REN PLUTO
The room was a tomb, and Maven Kim was the only one in it who wasn't dead.
Ren just stood there, his hand still stinging from the weight of the tools she'd just taken from him.
You're late, she'd snapped.
Don't. Fucking. Talk.
He wasn't a wolf. He was a gofer. A guy holding a flashlight.
His jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated her. Hated the way she'd just taken charge. Hated the way his life was suddenly in the hands of this trembling Rank 500 mouse who the journal had explicitly told him not to trust.
"The light." Maven's voice was a low sharp hiss. She was on her knees, trash-bag drop cloth spread, movements precise. She didn't look at him. "Closer. I need to see the grain."
Ren moved. Crouched, muscles aching, aimed the beam of his phone.
He felt Nyx at his back. Not watching Mina. Watching the door. Sentinel position. Hand on baton. Body blocking the only exit. She and Ren were the perimeter. The muscle.
But the brain... the brain was the mouse.
And the mouse was working.
Ren watched, light steady, knuckles white on the phone.
He'd expected her to cry. Glue her fingers together. Panic.
She didn't.
This wasn't the girl who scrubbed the wall. Wasn't the girl who flinched when he breathed.
This was something else.
Her hands—which had trembled so hard she'd dropped her socks—were rock steady.
She wasn't fixing. She was performing surgery.
With a small sharp stolen piece of metal—taken from a bunk fitting—she meticulously, silently scraped away the splintered guilty-looking wood. Didn't just rip it out. Carved it. Creating a clean wound.
The next hours were the longest of Ren's life.
A silent, agonizing, high-stakes ballet.
Maven worked. Brow furrowed. Lips moving in a silent furious monologue.
Sayer was a shadow. Gone from the main room. Posted herself just outside the suite. Pitch-black hallway. Silent living tripwire.
Nyx and Ren were interior guard. Flanking Maven. Watching cameras. Watching door.
And Ravi... Ravi was the Handler.
About an hour in, Ravi appeared at Ren's shoulder. Moving like a ghost. All his Sunny Boy energy crushed into dense useful quiet purpose.
He held out a protein bar.
Ren stared at him.
"You're shaking." Ravi's voice was so low it was just breath. "Low blood sugar. Eat."
Ren wanted to snap. Tell him to fuck off.
But his hand was shaking.
He snatched the bar. Tore it open with his teeth. Shoved it in his mouth.
Ravi nodded. Gone. Moved to Nyx. Offered one. She took it. Moved to Maven.
Maven didn't look up. Fitting a new piece of wood—carved from the underside of her own bunk—into the frame.
"Maven." Ravi whispered.
"No."
"You need to drink. Water."
"I need silence." Hissed.
"You'll pass out." Ravi didn't move. "Your hands will shake. You'll smear the glue. Drink."
He held the water bottle out.
Ren watched, fascinated. This was it. Handler versus Alchemist.
Maven froze. Shoulders tensed. Calculating.
He was right.
She snatched the bottle. Angry movements. Three sips. Shoved it back.
"Go away."
Ravi nodded. Small sad smile. Melted back. Went to the corner where Jules still huddled, a wreck, and quietly, patiently started talking to him.
Ren turned his light back to the door.
He was in a room with a handler, a ghost, a weapon, a crybaby, and a wildcard.
And he was holding a flashlight for a goddamn genius.
He watched her hands. Elegant. Fast. Sure.
This was the girl who got Rank 500.
Don't trust the mice.
Ren's paranoia screamed. It's a con. Long con. No one Rank 500 can do this.
But his eyes told a different story.
Watching her mix the wood glue. Sniffing it. Making a face—pure academic disgust.
"Substandard." She muttered. "They cut it with a flour polymer. Not going to hold. Humidity in this hall... sheer strength is..."
She was having a breakdown over glue quality.
Scrambled to her locker. Pulled out her small clear plastic bag of toiletries. Pulled out a bottle of clear nail polish.
Came back. Poured a quarter of the glue into a cup. Added three drops of nail polish. Stirred with a finishing nail.
Ren stared. "What the hell are you doing?"
Maven looked up. Eyes on fire. Not scared. Pissed.
"I'm fixing it." Snapped. "Acetone in the enamel acts as a catalyst. Forces the polymer to set faster. Makes it water-resistant. Holds. Now the light. I'm losing my—"
She stopped. Pointed the nail at his hand.
"Your hand is two inches too high. Casting a shadow on the latch. Get it right."
Ren moved the light.
Felt a hot dark ugly flush of something. Not the wolf. Not the guard.
A liability.
He shut his mouth. Held the light.
It went on like that for hours.
Silence broken only by Maven's sharp single-word commands.
"Clamp."
Ren handed her the C-clamp.
"Driver. T20."
Handed her the driver.
"Nails."
Handed her the box.
He was her goddamn assistant.
Watched her fix the lock. Re-set the wood. Glue. Clamp. Drill new holes with the tip of her stolen metal piece. Use the T20 driver to meticulously, silently screw the new nails in—using them as structural pins.
Building a new door frame from trash.
And Ren... watched her.
Watched the smudge of grease on her cheek. Watched the way she bit her lip when concentrating—tiny unconscious habit that made his stomach twist. Watched the genius.
She's not a mouse. His paranoia and awe at war in his skull. She's a goddamn dragon, pretending to be a mouse.
And she's in my unit.
At 06:15 AM, she sat back.
The frame was rebuilt. Solid. The lock was a wreck. But it was in the frame.
"It's done." Ravi whispered from the dark. Pathetic hopeful relief.
"It's not." Maven snapped. Stood up. Knees cracking. "It's raw. New wood. Look at it."
Ren shined the light. She was right. Rest of the door was Regulation Gray. The patch was pale naked guilty-as-sin pine.
"It's a flag." Jules whimpered from his bunk.
"The paint." Nyx's voice flat. Silent for four hours.
"The paint." Maven agreed.
Ren grabbed the can. Cracked the seal. The hiss was deafening in the silence.
Maven took it. Pried the lid off.
Stared into the can.
Five seconds of absolute terrifying silence.
"No." Whispered.
Ren's blood went cold. "No? What no?"
"No." Her voice rising. Cracking. The Alchemist gone. The Mouse back. "No no no no—"
"What is it?" Ren snarled. Grabbed her shoulder.
Maven pointed a shaking finger at the can. "It's wrong."
"It's gray!" Zelie's voice sharp annoyed from her bunk. "Regulation Gray. Just paint it."
"It's LOBBY GRAY!" Maven shrieked. Voice cracking. Bordering full-blown scream.
Ravi instantly there. Hand on her arm. "Maven, shh, shh—"
"Don't touch me!" She shoved him off. Vibrating. "Wrong! The lobby has a blue undertone. For calm aesthetic. This is Sub Level gray. Cell Block gray. Needs a brown undertone. Two shades off."
Ren stared. Two shades.
"The drone." Maven hyperventilating now. Terror back. "Inspection drone is a scanner. It'll see the spectrum. It's a patch. A PATCH!"
Losing it. After six hours of perfect cold control, breaking.
"Maven." Ren's voice low growl.
"We're dead." Sobbing. "I can't fix it. Wrong paint—"
Ren grabbed her.
Both shoulders. Shook her.
"MOUSE!" He snarled.
Her head snapped up. Eyes wide wet terrified.
"You're not a mouse." He growled. "You're an Alchemist. Fixed the glue. Fixed the wood. Saw the blood. Knew the pH. Now fix the paint."
She stared. Mouth open.
"How?" Whispered.
Ren looked at her. Looked at the room.
"You're the Alchemist." He said. "You tell me."
Her eyes... changed.
Terror didn't go away. Just receded. Replaced by cold calculating fury.
Looked at the paint. Looked at her hands. Looked at the floor.
"Soot." She said.
"What?"
"Soot." Pointed under his bunk. "From floor dust. Brown-based. Shifts the hue."
A goddamn artist.
"Get it." Ordered.
Ren didn't think. On his knees. Swiped hand under bunk. Collected small pile of black greasy dust.
She took it. Started mixing. Pinch at a time.
"It's 06:40." Ravi whispered. Voice shaking.
"Shut up." Ren, Maven, and Nyx all said together.
Maven held the paint stick up to the wall. Squinted.
"More." She said.
Ren gave her more.
Mixed. Checked.
"Close." Muttered. "Close enough. Pass a scan."
Grabbed a rag. "Fan." Ordered Ravi and Jules. "As soon as I'm done."
Started painting. Hands fast. Perfect. No brush strokes. Just coverage.
06:50 AM. Done. Patch painted.
"FAN!" Shrieked.
Ravi and Jules on it. Grabbed piece of cardboard. Fanning wet gleaming patch for their lives.
06:55 AM.
"Clean up." Nyx commanded.
Ren already moving. Trash bag. Tools. Glue. Shoved it all into his duffel. Shoved under his bunk. His problem.
06:58 AM.
"It's still tacky." Jules whimpered.
"Not wet." Maven's voice dead exhausted monotone. "Have to do."
06:59 AM.
Sayer was back. Just... appeared. Standing in doorway. Hoodie up.
She just nodded. It's coming.
They scattered.
Everyone in bunks. Ren on his. Heart trying to break out his chest. Clothes stinking of glue and paint.
7:00 AM.
High-pitched whir.
In the hallway.
Thin red horizontal laser swept under their door.
It's here.
Whirring louder. Right outside.
Stopped.
Dead silence.
Ren held his breath. Could hear Jules whimpering.
Then—new sound. Series of high-pitched delicate clicks.
Click. Click. Click.
Drone's sensors. Scanning the door.
Scanning the lock.
Scanning the frame.
Scanning Maven's paint job.
Ren's lungs burned. He didn't breathe.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The drone hovered. Its sensors clicking. Red laser sweeping.
Maven's patch was right in its path.
Ren could see it from his angle—the slight sheen of still-wet paint. The barely perceptible difference in texture. The place where regulation gray met alleyway alchemy.
The drone paused.
Longer than it should have.
It knows. It sees. It's calculating—
Then—
Click.
The red light on the drone shifted from scanning to standby.
The whirring changed pitch. Lower. Retreating.
The drone moved on.
Down the hall. To the next door. To the next unit.
The laser swept away.
Silence.
Ren's breath exploded out of him. He was shaking. His whole body trembled with the adrenaline crash.
Around him, the room exhaled as one.
Jules was crying again—but silent this time, tears streaming down his face. Ravi had his head in his hands. Zelie stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. Sayer had melted back into her corner.
Nyx caught Ren's eye across the room. Gave a single nod.
We made it.
Ren looked at Maven.
She was still on her knees by the door. Still in position. Still staring at the spot where the drone had been.
Her hands were shaking again. The mouse was back.
But her eyes... her eyes were different now.
She looked at Ren. Held his gaze.
Something passed between them. Not trust—too early for that. Not gratitude—she'd done the work, not him.
Recognition.
They'd survived together. And in this place, that meant something.
Ren opened his mouth to speak—
The door comm crackled to life.
"Good morning, candidates of Sub Level Four." The voice was smooth. Feminine. Polished. "This is your 0700 wake-up call. Breakfast service begins in thirty minutes in the Sub Level Mess Hall. Attendance is mandatory. Failure to appear will result in automatic point deduction."
A pause.
"Oh, and congratulations on surviving your first night. The death rate for Tier Four is usually higher."
The comm clicked off.
Silence.
Then Zelie, from her bunk: "Did she just say 'mortality rate' in English?"
No one answered.
Ren lay back on his bunk. Stared at the ceiling.
Twenty-three hours until the next curfew. Twenty-three hours until they had to do this all over again.
He looked at the door. At Maven's patch. At the work of art that had saved them all.
The journal's warning echoed.
But the mouse had just bought them another day.
He'd worry about trust later.
For now, he closed his eyes.
And for the first time since stepping onto that ferry, Ren Pluto slept.