REN PLUTO
"You've got five seconds."
Nyx's voice was low, lethal, and absolute. She stood in the shattered doorway, blocking the only exit, her dark eyes fixed on him like a sniper's scope.
"Tell me what the hell you found, 498. Or I take it from you."
Ren didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
His brain was a computer overloading, trying to process too many inputs at once. The journal in his jacket. The camera above the door. The frozen faces of his unit behind Nyx. Maven, still on her bunk, back turned, shoulders rigid. Zelie, finally off her phone, watching with hungry interest. Ravi, mouth open, about to intervene. Jules, still crying, but now watching through his fingers.
And Nyx. Right in front of him. Close enough to hit. Close enough to kill.
Five seconds.
Four.
He could fight her. He was bigger, stronger. But she had the baton. She had the stance. She'd been trained—real training, not street survival. If he swung, she'd counter. If he ran, she'd chase. If he tried to hide the journal again, she'd find it.
Three.
He could lie. Say it was nothing. Say he was just checking for bugs, for cameras, for anything useful. But she'd seen his face when he pulled the panel. She'd seen him hide the package. She'd watched him threaten Maven. She knew.
Two.
He could trust her.
The thought was insane. Trust was a leash. Trust was a handle. Trust got you killed.
But Nyx wasn't asking for trust. She was asking for information. And information, unlike trust, could be traded. Could be leveraged. Could be taken back if necessary.
One.
"Close the door," Ren said.
Nyx's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Close the fucking door. And tell them to back off." He jerked his chin toward the gawking faces behind her. "This isn't a show."
Nyx studied him for a long second. Then she turned, just enough to speak over her shoulder.
"Everyone. Back to your bunks. Now."
No one moved.
Zara opened her mouth—probably to argue, to assert some kind of dominance, to make this about her.
Nyx didn't give her the chance.
"That wasn't a request, 430." Her voice was quiet. Almost gentle. That made it worse. "You want to see what happens next? You'll see it from your bunk. Move."
Zara's mouth snapped shut. She looked at Ren, then at Nyx, then at the splintered door, and something in her calculated brain did the math. She turned. Walked to her bunk. Sat down.
Ravi followed, still looking like he wanted to fix everything. Jules curled into a tighter ball. Sayer didn't move from the window—hadn't even turned around. Maven stayed on her bunk, back to the room, still as a statue.
Nyx stepped inside. Pulled the shattered door as closed as it would go—which wasn't much, but enough. Enough to block the view. Enough to create the illusion of privacy.
Then she turned back to Ren.
"Talk."
Ren reached into his jacket. Slow. Deliberate. No sudden moves.
He pulled out the journal.
Nyx's eyes tracked it like a hawk tracking prey. She didn't reach for it. Didn't demand. Just waited.
"Found it under the bunk," Ren said. "The eighth one. The spare. Someone hid it there. Someone who's not here anymore."
He held it out.
Nyx took it. Opened it to the first page. Read Sarah Ann Lin's name. Flipped through the early entries, her face giving nothing away. Then she hit Day 50. Day 60. The last scrawled warning.
She read in silence. The only sound was the buzzing light and the distant crash of waves.
When she finished, she closed the journal. Looked up at Ren.
"RNUKE."
"Yeah."
"You know what it is?"
"No. But I'm going to find out."
Nyx was quiet for a moment. Processing. Calculating. The same way Ren had been doing since he found the damn thing.
"The vials," she said. "The Coudhayes. You have them?"
Ren patted his pocket. The three small glass vials clicked together softly.
Nyx nodded. "And the locket? The one with the map?"
Ren pulled out the silver chain. Held it up. The tarnished oval caught the flickering light.
Nyx stared at it for a long moment. Then she did something Ren didn't expect.
She laughed.
Not a happy laugh. A dry, humorless, of course laugh. The laugh of someone who'd just had all their worst suspicions confirmed.
"My brother," she said, "sent me a letter before I came here. Told me to watch out for the mice. Told me they weren't what they seemed."
Ren's blood went cold. "Your brother?"
"He was here. Two years ago. Rank 489. Tier 4. Same as us." Nyx's voice was flat. Controlled. But there was something underneath it. Something sharp. "He graduated. That's what they told my parents. Graduated early. Top of his class. Got a special assignment overseas."
She met Ren's eyes.
"I haven't heard from him since. No letters. No calls. Nothing. My parents think he's a hero. I think he's dead."
Ren didn't know what to say. So he said nothing.
Nyx held his gaze for a moment longer. Then she looked down at the journal in her hands.
"Sarah Ann Lin," she murmured. "I know that name too. She was in my brother's unit. They were friends. He mentioned her once in a letter. Said she was the smartest person in Deathpig. Said if anyone figured out what was really happening on this rock, it would be her."
She flipped to the last entry again. Ran her finger over the words.
Don't trust the mice.
"The mice," Ren said. "What does that mean?"
Nyx shook her head. "I don't know. But my brother warned me about them. And Sarah warned the next person. That's two people, both dead or disappeared, saying the same thing."
She looked up.
"We need to find out who the mice are. Before they find us."
A sound from the main room.
Ren tensed. Nyx's hand went to her baton.
But it was just Ravi's voice, high and nervous: "Um... guys? I think... I think someone's coming."
Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Measured. Multiple sets.
Ren and Nyx exchanged a look. One of those wordless communications that happens between people who suddenly understand they're on the same side.
Nyx shoved the journal back at Ren. He stuffed it into his waistband, under his blazer. The locket followed. The vials stayed in his pocket.
They stepped out of the bathroom together.
The unit was frozen. Even Sayer had finally turned from the window. Maven was sitting up now, her cleaning forgotten, her eyes wide.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
A knock. Three sharp raps. Polite. Formal.
Then a voice. Smooth. Cultured. Familiar.
"Candidates of Suite 734. This is your Horacatein Leader. Open the door."
Darian Blackwood.
Ren's jaw tightened. The bruise from his stepfather's ring throbbed in time with his pulse.
No one moved.
Another knock. Harder this time.
"I said open the door. That wasn't a request."
Ravi looked at Ren. Zelie looked at Ren. Even Jules looked at Ren.
Great. Now they expected him to do something. Now they thought he was in charge.
He wasn't. He was just the one stupid enough to talk back.
But he walked to the door anyway. Because the alternative was waiting for Darian to kick it in—and that door was a lot more solid than the bathroom's.
He pulled it open.
Darian Blackwood stood in the hallway, flanked by two figures in the same crisp charcoal uniforms. Not students—staff. Security. Both carried kinetic batons. Both had the dead-eyed look of people who'd learned not to ask questions.
Behind them, the hallway stretched into darkness. The flickering lights didn't reach this far.
Darian smiled. That same cold, sharp smile from the lobby.
"Mr. Pluto." He said the name like it was something stuck to his shoe. "I trust you're settling in?"
Ren said nothing.
Darian's eyes drifted past him, taking in the room. The rusted bunks. The peeling paint. The cracked window. The seven other candidates frozen in various states of fear.
"Charming accommodations," he said. "The institute believes in... character building."
No one laughed. It wasn't a joke.
Darian's gaze returned to Ren. Lingered on his jacket. On the slight bulge where the journal pressed against his spine.
He knows.
The thought hit Ren like a punch to the gut. He fucking knows.
But that was impossible. Darian hadn't been here. He couldn't know about the journal. Couldn't know about Sarah. Couldn't know about any of it.
Unless someone told him.
Ren's eyes flicked to Maven. She was still on her bunk, still pale, still trembling. But her eyes... her eyes weren't on Darian. They were on Ren.
Watching. Waiting.
Don't trust the mice.
"I'm here," Darian continued, "to remind you of a few important protocols."
He stepped into the room. The security guards stayed in the hallway—but they didn't leave. They just stood there, blocking the exit.
"First: Curfew is 2100 hours. Anyone found outside this suite after that time will be subject to immediate disciplinary action." He paused. "The nature of that action is at my discretion."
He walked slowly down the line of bunks, examining each one. Jules flinched when Darian's shadow passed over him. Zelie lifted her chin, defiant. Ravi tried to smile and failed miserably.
Sayer didn't react at all. Just stared at the wall like Darian wasn't there.
Maven pulled her knees to her chest. Made herself smaller.
Nyx stood by her bunk, arms crossed, watching Darian the same way she'd watched Ren earlier. Like she was measuring him for a coffin.
"Second: The Horacatein system begins tomorrow. Your performance in all classes, all activities, all interactions will be monitored and scored. Every conversation. Every glance. Every thought you're stupid enough to have where a camera can see it."
He stopped in front of Nyx.
"Rank 495." He smiled. "I expect you'll be moving up soon. You have that look."
Nyx didn't respond. Didn't blink.
Darian moved on.
"Third—and this is important—" He turned, facing the whole room now. "There have been... incidents in the past. Students who thought they could hide things. Students who thought they could keep secrets."
His eyes landed on Ren.
"Those students are no longer with us."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the buzzing light seemed to quiet.
Darian held Ren's gaze for a long, terrible moment. Then he smiled again.
"Enjoy your first night, Pigs. Tomorrow, the real work begins."
He turned. Walked to the door. Paused on the threshold.
"Oh, and Mr. Pluto?"
Ren said nothing.
"There's a rumor that you're clever. That you're dangerous. That you're someone to watch."
Darian's smile widened.
"I do hope it's true. It's so boring when they break right away."
He stepped into the hall. The security guards fell into step behind him. Their footsteps faded into the darkness.
The door swung shut. The lock clicked—not from the inside, but from the outside.
They were locked in.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Zelie's voice, small and shaken: "What the hell was that?"
No one answered.
Ren walked to his bunk. Sat down. Stared at the wall.
His mind was racing. Darian knew something. Maybe not the specifics, but enough. Enough to come here. Enough to deliver that warning personally.
Someone had talked.
Someone in this room had told Darian about the journal.
Ren's eyes moved slowly across his unit. Ravi, still shaking. Zelie, pretending to be brave. Jules, curled in a ball. Sayer, staring at nothing. Nyx, watching him with those dark, calculating eyes.
And Maven.
The mouse. Rank 500. The one who'd seen him find the package. The one who'd said it's wrong. The one Sarah had warned about.
Maven sat on her bunk, knees to chest, face buried. She was trembling. Shaking so hard the bunk frame vibrated.
But Ren had seen a lot of scared people in his life. He knew the difference between fear and performance.
And Maven's fear... it was too loud. Too visible. Too convenient.
Don't trust the mice.
Ren lay back on his bunk. Stared at the ceiling. Felt the journal pressing against his spine.
Tomorrow, the real work began.
Tonight, he had to figure out who in this room was a pig—
And who was a rat.