Page 35 of Ignition Rites

My brother, in from the Liore branch, is crouched beside the rear tire with a pressure gauge, checking it with the kind of precision that makes the rest of us look like we’re guessing. Nico has always liked things he can wire, time, trigger, or make fail exactly when he wants them to. I like fire.

Between us, destruction mostly comes down to personal preference.

He’s also the reason I know there’s a difference between something breaking and something being made to look boring enough on paper that nobody asks a second question. I try not to remember how young we were when he started teaching me things like that.

“I’m not distracted.”

“Your bike’s idling like it’s nervous. Bikes pick up on their riders. Basic physics.”

“That’s not physics.”

“It sounded convincing, though.” He straightens and gives me the look he’s been giving me since we were kids, the one that says being older apparently grants him supernatural insight.

“Tu regardes la fille, pas la piste.”

I look at him. “Occupe-toi de tes pneus.”

He snorts. “Go check on her before you kill yourself out there thinking about it instead.”

I’m already heading her way when I hear the girls.

There are three of them near the concession stand, all masked, probably somebody’s approved guests from the college crowd. The circuit isn’t open, exactly, but invitation chains get long when rich people want an audience. Somebody knows somebody, a name gets added, and suddenly half the people pretending not to gossip have matching lace over their faces.

They’re close enough to the rail that Lo is almost within arm’s reach.

One of the girls looks vaguely familiar. Same lecture hall, maybe. Hallway face. Somebody I’ve passed a hundred times without needing to remember.

“That’s her, right?” she says. “The Vale stepsister. The one everybody’s been talking about.”

“With, like, three of them? At once?”

“I heard it’s a whole thing. Some family cult situation.”

The laugh that follows is careless, and Lo flinches so slightly I might’ve missed it if I didn’t know what her mother told her about where she came from.

“God, imagine,” the first girl says, grinning at her friends. “Sign me up. What do I have to do, get brainwashed? Because if that’s what it takes to land two hot guys, honestly—”

I’m moving before she finishes.

Lo has gone rigid beside the rail, spine straight, arms locked across herself. She hasn’t turned around, either because she doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction or because she can’t yet.

I get there first.

“You lost?” I ask.

Easy voice. Almost friendly.

The girl’s smile flickers when she realizes I’m talking to her.

“We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, I heard.” I stop beside Lo, close enough that nobody has to wonder whose side I’m on. “Funny thing to joke about, somebody’s family right in front of her. Real classy.”

“We didn’t know she could hear.”

“Ah.” I nod. “So it would’ve been hilarious six feet farther away.”

One of her friends grabs her sleeve. The first girl holds my eyes for another second, trying to decide whether there’s a version of this where she wins, then thinks better of it and lets herself get pulled away.