Petronio couldn’t sleep. His new home gave off a constant hum, and tiny lights winked on and off like fireflies dancing across the panels above his head. He played the explosion of the acorn over and over in his mind. That g-gun easily beat his favorite throwing knife. So much power contained in such a tiny package. After an hour of trying to drift off, his eyes shot open. Would he even dare? Why not?

He knew where the armory cabinet lay, lined in an impenetrable alloy. The key was what mattered. As Fenestra had stooped over him before bed, he’d seen it glinting as it hung around her neck. He could hear the men’s snores in the bunkroom down the corridor as he crept along toward Fenestra’s quarters. His footsteps padded silently. One more advantage of Mawish technology. Metal didn’t creak like wood.

The door swung open silently, and pale moonlight revealed Fenestra’s sleeping form. He stopped for a second, looking at the curve of her lips, the smoothness of her skin. She had a beauty unlike any Dendran. It was off-putting. The key lay on the pillow, nestled in the tangle of the envoy’s hair. If he pulled, she’d wake up. He knelt down, as if in prayer, hoping for inspiration.

Of course, the key was on a clip. If he moved quietly enough, he could unhook it. As he worked the clip, his fingers gently brushed a stray lock of her hair. It felt smooth as beech bark, tingling his skin. At least the envoy’s breathing stayed regular, though his own was sharp and shallow. He was convinced that his heartbeat echoed around the chamber, but the woman never shifted.

Five minutes later, the key was turning in the lock and the cabinet spread its metal arms wide to reveal rack after rack of precision-made deadliness. A g-gun 500 was too obvious, too large, but a tumbled mound of smaller weapons was easy prey. They would never miss one from the top of the pile. He gripped a gun in his hand, felt the comfortable weight of it. It molded itself to his palm as if his hands were evolved for this very act. It would do. He slipped it into his doublet and closed the doors.

As he knelt by Fenestra’s bed, trying to work the clip and return the key, she coughed suddenly. He stilled himself. If she opened her eyes, he’d be discovered: the trusted boy reduced to petty thief. There’s no doubt she’d dismiss him, or worse.

His fingers froze into claws, the key dangling in front of him like evidence. What was he thinking? She trusted him and he repaid it with this!

But instead of shooting accusations from her lips, Fenestra gave a sleepy sigh and turned away from him toward the shadows. With relief, he retreated back to his room, cradling his newfound toy.