery room holding him wrong. Two grandparents from two very different worlds, each convinced their bloodline contributed more to the kid's face, locked in an eighteen-year competition for his affection.
A message from Prometheus came through in the afternoon.
The Seettle branch agreed to host the next joint summit. Three factions confirmed. Two daemon representatives attending. Progress.
good, Zoey replied. Try to keep everything peaceful
My presentations are carefully calibrated for their intended audience.
If you run into any trouble, gimme a call.
Enjoy your spring holiday. Try not to generate international headlines.
I have no control over that.
The unification project was moving. Slowly, painfully, with more meetings and negotiations than Zoey had patience for. But daemons and humans and magjistars were sitting at the same table now. Talking instead of killing each other. Prometheus handled the conversations and the money. Zoey's contribution was standing in the corner of meetings looking like someone who would break bones if the process got derailed, or actually breaking bones when someone tried. It worked for her. She didn't need to be the leader. She just needed to make sure nobody fucked it up.
The rest of the day passed the way college days pass. Another class. Tiffany dragging her to a cafe near campus that she'd already befriended the owner of. A text from Jamie around noon: a string of emojis she interpreted as "I'm alive but my legs don't work." She sent back a blushing emoji.
By evening, Jamie had recovered enough to show up at her dorm with takeout and the expression of a man who had processed the previous night and decided he was fine with it happening again. She loved that about him. Outmatched in every category and he kept walking back through her door.
They ate on her bed with something on the laptop. Tiffany was in her own room for once, doing homework or organizing something or being inexplicably competent at whatever she'd picked tonight. Jamie sat with his back against the wall, legs stretched out, his hand finding the back of Zoey's neck the way it always did. Tracing small circles with his fingers. A habit he'd picked up months ago that turned her brain to static every single time.
"You're cute," he said.
"No I'm not."
"Cuter than normal."
"That's not a thing."
"It's absolutely a thing. There's Zoey cute, which is just you. And then there's super cute, which is different, and I can tell because I'm the one who decides which is which."
She leaned into him. He smelled like the takeout and his detergent and something underneath that was just him. She'd gotten used to it. To all of it. To the good morning texts and the rambling and the way he talked about her fights like they were the most important thing he'd ever witnessed. He'd found her bleeding in a park, holding what he thought was a dead baby, and drove her home without asking a single useful question. He just helped. That was who he was. And then he never stopped showing up.
"That made no sense at all," she admitted.
"Want to bet?"
"Not really."
"Cool. I'm ready for any challenge." He kissed the top of her head and went back to watching the screen.
Later. After Jamie left because he had an early class and she had enough mercy to let him sleep in his own bed. After the dorm went quiet and Tiffany stopped moving around in her room. Zoey sat alone on her bed in the dark.
Campus sounds through the window. Muffled, distant. The glow of Starlight's lights through the blinds.
Zoey opened the Box.
[Status]
[Name: Zoey]
[Sex: Female]
[Body: 4.2]
[Mental: 3.7]
[Magic: 4.0]
[Skills: 17]
[Zoey's Victorious Boxing Lv15] [Focus Lv14] [Teaching Maxed] [Abnormal Conditions Maxed] [Endurance Maxed] [Fighting Aura Maxed] [Gaming Lv22] [Mahna Manipulation Maxed] [Combo Magji Maxed] [Twisting Force Maxed] [Mahna Gathering Bomb Maxed] [Overdraft Maxed] [Dash Lv4] [Flexibility Lv3] [Friends of the Oppressed Maxed] [Meditation Lv3] [First-Aid Lv3]
She looked at the numbers.
Body at 4.2. Not the 20 she'd had before the Poison fight stripped everything away. But 4.2 built on maxed skills and years of real combat was worth more than 20 ever was the first time around. The numbers were the foundation. The person standing on them was the building.
Magic at 4.0. Overdraft had burned her mahna pathways raw and they'd healed wider every time. Every time she broke herself, she came back with more room. That was the story of her entire life.
Mental at 3.7. Smart enough to breeze through Starlight's coursework. Smart enough to read the politics in the unification project. Still not smart enough to figure out how Tiffany got into this university with three Data Analytics certificates and a background in killing people.
Seventeen skills. Some from boxing. Some from magji. Some from the strange, violent, beautiful life she'd stumbled into the day a status screen appeared in front of a lonely girl sitting in detention at Sun Valley High. A girl with a 0.3 Body and a 0.5 Mental who hated but also loved her mom and had no friends and joined the track team because she was desperate for someone, anyone, to talk to her.
That girl wouldn't recognize what she was looking at now.
A mother who survived getting her throat slit and woke up already asking why her daughter looked like shit. A stepdad who dropped takeout on the floor because he couldn't hold a bag and hold his wife at the same time. A brother figuring out fatherhood while his son grabbed everyone's faces. A nephew who would never know a world where his aunt wasn't standing between him and anything that tried. Callie, who screamed loud enough at her fights to be heard over arenas full of people, and Katlyn, who pretended to be embarrassed but always sat right next to her. Coach Scott, fat and bald and grinning, who saw something in a shy girl's first day at his gym and never let go of it. Alexander and Lindsay, A-Grade magjistars carrying pieces of everything she'd taught them into a world that wasn't ready. Prometheus, reshaping the relationship between three species with money and patience and the occasional support from a five-foot woman in boxing gloves. Tiffany, who followed her across the country without being asked because she decided that was where she belonged and nothing on earth could convince her otherwise. Jamie, who talked too much and drove her home covered in blood and texted good morning every day like it was the only thing he knew how to do right.
And underneath all of it, carried always, a fairie the size of a palm who kissed her on the cheek and called her amazing and dissolved into light so she could come home.
The Box had given her a reason to start. A lonely girl with nothing needed something to hold onto, and there it was. Imaginary but real numbers. Visible progress. Proof that she was growing even when nobody could see it.
She didn't need the proof anymore.
Zoey closed the Box.
The interface dissolved. The numbers faded. The status screen that had floated in the corner of her vision since she was seventeen went dark.
It didn't come back.
She reached for it. The reflex was buried so deep it was like breathing. She'd opened the Box ten thousand times. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, between rounds, between classes, between every moment of her life for years.
Nothing.
She reached harder. Focused the way she used to focus learning mahna manipulation, fighting for every flicker.
Nothing.
'Uh,' Inner Zoey said.
'Yeah.'
'It's gone.'
'I fucking see that.'
'What the fuck?!'
'What the fuck!'
'Do we feel any different!?'
Zoey sat with it. The absence. The empty space where the Box had always been, constant through daemon fights and prison and the void of the Oubliette and falling from space. Through all of it, the Box was there. And now the space was quiet.
She waited for the panic.
It didn't come.
What came instead was something she didn't have a word for. It wasn't relief or sadness. Something closer to the feeling of putting down a bag you'd been carrying so long you forgot it had weight.
'It's ok.' Zoey answered.
'We don't feel any different.'
'Huh.'
'Huh.'
She laid back on her bed. Stared at the ceiling of her dorm room at Starlight University, with its designer carpet and its soundproof walls. The same way she used to stare at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom back in Krey. Except back then she was staring because she had nothing, and now she was staring because she had so much she couldn't fit it all in her head at once.
She smiled.
The Box gave her a reason to start. Everything after that, she earned herself.
Tomorrow she had class. Spring break in nine days. A sponsorship meeting Tuesday that Angelica would kill her for skipping. Coach wanted her at the gym this weekend to work with the kids. Prometheus had the summit next month. Jamie was coming over tomorrow night, which meant she needed to clean this room or he'd trip over her dumbbells again.
Busy days. All of them, from here on out.
Zoey closed her eyes.
That sounded pretty good.