“Do you want to tell me why you have a dozen bars of Coalition chocolate stashed underneath your bed?” Dr. Fender began.

It seemed like terrible phrasing—do you want to? Of course he didn’t want to, though on some level the answer should have been obvious. While powdered cocoa wasn’t difficult to get, actual bars of chocolate were a luxury on board the Beagle, only obtained on rare occasions when the trading post they docked at happened to have them in stock. Even then, they were carefully rationed, ensuring that everyone who wanted one got a taste. And everyone always wanted one. Chocolate was a uniquely human invention, and these bars were a sweet reminder of the planet they’d left behind. Four ounces’ worth of flashbacks to Easter baskets and valentines.

And so it had been a moment of weakness, but also a moment of longing, when Leo took advantage of a distraction—the ship’s provisions officer, Darby, arguing with another crew member about mold on the bread—to pocket as many bars as his pants could hold. It wasn’t that difficult; Leo’s magician mother had taught him how to slip things into his pockets or up his sleeves without anyone noticing. The difficulty came in convincing himself that he could . . . even knowing that he shouldn’t.

That, and the flutter in his stomach that had formed the moment he did it. The theft occurred yesterday, and all day today Leo fretted. It was the first time he’d ever stolen anything, the guilt gnawing its way through him, causing him to sweat through his shirt. And yet, coming back to the room after his morning lessons, Leo was still debating in his head whether or not to turn himself in or to unwrap one of the pilfered bars and go to town.

The decision had been made for him.

“Well?” his father prodded.

Leo answered with a shrug.

“Hmph,” Dr. Fender grunted. “I can’t express just how disappointed I am right now, Leo. I know it can be hard sometimes. Stuck on this ship. Eating the same meals over and over again. And then something comes along that’s a little special. Something that maybe even reminds you of home a little bit. And you want that something to last. We all do. But this . . . this is wrong. We have rules for a reason. You do realize that each one of these represents someone on this ship who didn’t get what was coming to them? What they deserved? And all because you decided to be selfish.”

“But I . . . ,” Leo started to say.

“But you what?” his father asked, raising his voice a notch.

But I couldn’t help it, he thought. Leo knew that wasn’t true, though. Of course he knew the rules. The truth was, he was tired of playing by them. Tired because he’d never agreed to them in the first place. He hadn’t agreed to come on board this ship. Hadn’t agreed to wear the same pair of Coalition boots day in and day out. Hadn’t agreed to drink powdered juice or to share a room with his brother or to spend years without smelling grass or watching raindrops spatter against a window. He hadn’t agreed to leave his cat and his friends and his house and his planet and his entire life behind in order to spend years—years—wandering through a cold ship, caught in an endless vacuum. He hadn’t asked for any of this; it had all been decided for him, even down to how much chocolate he could have. And Leo was sick of it.