The lively sounds of the city faded into the background. They had turned off the main road. He knew the route well; they’d made the trip many times before. Dust kicked up around them from a dirt floor. They took a roundabout way to their destination—an abandoned theater, nestled quietly in a massive plaza devoid of any inquisitive interruptions. The entire quarter-mile perimeter was marked off, the rows of vacant buildings and abandoned apartments a blatantly apparent product of an economic disparity within the city itself. It was a stark contrast to the metropolis a few miles north. Trespassers filtered in an out all the time without much discretion; no one seemed to care enough to enforce security for a ghost town. Luca’s “squad” had gotten more daring with their break-ins until eventually resorting to the main front entrance.

But then a sound surfaced behind them. Vector slowed down, then stopped. She took off her helmet. Someone emerged from a car and approached. “FCPD,” he announced. “This is restricted property. There’s a sign right there. Can you read the freakin’ sign, exo?”

Because, of course, today just had to be the day someone finally showed.

Vector bristled under Ace’s grasp. “No, sir,” Ace quickly said before she could respond. “She can’t read Auran, as she is not from Auran.”

“You couldn’t read it for her?”

“No, sir. I can’t read, as I am blind.”

She relaxed.

“You’ve got an Institute badge. You mean to tell me they’re hiring blind kids now?” he exclaimed incredulously.

“Yes, sir, I am blind. We’ll leave right away, sir.”

There was a pause as the officer considered it. The white cane was still strapped in visible sight to his backpack. “Goddamn exo types,” the officer muttered, his voice fading. “Goddamn Institute...”

The motorbike started again; they turned around and drove away from the front gate. The bike hit pavement, back on the main road.

Two minutes passed in silence, driving a loop around the area. Then they stopped. Vector huffed in amusement. She started to laugh, a soft, lilting sound that did not come out too often. Breaking a smile, Ace laughed with her.

“I don’t know anything but Auran,” Vector said through chuckles.

“Hey. Racist prick bought it,” Ace shrugged.

For a minute, Vector laughed wordlessly. Finally she stopped. “We should warn them,” she said, at once back to her serious tone. Vector shifted, pulling a phone from her pocket. “I’m messaging Luca. Stopped by a cop out front,” she recited.

“If they went in, they might wanna get out,” Ace added. “Just in case. Cop could be going on patrol.”

Vector made a noise of affirmation. She hopped off the bike and unzipped Ace’s backpack, rifling through it.

“Vector, why the hell are you digging through my stuff?” Ace snapped coolly.

“We’re in some alley,” she said, still rifling. “North off Division Street. Let’s wait out until Luca responds.”

“Great. Neither of those statements remotely answer my question.”

Then she cracked open a can. That answered his question well enough.

“Designated driver,” he muttered.

She guided him to a wall where they sat down. “It’s fifteen-percent,” she said plainly. There was a beat as she drank his Silvertooth. “This is bad. Why do you drink this?”

“I didn’t exactly bring it for you,” he hissed.

“Luca carries plenty for you both.”

Ace sighed and changed the subject. “How’d date night go?”

“Fine. Went to some ostentatious restaurant just to order a plain salad. Afterwards, she dragged me out to a store so she could model clothes.” Vector paused. “Then we went into this dressing room. The two of us.”

Ace recoiled. “What’d you do?”

She huffed. “I don’t know.”

Without further elaboration, Vector kept drinking in silence for seven more minutes. Perhaps it was best Ace didn’t know. His thoughts lingered on Vector before wandering to Spade once again. After the Aptitude test, he’d found Spade lying down in their room. Spade couldn’t stand; lightheaded or nauseous or in pain, or something, or maybe all of the above. He’d been spending more and more time sleeping lately. That was a discussion Ace kept away from Luca and Vector. Spade wanted it that way. To Ace, it seemed like denial.

“Still no response,” Vector said quietly, snapping him out of his mind.

“Think they got caught?” Ace asked.

Vector stood up, guiding Ace back to the motorbike. “Maybe. Let’s scout.”

They took off once more. The road remained pavement. They were circling around the restricted plaza’s perimeter, looping to the backside of the theater.

Vector slowed. “By the back gate,” she reported. “Vehicles in the lot. Way more than usual. No people.”

“FCPD vehicles?”

“None that I see. Seems the cop was guarding the wrong entrance.”

They stopped at the gate; Vector pushed it open. No one ever bothered to lock it (or perhaps the FCPD never realized it was unlocked). Progressing through the gate, they drove a circle around the parking lot before pulling into a space.

“Here’s Mali’s bike,” Vector said, dismounting.

Ace retrieved his backpack, unfolded his cane, and followed Vector to the back entrance of the theater. He knew its layout well; their expeditions were initially to explore, searching through ancient film reels and posters, until they had scoured every corner of the two-story building. The more recent trips were simply to hang out in a pocket of solitude, occasionally tagging walls with spray-paint and even more occasionally throwing bottles lit with matches off the balcony to see if they could set chairs below on fire. Responsible antics.

They stopped at the door. Voices clamored incoherently from inside. Hesitantly, they stepped in. The back entrance opened to a small hallway, which then opened to a larger hallway, which connected to the audience seating. Most of the voices were from the larger hall ahead. They were adult voices, none recognizable, Ace decided. Mostly male. An audible exchange floated by from the left wing of the hall. “He won fair and square. Pay up,” a man said.

“No, no, no. Best of three.”

Vector stiffened; she seemed to have a better grasp of the situation than Ace. Vector rushed through the small hallway, Ace close behind.

Someone suddenly grabbed him.

“Hey. Emo-lookin’ boy,” an immediate voice snapped, releasing Ace. “No weapons allowed. We run a fair club.”

The handgun in his bag immediately flashed to mind, and he wondered how his secret was out, and if it had been a bad idea after all. Then it clicked what the voice had meant. “It’s a cane. I’m blind,” he said flatly.

“Hell’s a blind type doing in a fight club?” The bouncer of sorts clicked his tongue, sighing, “Fine. In you go. Don’t get lost.”

He shoved Ace forward. Confusion shifted to panic, or perhaps to a pleasant mix of confusion and panic. Through three semesters of break-ins, never once had the theater held a single inhabitant. Mali and Luca were still missing. Now he’d lost track of Vector, and he generally had no idea what was going on, and he was decidedly panicking.

But then Vector appeared beside him. “I’m here,” she whispered.

Ace took Vector’s arm and followed her guidance wordlessly. A handful of voices occupied the larger hall; a much stronger buzz of activity permeated through the wall. Vector took them around the side entrance to the main chamber, where they were greeted with an explosion of sound—cheering, yelling, brawling, and someone with a microphone who was perhaps announcing.

“About thirty people, mostly men,” Vector continued, still whispering. “Three on stage—two fighting, one referee.”

“See Mali or Luca?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, Mali. On stage.”

Pieces started falling into place.