The groans of the glade's swing are nearly as loud as the groans of Illia's joints. It's been two days since they went rock climbing again for Clara's birthday and Illia is still sore, to the point where she can't work up the strength to continue pushing Niel even though she wanted to.

  'I don't know how you're fine,' she signs as she leans against the tree to rest. Leaves of yellows and reds scatter to the forest floor around them.

  "It's just cardio. Exercise more, and it gets easier," Niel explains, swinging shallowly to and fro. Rock climbing sandwiched between two days of Muay Thai did wear him out, but he's nowhere near as stiff as her. At least falling and staying asleep isn't a problem for him anymore.

  'Maybe I will, but only if Voltaire isn't with us.'

  With us. "Then I'll teach you what I've been learning in Muay Thai."

  Illia's smile confirms her feelings on this. Today isn't the day for it, though. Illia wishes for Niel to escort her around the neighbourhood this evening for something called 'trick-or-treating'. She'll be dressing up in costume and wants Niel to as well, but he doesn't know as what.

  "About this evening," Niel begins, "what will you be dressing me as?"

  'Whatever you want.'

  Well, that doesn't help. He knows little about ghouls and ghosts, let alone the ones that are popular.

  "Do you have any ideas?"

  Illia thinks for a moment before looking something up on her phone. The result of her search is the skeletal structure of a bat's wing.

  'Could you make this with your Dust?'

  "I'm not using my Dust as a costume."

  'Just try it, please.'

  Illia acting so forward all of a sudden shocks Niel into cooperating. It takes some effort between the two of them, but soon enough they sculpt eight lengths of black chain into the shape of skeletal wings, complete with the wrist, thumb, and each spiked finger.

  The wingspan moving under Niel's direction is an imposing and impressive sight for the artistic and innocent Illia. For Niel, these Chains of Guilt are nothing more than a reflection of his worst memories. But, perhaps they can become more, just as Illia sees them now.

  "We did it. I'm still not using them."

  'What if we made wings like this using cardboard, and you hold them up with your Dust? Then nobody will see it.'

  "I..." Niel hesitates. Illia's hopeful expression tells him she really likes this idea, and that makes him feel guilty all over again for wanting to turn her down. "...Fine. But my Dust will be hidden completely."

  A cheerful smile grows on Illia's face. To compliment his skeletal black, she'll wear a halo and fluffy white. Cardboard, paint, paper towel rolls, she'll make his wings—and he wears them well that night.

  The following Sunday, Niel lazes on the couch stockpiling his strength while listening to Illia play her kalimba. It's a much-needed mental break from studying, Muay Thai, and Voltaire. However, this moment of peace is cut short when Dwayne makes a surprise visit. Mabel and Gabriel must have been expecting his arrival because they meet him at the door.

  "Niel, we need your help with something," Gabriel says to the dark Mute boy. He pushes himself off of the couch and to his feet.

  "What is it?"

  Dwayne summons him to the base of the stairs and drops his voice so Illia doesn't overhear. "Voltaire's parents and brother have all been arrested," he reveals.

  This happening so soon is quite a shock. "Does Voltaire know?"

  "We're going to tell him now," Gabriel states. "Frankly, we should've told him sooner, but..."

  "With how... volatile he's been recently, I felt it was best to not introduce another stressor until it became necessary," Dwayne explains.

  "And now it's necessary, and you need me to tell him," Niel assumes.

  "We'll be there with you. If you tell him this alone, he'll think you went behind his back."

  Niel thinks he might anyway, but the adults insisting the contrary at least gives him the chance to avoid blame. They make their way up the stairs to Voltaire's room, all varying degrees of nervousness for the outcome.

  "Voltaire?" Niel says as he peers in from the doorway, finding the thief laid sprawled on his bed and engaged with his phone. The adults linger behind Niel out of Voltaire's sight.

  "What?" Voltaire doesn't sound happy, but he doesn't seem to be in a bad mood either. Niel enters the room fully and leans against the wall closest to the door frame.

  "It's about your family..." Niel pauses for a moment to think of a way to talk about this without souring his mood completely.

  The thief sits up as his eyes narrow. "What family?"

  "The family that's been arrested for your abuse and neglect."

  Dubious skepticism forms on Voltaire's face. Before he can accuse Niel of anything, Dwayne steps into the room with Gabriel at the door.

  "The secrets you gave to Niel, he kept," Dwayne ensures. "The police have been looking for your parents for a while, and now after finding them, they've recently collected enough evidence to make an arrest."

  Voltaire's expression is unreadably flat. Is it joy, fear, or something else he's feeling?

  "What does this mean?" the thief questions, his gaze sinking uncharacteristically low.

  "If they're found guilty, they'll likely go to prison," Dwayne explains. "If not, then you—"

  "I'm NOT going back with them!" Each agitated word crackles with the lightning in his palms.

  "Do you hate them enough to speak out against them?" Niel asks.

  No hesitation. "Yes."

  A part of this reminds Niel of Lydia and her parental situation. Minus Aaron's fate, her parents deserved every bit of what they got, though he understands why they committed their crimes in the first place. Harmful as they were, there was, at minimum, a purpose behind them: supporting their family. It's not endorsement nor condonement, just an understanding of why something was done. That said, Niel sees no purpose in abandoning Voltaire. If they had enough money to drive to Soul, then they could've afforded to feed him, and if Voltaire himself was the problem, then surely counselling or adoption was a possibility. Abandoning an unawakened child in a city rampant with crime is a death sentence. Voltaire's Mute was a miracle, and a miracle it took for him to survive. To Niel, his abandonment equates to attempted murder.

  The atmosphere in the home feels different after this. At first, everyone is cautious around Voltaire to not set him off. Now it's wariness in the face of a sensitive topic, compounded by his wound being held open from semi-frequent outings with Dwayne for legal counsel. Muay Thai helps as a distraction and outlet, but Niel can tell the quiet moments are wearing on the Electric Mute Thief with escalating speed. Going out on walks with him seems to help, but the calm they bring is always fleeting.

  A day to remember soldiers felled by war dawns over the country. Niel heard online that classes would be cancelled for this day, but Illia waking him in the morning proves that thought wrong. So much for a long weekend. Though Louise won't be taking the day off, classes end up being different from the norm when they leave the home alongside Mabel, Gabriel, Dwayne and Phoebe to attend a ceremony at a civic centre out in the city.

  Despite the name and purpose of Remembrance Day, Niel wasn't expecting this ceremony to be quite so sombre or ceremonial. Apart from the current speaker and stray instruments to play the national anthem and other topical musics, it's melancholically quiet all the way through. Soldiers both currently in service and long since retired stand and march while offerings of poppy wreaths are brought to the centre's monument. The atmosphere, the offerings, the silence—much of it reminds him of his own method of remembrance. Speaking of, it's been too long since the last time.

  After they return home and classes are finished, Niel leaves on his own, paper hidden underneath his shirt again. He assumed there would be more people out today given the ceremonies that happened all over the city, but the streets and park are virtually empty. Nobody must want to be out on this cloudy, funereal day. It makes it easy for him to work in peace. Crunchy vibrant leaves from the trees above him are brushed away from his work spot, and, one by one, he folds each remorse-full boat by hand and lowers them into the calm river current.

  "What are you doing?"

  Niel nearly jumps out of his skin. He expels a Dust scan so hastily behind him that Voltaire mistakes it for a sudden breeze.

  "How did you find me?" Niel's matter-of-factness is betrayed by the lingering startled quiver in his voice.

  "I followed you from a distance." Barring the fact that this is strange behaviour in general, it's also strange from Voltaire. He normally doesn't show interest like this in anything. "What are you doing?"

  A paper boat lies in Niel's hand, slightly crumpled from shock. "I'm..." He takes a moment to fight through nerves and pick a careful word. "...remembering."

  "By..." A sheet of paper lays pressed between the grass and Niel's shin. He watched the boats sail away before giving away his presence.

  Instead of continuing his thought, he sits down next to Niel and watches unquestioningly as the last boat is folded and released. Given how every fold is done with intention, Voltaire surmises that he's done this many times before. With business concluded here at the river, the pair decide to walk together into the city.

  "Who were you 'remembering?'" Voltaire prys.

  "I don't want to talk about it," Niel responds, still feeling dejected.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "More secrets?"

  "My Mute is one thing. This is another."

  Voltaire can tell from both his tone and his expression that he's underselling this statement. "Alright. I've at least got some decency to know where I shouldn't stick my nose into," he says with a cocky shrug.

  "That's rich coming from you."

  "Yeah, I was. Thank you."

  "Since when did you ever have money?"

  "Since when I got dumped on the street and became the feared Ele—" Voltaire catches himself before he announces his prior title to a crowded city street. "You know."

  "Mhm."

  As they scroll through a bustling intersection, the thief mentally resumes his old profession as he eyes the purses and bags of the passers-by. How much money might they be holding? If only his Mute could pickpocket with absolute subtlety. Like...

  "I know a way we could make a lot of money," Voltaire says schemingly—an immediate flag that tells Niel he should disregard whatever the boy says next. "I could survey good targets, people that have a lot of money, and then you swipe what they have with your Mute, all without them knowing they were robbed in the first place! Split the money halfway, stash it for a rainy day..."

  Niel tunes out the rest. It's clear Voltaire just wants to use him to make some easy cash. Really, Niel doesn't need a scout because his Mute is already the perfect scout. He can get into anywhere he wants, dictate the pace, control the victim... Wait, why is he giving this even a slight thought? Oh... it's because it's how he used to think. Food and shelter are scarce when you're not a person, not supposed to—cannot exist. Steal to survive: it's how he used to operate. Every bit a thief Voltaire tried to be, Niel was and more. He had to be when trying to exist in a world that felt corrupted and cold. He could be that again if he so chose. Every fortune he could have at his fingertips. He could never go hungry again. All he'd need to do is act. The storage facility was child's play. A bank would be no less difficult. Realistically, who could even stop him? Or better yet, find him out to begin with?

  Dark Dust practically makes him a god amongst men.

  Niel shakes his head.

  "So, that big court thing with my parents is happening next month. The..." Voltaire pauses momentarily to recall the name, "...preliminary hearing? I'll be talking to the court about my parents then."

  As much bluster as Voltaire shows at home, his tone now proves it's just that: bluster. Niel can tell he's scared. When having to stand against their parents, the very same family that derailed their life and left very permanent trauma, who wouldn't be? At the end of the day, Voltaire is a child, and he's scared just as anyone would be.

  "Do you know what day?" Niel asks.

  "December fifth."

  That's three and a half weeks from now, and two days after Illia's birthday. That's plenty of time for Voltaire to prepare himself. It's also an agonizing wait.

  "I don't want to go with them," Voltaire despondently admits, dropping the mask he survived by. "If even one of them is found innocent, I might have to go with them. There will be a different trial after this one to decide if I go with them or not, but I don't trust the court."

  If Voltaire's parents are found guilty, then they likely won't get out until after he becomes an adult, so a trial over custody would be symbolic at that point. The brother is a different matter, though, and Niel's thinking turns to Aaron. He took care of Lydia when their parents were gone, so if Voltaire's brother is old enough to, then he could acquire guardianship of Voltaire. Depending on how involved he was with Voltaire's neglect, he could be either a shaky but passable replacement for their parents, or he could renew Voltaire's abuse. Is there even enough evidence to lock up his brother? Their parents most likely—hopefully, but a sibling will be a harder case to nail down. Voltaire will have a say on who gets to look after him, but will anyone listen?

  The following day starts off mundane with school running as normal, but Niel almost immediately notices Voltaire returning more sullen than usual. Mabel notices this, too, and the look in her eye pleads for Niel to investigate on her behalf. Niel pockets his phone and abandons the couch to go talk to the thief... who is promptly found rummaging through Niel's room.

  "What are you doing?" Niel asks with a sigh that radiates disappointment over anger. The thief stands hunched over the nightstand like a deer in the headlights, Niel's wallet in hand.

  Now caught, Voltaire throws the wallet back into the nightstand, slams the drawer closed, and stomps past Niel in a huff, grumbling, "Nothing."

  "Clearly there's something wrong," Niel states as he follows Voltaire into his room. He shuts the door behind him so they can talk in peace. Voltaire is reluctant at first, but after enough time standing in silence, the thief finally caves.'

  "I'm just... stressed," Voltaire admits, "about the hearing. I don't like waiting like this."

  "Do you want to do something to take your mind off things?" Voltaire's ears perk up at this, as if this was what he wanted but was too proud to ask for.

  "I want to go to the gym and spar," the thief requests. His voice is low and laden with sheepishness.

  "Go today?" Niel repeats, a little confused. They don't go on Tuesdays because the day's Muay Thai class is for advanced students only. So...? "Oh, right. Open mat."

  Each day for a period of time, all three rooms are open for anyone to train or practice freely, usually by those more dedicated to their discipline. Niel and Voltaire hadn't taken advantage of this due to a lack of knowledge, but now with more experience and comfort at the gym, it's a good opportunity to blow off steam and practice what they've learned thus far at their own pace. Today's open mat runs from 4:30 to 5:30, so they'll need to convince their guardians to let them eat early and go on such short notice. After explaining the situation to Mabel, Niel has little difficulty convincing her. When Voltaire's meeting with Medova concludes, they help Poppy make something quick and easy to eat, and off they go.

  It feels strange going to the gym on both a day and a time they normally don't. It's usually close to sundown when they arrive, and the sun is gone by the time they leave; today they'll be here and gone long before dusk. Voltaire notes that it feels like being at school after hours. They're fairly late so they won't be getting the full hour, but it's enough. The locker room is empty apart from them. Is there anyone else here? After changing and stepping onto the mat, they get their answer.

  "Hey, you guys showed up!" Nathan says, surprised. Niel and Voltaire are also surprised to see him and Brock here. There are a few other students kicking heavy bags, doing pad work, sparring, or other forms of training together, with most of them likely being advanced students since Niel doesn't recognize them. Chai and Theo are also here to give oversight, feedback, and guidance.

  "Voltaire wanted to spar," Niel explains matter-of-factly.

  "Aren't you a fighter, then!" Theo comments enthusiastically—the arrival of two of his students not going unnoticed. "Get warmed up and get your gear on, I'll give you two some pointers as you go."

  After grabbing the rental shin guards and headgear, the two boys wrap their hands and prepare for the match. Due to them joining at the same time and having a similar skill level, they've never actually sparred with each other; it's always against someone else with more experience. Now it's finally their turn to lock horns again, except this time it's in a far more controlled environment rather than out on the street. Voltaire's blood is already pumping with eager adrenaline. Not in any of the fights they've had has he ever been able to land one good blow on Niel. Now's his chance to finally punch him in the face! Meanwhile, Niel muses if Voltaire would've stolen from the gym had he not been here. After Theo gives some reminders to the pair to take it easy as this is still only light sparring (they take particular note of when he says to expect hard if they give hard), he waves his hand and allows them to commence.

  Voltaire immediately opens with a jab-cross combo aimed for the head, both punches Niel evades with only a tilt of his head, and with only millimetres to spare. This isn't luck, however: Dark Dust is secretly at play, giving Niel a third, universal eye to boost his reaction speed to supernatural levels. After slipping the cross, Niel delivers a left hook to Voltaire's right side before he can react. Both pull away and take a step back to reset the exchange, everyone left impressed by Niel's performance. Well, everyone but Voltaire.

  After a brief jab exchange, the headhunting resumes, with Voltaire picking up speed and now adding a left hook to the end of his combo. Niel steps forward to barely slip the hook, pulls the thief off balance into a clinch, and taps his belly with his knee, all in one fluid motion and before Theo can remind the pair to keep knee strikes to a touch. They break off to reset again, and Voltaire is left annoyed and feeling like a fool. As for Niel, he feels restrained. There were so many opportunities Voltaire left for him to exploit, he just wasn't able to take advantage of them with his gear and this stance. He much prefers his low, no-guard, grappling style that he survived by.

  Voltaire skips the pleasantries this time and aggressively fires a right low kick aimed at Niel's left thigh. Niel checks the impatient kick and counters with a teep that pushes Voltaire away, right as he attempts an equally aggressive and sloppy right hook. Niel keeps up the pressure and throws a light jab too quick for the reeling thief to counter, but he blocks it with ease, and his ego swells as he feels he finally did something right. However, Niel never expected this to hit, and Voltaire realizes too late what this was for: a distraction for Niel to step to his right and out of the centreline, and a swift low kick finds its way home on the thief's left calf. Brock, Nathan, and Theo are all impressed with Niel's footwork.

  Fuming that he hasn't landed a single blow on his opponent, Voltaire's anger weaves its way into his gloves, and the response of Dust tells Niel that the incoming cross isn't being pulled. If Voltaire wants to go hard, then Niel will send it right back. He drops his guard, slips the punch low and left, hooks his right leg behind Voltaire's, and slams the thief onto the mat with a crashing thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him and leaves him sputtering. It's not what they were taught, but it's what Niel knows will work. Theo isn't exactly pleased with either of them, so he calls for the match to be put on pause for them to cool off. Niel narrows his eyes at the floored thief in calm and cold focus, and he exhales smoothly and silently to match. He can't let his Dust show through his veins. Time for a water break.

  Upon returning to his bag, Niel realizes that, in the rush to get here with decent time remaining, he'd forgotten his water bottle at home. Unfortunate. He'll just have to drink from the water fountain, then. Niel wanders out of the room and down the hall toward the fountain, and after drinking enough to satiate his thirst, turns to make his way back.

  A loud thud and exasperated laughing from the room next to him suddenly catches his attention. Two men, somewhere in their twenties and wearing all white, are grappling trying to take the other to the mat. Based on how this looks nothing like boxing, Niel believes this to be judo. The way they move is far more flexible than the stance they take in Muay Thai, and it's clear takedowns are a focal point of the discipline, like clinching is in his. It's only been a few seconds and he's already enthralled. Muay Thai hasn't grabbed his attention like this. From the corner of his eye, Niel notices Brock approaching.

  "What'cha watching?" Brock questions. His gaze follow's Niel's into the judo room, where he witnesses one of the pair taking the other down, both laughing all the while. "They're having fun, aren't they?"

  "Yeah," Niel says almost longingly. "How's Voltaire?"

  "Fine. He decided to spar with Nathan instead."

  "Oh." Looks like Voltaire has had enough. Maybe Niel shouldn't have gone so hard on him, but he also doesn't exactly enjoy letting himself get punched in the head.

  They both stand there in silence, watching the spar play out over and over—the intrigue in Niel's eye grows larger and larger with each slam against the mat, and Brock sees this plain as day. He's had a thought for a while, but he's never had the timing, privacy, nor the courage to bring it up. At least, not until now.

  "Muay Thai's not really for you, is it?"

  Niel is caught off guard by this. "What?"

  "Well, I mean, you always look particularly uncomfortable whenever you spar, and you don't really show the same enthusiasm that Voltaire does. I could just be wrong about all of this, but it's almost like you're coming here to work, not to play."

  It takes a few seconds for Niel to respond. He didn't really want to admit it to himself, but Brock's correct. This was only ever a deal to get Voltaire to blow off steam. Niel wouldn't have gone otherwise. All of his preparation, all his research into the discipline, even agreeing to go in the first place, it was what he felt he should do and not what he truly wanted to do. He asked himself a long time ago how he could choose what he wanted, and he told himself more recently he would be more honest with himself. And now here he is: still unable to answer the former, and failing to do the latter.

  "We thought bringing Voltaire here would help him work his anger out, but he wouldn't go unless I went with him."

  "So that's what it was..." Brock muses.

  "I don't regret coming," Niel reassures. "I know if I didn't come, Voltaire would've gotten himself in trouble."

  "But those are his mistakes to make."

  "Even if he gets himself kicked out?"

  "Still his mistake to make. Don't get me wrong, it's good that you care about him enough to look after him, but you also shouldn't write off what you want, either."

  Niel pauses again. Why does speaking honestly take so much courage? "I don't trust him enough to leave him here on his own. I know he wouldn't like me leaving."

  "Sounds like a talk you should have with him," Brock states. "And, I don't think you have to worry about him."

  "I think I do."

  "He might still be a bit rough around the edges, and he might still lose his temper now and again, but he's much better now than when you two first got here. Have some faith in him."

  Can he, though? Brock doesn't know what Voltaire's like at home, nor does he know the thief's past. If he did, would his opinions change? If he knew Niel's past, would Brock treat him differently than he does now? Regardless, he's right about how Niel should consider his own wants instead of dismissing them, and that means talking with Voltaire. How the thief will handle that conversation, however, is not something Niel is looking forward to finding out.