Chapter 18: Probation

Noah had written the terms on the back of a Pike Street diner menu, because it was the only paper in reach and the menu was laminated.

He turned it around on the table and slid it across.

PROBATION, it said at the top, in block capitals.

Cassian read it with both elbows on the booth.

"One," he read. "Intern at the Pike Street table, Mondays to Fridays, four to seven."

"We tutor eight people for free," Noah said. "The label maker is the director. You report to her."

"Does she know?"

"She's known for two days. She's already made you a badge."

Cassian ran a thumb down the laminate, and the marker did not smudge.

"Two," he read. "No sure without a reason."

"That one you know."

"Three. Anything hard and true gets said the day you know it. Not the day after." His voice caught slightly. "That one's about the ring."

"That one is about the ring."

"Four. One chance. If I break any of it, it's over, and nobody argues about the verdict."

"Nobody moves it or seconds it," Noah said. "It just ends."

Cassian sat very still.

Noah had practiced saying all of it to the bathroom mirror on Pike Street, which had a crack across one corner.

He had not practiced saying the next part.

"There's a fifth," Noah said. "It isn't on the menu. It's mine."

"Yours?"

"You shouldn't be the only one who confesses."

He folded his hands on the table and looked at them.

"I read your note on the second morning," he said. "I said so at the hearing. What I didn't say is why I stayed."

Cassian said nothing, and Noah was grateful.

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