Ve doesn’t know anything, Fift thought. Not about what I . . . did. Ve thinks I have a crush, like Minth had on Abador in the lyrical eighth subsection of the fourth responsum of the tenth additional corpus. Maybe ve thinks I haven’t even admitted it to myself?

Ze couldn’t ask zir social nuance agent; this was dangerous ground, and the agents would probably report back to zir parents. Zir hands were slippery with sweat. Even without neural data, the house feed might know if ze lied.

The thought of lying outright made zir nauseous anyway—it was as if parts of zir were tearing away from each other, like layers of a pressed fabric coming apart. Had ze wanted to be comforted like an infant when ze let them expose zir brain? To nestle in, let zir Fathers know and decide? What a joke: ze’d only achieved the opposite. Now that Squell had almost glimpsed the truth in Fift’s brain, ze had to tear zir trusting child-self out of zir for good.

Ze descended the stairs behind Mother Pip (that body trudging, reluctant) and the stairs in the apartment (that body restless, agitated).

Frill, Grobbard, and Smistria were in the breakfast room—all silent, pretending not to pay attention to the conversation between Squell and Fift. The last thing Fift wanted was to go in there. Ze turned into the empty anteroom instead. By the front door, ze started checking zir message queue.

Shria and friends were in Wallacomp now, moving through the bustle of Perilax. Striding boldly, heads held high. They must have passed several sluice operators. To be this far from home, they must have some specific purpose . . .

Squell was looking at zir intently.

Ze swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, dear cubblehedge. I don’t need you to say anything. But I want you to take a step back. I don’t want you to communicate with Shria anymore. I don’t want you to involve yourself in . . . whatever comes next. Just for a while. And after this little jaunt with Mother Pip is over, and those anonybodying cowards have been properly rebuked, I’d like you to, well . . . stay home for a bit.”

“Not send to Shria at all? Father Squell, I can’t do that!” Even if Shria had said practically the same thing. But that was different! Or was it? Kumru. Zir guts clenched.

“Cubblehedge. I am trying to be delicate about this, but really . . . I don’t think you realize how dangerous this situation is. For one thing, our ratings hang in the balance, and the last thing you need is an accusation of . . . well, inappropriate inclinations.”