Dayton: The Junior Guardian Chronices: Episode 24

Here is a look at Kinsley since I know people want to a better look at her. 

By Sunday afternoon, the city had that gray-gold November light that made everything look colder and clearer than it actually was. The air nipped at Dayton’s cheeks as she cut across the side street toward Nicole’s building, hands buried in the pocket of her hoodie, thumb pressed against the familiar raised edge of her phone. 

She already knew what would be on the screen if she checked. 

Claim Status: Under Investigation  

It had said some version of that for weeks now. At first, it had updated almost daily, little bureaucratic phrases stacking up like levels in a game. 

Initial Intake Complete. 
Evidence Request Submitted. 
District Cooperation Confirmed. 

Then the interview with her. Then, a week later, the phone call to Nicole “as guardian of a Little and peer witness” that had made everyone in the Myers household panic for a solid twenty-four hours. 

And then nothing. 

She climbed the brownstone steps two at a time, sneakers crunching on stray rock salt. The brass handle was cold under her palm. 

The bell echoed somewhere inside. Footsteps. A shout. 

“Got it!” 

The door yanked open. Nicole stood there in an oversized NYU hoodie and jeans baby blue socks on the marble tile, hair braided that was too perfect to be accidental. A faint yellowing bruise still shadowed along her jaw from her wisdom teeth surgery. 

“Hi,” Dayton said. 

Nicole turned, already walking. “Come in, my mom will give a TED Talk on energy efficiency if you let the heat out.” 

“Hi to you too,” Dayton muttered, following her in. Warmth swept over her, carrying the familiar mix of citrus cleaner and something yeasty from the kitchen. 

From deeper in the apartment: “Hi, Dayton! Shoes off, please!” 

“Yes, Mrs. Myers,” Dayton called, toeing off her sneakers and lining them up next to Nicole’s. There were a pair of tiny boots parked neatly between a set of adult shoes and Nicole’s Converse, each no bigger than Dayton’s middle finger, their soles dusted faintly white from sidewalk salt. 

Her eyes snagged on those for a second. 

Kinsley had gone outside recently. 

Upstairs, the family photos tracked the twins’ growth: gap-toothed kindergartners, muddy soccer uniforms, matching fifth-grade Halloween costumes, all the way to the one that always punched a little hole in Dayton’s chest. Two twelve-year-olds in matching jerseys, medals around their necks, sweat darkened hair in identical braids. Arms hooked, eyes bright, utterly sure of the future. 

Before Smallara or as Dayton liked to call it BS.  

Nicole’s room was at the end of the hall, door half open. She shoved it the rest of the way with her hip. 

“Hey, menace. Look who the cold dragged in.” 

Kinsley was on the desk. (im somehow just now noticing how close Kingsley which is Evans last name and Kinsley which is nicole’s sister are in spelling and pronunciation)  

Even after a year, Dayton’s brain still tripped over the sight. Six point two inches. Officially. She sat crosslegged on a neatly folded square of fabric that matched Nicole’s duvet, a miniature laptop open in front of her. Dark brown and blonde hair in a pulled up neatly, a few wisps loose around her face. A slim black collar ringed her throat, ID tag flashing silver when she moved. 

She glanced up, expression automatic soft for half a heartbeat, the way it often was around adults or unfamiliar people. 

Then she saw Dayton. 

Her whole face sharpened, posture shifting like someone had plugged her in. 

“Well, well,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “If it isn’t my favorite narc.” 

Dayton snorted despite herself. “Hi, Kins.” 

“Hi, snitch.” 

Nicole rolled her eyes and crossed to the desk, scooping Kinsley up into her palm with one smooth motion. “You’re not supposed to call SEA informants ‘narcs,’ we talked about this.” 

“We also talked about bodily autonomy,” Kinsley said. “Look how that turned out.” 

Nicole winced. “Too soon.” 

“You asked.” Kinsley turned, held out her arms dramatically. “Hug me, you terrible traitors to your height class.” 

Nicole cradled her against her chest like a weirdly mouthy doll for a second before setting her down on the nightstand next to a tiny ceramic mug with a straw. 

Dayton dropped her backpack by the bed and flopped onto the duvet, bouncing once. “So I’m a narc now?” 

“You’ve always been a narc,” Kinsley said, taking a sip from the straw. The sound was impossibly small. “SEA just finally recognized your potential.” 

Nicole hopped up onto the bed beside Dayton, cross legged, hugging a throw pillow. “Okay, that’s enough slander. She’s not that bad.” She tilted her head at Dayton. “Any updates?” 

There it was. 

Dayton stared at the pattern on the duvet for a second. “No. Same status. ‘Under Investigation’” 

“So we’re still in Schrodinger’s Claim,” Kinsley said. “He both is and isn’t your Little.” 

Nicole lobbed the pillow at her gently, missing by a mile. “You’re not helping.” 

“I’m coping,” Kinsley said. “It’s called humor. Look it up.” 

“You’ve been doom texting her all week,” Nicole told Dayton, not quite looking at her. “You could’ve doom texted me too, you know.” 

Dayton blinked. “I… I thought you were still recovering from the surgery. And studying. You had that math test.” 

“That was, like, three days,” Nicole said. “This has been going on for weeks.” 

Kinsley’s tiny eyebrows rose. “We are literally in a three person group chat, Dayton.” 

Dayton winced. “Technically… we have a side thread.” 

Nicole’s head snapped around. “A what.” 

Kinsley made a face. “Wow, okay, just throw me under the bus.” 

“There’s a separate chat,” Dayton said quickly. “For, like, ethics stuff. Guardian questions. I didn’t want to spam you with law articles when you had midterms.” 

“So, you spammed my sister instead?” Nicole demanded. 

“She’s the one who keeps asking me to send SEA case studies,” Kinsley said, raising her hand. “In my defense, I’m the only one here who has actually had my species reclassified.” 

Nicole put a hand to her forehead. “You two have been having secret Guardian ethics debates without me.” 

“They weren’t secret,” Dayton said. “Just… not public.” 

“That is literally the definition of a secret,” Nicole said. “When did this start?” 

Dayton thought back. The night after SEA confirmed they’d received the initial report. The notification had pinged, and she’d panicked and DM’d the first person she knew who existed on both sides of the height divide. 

“Like… when they scheduled my interview,” she admitted. “I needed to know what it… felt like. From your side,” she added, nodding at Kinsley. 

Kinsley shrugged, straw between her fingers. “We’ve mostly been making fun of her for writing emails that sound like they were drafted by a robot.” 

“I was being thorough,” Dayton said. 

“You copy pasted SEA statute numbers,” Kinsley replied. “In an email to the SEA.” 

Nicole stared at Dayton. “So let me get this straight. SEA interviews you about Mr. Rhys. Then they call here a week later and ask my mom about how we treat Littles and whether I’ve ever seen him alone with students, and everyone freaks out for a day thinking they’re going to rip Kinsley away, and the whole time you two are just… texting each other law memes?” 

“It wasn’t law memes,” Dayton said, stung. “We talked about you. And Kins. And Mr. Rhys. And what’s fair. It’s not like you weren’t a part of it.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nicole muttered. 

A hot, pinchy feeling crawled up Dayton’s neck. “I didn’t mean to leave you out.” 

“Yeah, well.” Nicole picked at a loose thread on the pillow. “You did.” 

The TV on the dresser reflected them in its dark screen: one full-sized girl rigid with hurt, one full-sized girl suddenly too aware of her own weight on the mattress, and a six-inch girl perched between them like a snarky little referee. 

Kinsley sighed. “Okay, before this becomes A Very Special Episode, can we maybe remember we’re all on the same side here? Or at least on the same general team, if we’re arguing about positions.” 

“No, let’s not skip the part where my best friend and my sister started a secret ethics club without me,” Nicole said. 

“It wasn’t a club,” Dayton said quickly. “It was just… easier to ask Kins some stuff directly.” 

“Like what?” Nicole demanded. “What did you need to ask her that you couldn’t ask me?” 

Dayton hesitated. 

Kinsley watched her, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Tell her,” she said. 

Dayton swallowed. “I asked… what it felt like when the SEA showed up. When the paperwork got filed. When the law decided everything about her life on a form.” 

Nicole’s fingers were still on the pillow. 

“And?” she asked quietly. 

“And I told her it felt like someone hit pause on the world and then rewrote the script without asking me,” Kinsley said, voice losing some of its usual bite. “Like one minute I was arguing with Dayton over who got to be center mid, and the next I was the family dog whose name got added to the lease.” 

“You are not a dog,” Nicole said automatically. 

“You know what I mean,” Kinsley said. 

“I… didn’t know how to do this without screwing it up,” Dayton admitted, words starting to tumble. “Filing, I mean. I thought if I could understand it from your side, I’d be less likely to… I don’t know. Turn into every horror story SEA uses in training videos.” 

Nicole’s eyes flicked up. “So you thought talking to my Little sister about my teacher behind my back was the move.” 

“That wasn’t the goal,” Dayton said, frustration spiking. “The goal was not to be a monster.” 

“Well, congrats,” Nicole said. “You’re not a monster, you’re just extremely bad at communication.” 

Kinsley snorted softly. “Wow, high praise.” 

Dayton sank back onto her hands. “You’re both acting like I did this for fun.” 

“We’re acting like this isn’t just about law for us,” Nicole said. “SEA called me, Day. They asked if I felt safe at school. If any teacher had made me uncomfortable. If I’d ever seen Mr. Rhys treat Littles or students badly. Do you know what that felt like? Sitting at the dining table with Mom, and they’re asking questions like I’m in some after-school special, and all I can think is, ‘If I say the wrong thing, do they take Kinsley away?’” 

Dayton’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t been in that room. She’d only seen the after: Nicole white faced, Kinsley perched on the counter insisting “it’s fine, they’re just doing their job.” 

“I didn’t want you dragged into it,” Dayton said, small. 

“Newsflash,” Nicole said. “We were already in it.” 

Silence stretched. 

On the nightstand, Kinsley leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Look. Reality check time.” She pointed her straw at Dayton. “You filed on him weeks ago. We all know that. SEA has their precious camera footage and their statements and their district emails. Whatever’s going to happen to him is already happening behind some bland office door. Today isn’t about that.” 

Nicole frowned. “Then what is it about?” 

“It’s about what happens if he ends up in her pocket,” Kinsley said simply. “Legally. Permanently.” 

Dayton felt every word like a weight. 

“I told you,” she said. “I’ll keep him safe.” 

“That is the lowest bar imaginable,” Kinsley said. “Congratulations on not planning to throw him in a blender.” 

Nicole huffed out a laugh she clearly didn’t want to have, shoulders softening a little. 

“You asked me in DMs,” Kinsley went on, looking at Dayton, “if I thought you’d be a ‘good Guardian.’ Remember?” 

Dayton winced. “You screenshotted that?” 

“I don’t need to. It’s burned into my soul,” Kinsley said. “So here’s the answer I didn’t type because you were spiraling: you’ll be as good as you are honest about why you want him.” 

“I told you why,” Dayton said. “He’s unclaimed, he’s working illegally, he…” 

“And you hate him,” Nicole said quietly. 

The words stopped her flat. 

“I don’t…” 

“You hate him,” Nicole repeated. “He humiliated you. He treats you like you’re still a kid. You want him safe, yeah, but you also want him small and corrected and aware that he can’t talk down to you anymore. You want to win.” 

Dayton’s cheeks flamed. “It’s not that simple.” 

“It kind of is,” Kinsley said. “You can have both, you know. Wanting him safe and wanting him humbled doesn’t cancel out. But pretending it’s only about safety makes it worse.” 

Dayton stared at the little girl on the nightstand who used to meet her on the soccer field and scream across drills about who would get more goals. 

“You told me,” Kinsley said, gaze steady, “you wanted him because if SEA gave him to some random rich family in the suburbs, he’d end up as a conversation piece on their mantle. That you’d at least make him useful.” 

Dayton’s voice came out brittle. “Is that not true?” 

“It might be,” Kinsley said. “But the part you didn’t type is that you also want to be the one holding the leash when that happens. You want to be the one he has to look up at.” 

Nicole’s jaw flexed. 

“That’s what SEA is supposed to be shielding Littles from,” Kinsley went on, quieter now. “Not just people who ‘mistreat’ us. People who want us for the wrong reasons. People who forget there was a person before there was a pet.” 

Images flickered in Dayton’s mind from training videos and case files. Owners who’d registered Littles like status symbols. Guardians who fed perfectly and logged every hygiene check but never once learned their Little’s pre-Smallara name. 

And Chloe Gracewood. The way she talked about Generitech’s “buffer zones” and “quiet contracts,” places that intercepted the worst outcomes and quietly redirected Littles to safer hands before the law ever had to step in. 

Dayton had rolled her eyes at the idealism back then. 

She wasn’t rolling her eyes now. 

“I remember who he was,” Dayton said, a little desperately. “Who he still is.” 

“Do you?” Kinsley asked. “Because all you talk about lately is what he did to you. Not what it’ll do to him when his whole world shrinks to the size of your bedroom.” 

Nicole shifted closer, shoulder pressing into Dayton’s. “We’re not trying to say you can’t do it,” she said. “Honestly? If SEA’s gonna hand him to a thirteen year old with a Guardian license, I’d rather it be you than the other guardians  in our school. At least you read the manual.” 

Dayton snorted weakly. 

“But if this actually happens,” Nicole went on, “you can’t treat him like a victory trophy. You have to treat him like…” She glanced at Kinsley, then away. “Like a person who lost everything overnight.” 

Kinsley rolled her eyes. “Wow, feelings. Gross.” 

Dayton looked from one sister to the other. Human. Little. Both looking at her like they were giving her something fragile and dangerous to hold. 

She thought of the status screen on her phone. Of Mr. Rhys standing on the desk, all clean lines and controlled voice, calling on her like she was still just a student. Of the hot, sour ball of anger that had sat in her lungs ever since. Of the claim form she’d filled out with shaking hands. 

“I don’t know how not to want to win,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve always wanted to win.” 

Kinsley’s mouth twitched. “Trust me, we noticed.” 

“But…” Dayton swallowed. “If I get him, I don’t want that to be the only thing going on in my head. I don’t want to be… that.” 

Nicole nudged her. “Then don’t be. Check yourself. Let us check you.” 

Kinsley pointed her straw at Dayton again. “If you start enjoying the ‘punish’ part more than the ‘protect’ part, I will personally roast you until the end of time. I will compose entire Tiny TikToks dragging your Guardian career.” 

“You’re not allowed on TinyTok until you’re fourteen,” Nicole said automatically. 

“You gonna stop me?” Kinsley shot back. 

Nicole’s lips twitched unwillingly. 

Dayton let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

“Okay,” she said. “Fine. I’ll… try to be honest. With myself. With you.” 

“Promise,” Nicole said. 

Dayton met her eyes. “I promise.” 

The word felt heavier than any SEA certification oath she’d taken. 

Kinsley relaxed back against the lamp base, pulling a tiny fleece blanket over her legs. “Good. Weekly ethics seminar complete. Someone turn on something stupid before I start quoting case law.” 

Nicole grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, landing on a dating show mid argument. Overproduced pop blared from the speakers, filling the room with bright, manufactured drama. 

Dayton eased down onto her back, staring up at the ceiling while the noise washed over them. The mattress dipped where Nicole leaned, warm solid presence against her shoulder. On the nightstand, Kinsley’s profile was outlined in blue light from the TV, collar tag glinting every time she shifted. 

For a little while, they let the show carry them. They yelled at bad decisions, made fun of outfits, argued over who was clearly there for the wrong reasons. Normal, stupid stuff. 

Almost enough to mute the buzz under Dayton’s skin. 

Almost. 

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket, a tiny vibration against her hip. 

She didn’t move. 

“What if they already decided and just, like… forgot to update the app,” Nicole said eventually, eyes still on the screen. 

“They don’t forget,” Dayton said, automatically, from training. “Everything is logged.” 

“Then they’re waiting for something,” Kinsley said. “Maybe they’re watching him. Maybe they’re watching you. Maybe they’re watching this house.” She waggled her eyebrows. 

Nicole flicked a balled-up tissue at her. “We are not interesting enough for surveillance.” 

“You own a Little,” Kinsley said. “We are automatically interesting.” 

“You’re interesting,” Nicole said. “I’m just tired.” 

“Those two things are not mutually exclusive,” Kinsley replied. 

Dayton forced herself to breathe with the rhythm of the room. In on Nicole’s laugh. Out on Kinsley’s snark. In on the canned studio audience reaction. Out on the thought of SEA agents reviewing grainy classroom footage frame by frame. 

Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, something would change. A decision would appear on her screen. Maybe they’d assign him to her. Maybe they’d deny the claim and hand him to someone else. Maybe they’d remove him from the school entirely. 

For tonight, in a warm November bedroom in Manhattan, she was just Dayton again. A girl lying on a bed, shoulder to shoulder with her best friend, listening to a Little complain about reality show contestants. 

Her phone buzzed once more. 

She didn’t look. 

 
Not yet. 
 
 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 60 minutes later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
 
They made it through two full episodes before the jokes started running out and the silence started creeping back in around the edges. 

On-screen, a girl in too-high heels sobbed by a fake fountain while a producer thoughtfully zoomed in on her mascara. 

On the bed, Nicole was picking at that same loose thread in the pillow, winding it around her finger until the fabric puckered. 

Dayton watched the TV and did not see any of it. 

Her brain kept looping the same moment. 

You did. 

You did leave me out. 

The worst part was that Nicole was not wrong. 

“Okay.” Kinsley blew out a breath on the nightstand, loud for someone the size of a Barbie. “This show is actually rotting my brain. I can feel my IQ dropping through the floorboards.” 

Nicole did not rise to the bait. Just shrugged one shoulder. 

“Then go back to your TinyNet flame wars,” she said, voice flat. 

Kinsley’s eyes flicked between them. Her mouth opened. Closed. The joke died on her tongue. 

“Bathroom,” Nicole muttered, sliding off the bed and heading for the door. The pillow fell sideways, forgotten. 

The door did not slam, but it shut with a soft, decisive click. 

Silence dropped into the space she left. 

On the nightstand, tiny neon letters danced across Kinsley’s laptop screen. She did not look at them. 

“Well,” she said at last. “That sucked.” 

“It was not supposed to go like that,” Dayton said. 

“No kidding. I had popcorn ready for SEA gossip, not a live performance of ‘You Hurt My Feelings’ featuring my favorite emotionally constipated idiots.” 

Dayton dragged a hand down her face. “You could have told me she felt left out.” 

“You could have noticed,” Kinsley shot back, then softened a fraction. “Look, she knew you filed. She knew SEA interviewed you. She knew they called here. She just found out there was a whole extra layer where her best friend and her sister were having deep talks and she was mostly getting the recap.” 

“I thought I was protecting her,” Dayton said, the words tasting weak as soon as they left her mouth. 

“From what. Feelings?” Kinsley asked. “Spoiler: she has those.” 

“I did not want to make her more anxious.” 

“You did not want to watch her be anxious,” Kinsley corrected. “Those are not the same thing.” 

Dayton grimaced. “Why are you so annoyingly good at this.” 

“Seven years of being your rival. It is like training in a very specific gym.” Kinsley tilted her head toward the door. “Go fix it.” 

“What if she needs space,” Dayton said. 

“Then she will tell you to go away and you will survive,” Kinsley said. “But if you sit here and wait for her to come back and pretend nothing happened, that is worse. You know that.” 

The thought of walking into a conversation where she was the problem made Dayton’s stomach twist. She would rather fight a sea of SEA auditors with a printed copy of the statute book. 

But Kinsley’s eyes were steady. No flinch. No sarcasm as armor. 

“You messed up,” the Little said. “You apologize. This is not rocket science, Guardian Harris.” 

The title hit different from her mouth. Less mocking, more pointed. 

Dayton slid off the bed before she could talk herself out of it. 

“Fine,” she muttered. “If I die, you get my soccer cleats.” 

“I cannot wear your cleats,” Kinsley said. “They could be my summer house.” 

Dayton cracked a smile in spite of herself and slipped out into the hall. 

Nicole’s bathroom door was open. The light was off. Empty. 

Dayton went downstairs, fingers grazing the smooth banister. Voices drifted from the kitchen. Mrs. Myers, something about work. Nicole’s wordless reply. Cabinet doors. 

Dayton hesitated at the threshold. 

Nicole stood at the counter in the soft light over the stove, hair falling out of her bun in wisps. She was pouring cereal into a bowl like it had personally offended her, the motions jerky. A glass of water sweated beside her, ring of condensation already forming. 

Mrs. Myers stood at the island in yoga pants and a Roosevelt Middle sweatshirt, scrolling her tablet. She looked up first. 

“Oh. Hey, Dayton.” Her voice gentled. “You girls okay up there?” 

“Yeah,” Dayton lied, then immediately corrected herself. “Sort of. Can I steal Nikki for a minute?” 

Nicole flinched almost imperceptibly at the nickname. Her mom noticed. Of course she did. Moms see everything. 

Mrs. Myers closed her tablet. “I was just going to run some laundry downstairs,” she said, clearly inventing it on the spot. “Kinsley good?” 

“She is harassing reality show contestants,” Dayton said. “So, yeah.” 

Mrs. Myers smiled. “Sounds like her. Knock if you need anything, okay?” 

She slipped past Dayton and out, leaving the kitchen suddenly bigger and too bright. 

It was just the two of them and the slow drip of the faucet and the hum of the fridge. 

Nicole poured milk. Way too much. It sloshed over the edge of the bowl and puddled on the counter. 

“Sorry,” Dayton said. 

“I am the one who spilled,” Nicole said, grabbing a paper towel. 

“That is not what I am apologizing for.” 

Nicole froze, hand hovering over the milk. 

Dayton stepped closer, but not too close. Enough that they did not have to shout. Far enough that either of them could bail if they wanted to. 

“I shouldn’t have kept that chat from you,” she said. No preamble. No excuses. Her Mom had drilled that into her: get to the thing, do not dance around it. “With Kins. About SEA. About him.” 

Nicole stared at the counter. 

“I thought I was… managing information,” Dayton went on. “Containing it. So you would not have to think about every detail the way I do. You already had Kins to worry about, and school, and your wisdom teeth, and I figured if someone was going to lose sleep over procedure timelines, it should be me and Chloe and Sara, not you.” 

“Congratulations,” Nicole said. “They definitely lost sleep.” 

“I know.” The admission hurt. “But I did not think about how it would feel on your end. That every time your phone buzzed, you would think it was them, not me. That you would find out I was talking to your sister and not you.” 

Nicole wrung the paper towel in her hands. “I am not mad that you talked to her,” she said finally. “She is a Little. She gets stuff we do not. I am glad you went to her for that.” 

“Not instead of you,” Dayton said quickly. “That is the part I am sorry for. I made this whole thing into a… Guardian project in my head. Something I had to handle. I forgot that, before all of that, I am your my best friend.” 

The word felt shaky coming out. 

And true. 

“I didn’t trust you with the messy parts,” Dayton said. “I didn’t trust you with how angry I am. Or how scared. I acted like you were too fragile, when you literally pick up your six inch sister and argue with SEA agents on the phone.” 

“I didn’t argue,” Nicole muttered. “I thanked them for their service.” 

“Then hung up and cried,” Dayton said softly. “Kins told me.” 

Nicole’s shoulders stiffened. “She had no right.” 

“She is worried about you,” Dayton said. “Same as me.” 

Nicole pressed her lips together. 

The cereal was turning to mush in the bowl. Little soggy islands floating in milky seas. 

“You know what hurt?” Nicole asked at last, voice quieter. “It wasn’t’ just the secret chat. It was realizing you didnt think you could bring this to me. That you thought I would… what, break. Or make it about me. Or not get it.” 

Dayton swallowed. “I didnt want to watch you be scared. I am not good at… that. At feelings. I can deal with forms. I can deal with protocols. I can quote SEA oversight guidelines from memory. But when you cry I feel like someone handed me a bomb and told me it is my fault if it goes off.” 

Nicole huffed out a wet laugh. “Your metaphors are very subtle.” 

“What I am trying to say is…” Dayton took a breath. “I didnt leave you out because I dont care. I left you out because I care so much I panic and then make exactly the wrong choice. I’m sorry. You deserved to be at the center of this with me, not getting the leftovers.” 

The faucet dripped. The fridge hummed. Somewhere upstairs, a TV audience gasped on cue. 

Nicole wiped at the counter again even though it was already clean. 

“I am not mad you filed,” she said slowly. “Or that SEA is doing their thing. I get why you did it. I even agree he shouldn’t be unclaimed in a classroom. That’s not the point.” 

“I know,” Dayton said. 

“I am mad that they called here and used your name and you werent the one who told me first,” Nicole said. “That I had to find out from a stranger that my best friend set the whole thing in motion and didnt think I needed to know the details.” 

Dayton’s chest tightened. “You’re right. That was… bad. I do not have an excuse that makes it not bad.” 

Nicole finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy, but there was a spark in them that made Dayton both relieved and a little scared. 

“I would have helped you, you know,” Nicole said. “If you had let me. With the form. With the case. With thinking about how this would feel for him. You are not the only one who reads things.” 

“I know that now,” Dayton said. “I am sorry it took making you feel disposable for my brain to catch up.” 

“Disposable is dramatic,” Nicole said, but she did not fully dodge. “Excluded. Definitely excluded.” 

“Excluded,” Dayton repeated. “I wont do that again. Not with this. Not with anything that affects you or Kins. If SEA calls me, I tell you. If I DM your sister about Guardian stuff, you are looped in. Full transparency. Even if my instinct is to go shut myself in a metaphorical bunker and handle it alone.” 

“You hate asking for help,” Nicole said. 

“I know,” Dayton said. “I am working on it.” 

Nicole studied her for a long moment, like she was deciding whether to believe her. 

Outside, a car honked. Somewhere a dog barked twice and then gave up. 

“You really thought I couldn’t handle it,” Nicole said. It was not quite a question. More of a statement she needed to put out loud. 

“I thought it would hurt you,” Dayton said. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make you hurt. Which is stupid, because you were going to be in it regardless. That is what a SEA investigation means. Everyone who was there gets pulled in.” 

Nicole’s jaw worked. “I hate that you were right about that.” 

“I hate that I managed to be right in the worst way possible,” Dayton said. 

Something in Nicole’s face folded. Not all the way to a full smile. Just a tiny unclenching at the corners of her mouth. 

“You are such a control freak,” she said, with no real heat. 

“I know,” Dayton said. “It is my most annoying skill.” 

“That and quoting statute numbers,” Nicole said. 

“Those are a package deal,” Dayton said. 

Nicole blew out a breath and leaned her hips against the counter, looking tired all of a sudden. 

“You are my best friend,” she said. “In case you forgot.” 

“I didnt forget,” Dayton said quickly. “I just… misfiled the information.” 

Nicole groaned. “You did not just turn our friendship into a paperwork metaphor.” 

“I panic and bureaucratize,” Dayton said. “It is who I am as a person.” 

Nicole choked out a laugh. A real one this time, sharp and surprised. 

“Wow,” she said. “You are lucky you are useful.” 

“You say the sweetest things,” Dayton said. 

Nicole set the crumpled paper towel down and looked at her head on. 

“I forgive you,” she said. 

The words were simple. They felt enormous. 

“Under one condition,” she added. 

Dayton braced. “Which is.” 

“You let me be there in the next part,” Nicole said. “Whatever it is. If SEA brings him to class . If they call you. If you get that notification. You do not go off and deal with it by yourself and text me the summary later. We are a unit.” 

“A unit,” Dayton echoed. 

“This doesn’t have to be your solo quest,” Nicole said. “We can co-quest.” 

“That is not a word,” Dayton said. 

“It is now,” Nicole said. 

Dayton felt something loosen in her chest that had been knot tight for days. “Okay. Co-quest. I can do that.” 

Nicole stuck her pinky out, ridiculous and solemn. 

“Swear,” she said. 

Dayton stared at the offered pinky like it was a live wire. 

Then she hooked her own around it. 

“I swear,” she said. 

A tiny voice came from the doorway. “Cute. Can we go back to the part where you are both nerds.” 

They both turned. 

Kinsley stood on the lower cabinet handle, hands gripping the one above like a tiny rock climber. Her hair had come fully loose from being pulled up. She must have scaled down from Nicole’s room, following the sound of voices. 

“How long have you been there,” Nicole asked. 

“Since ‘I panic and bureaucratize,’” Kinsley said. “Ten out of ten self awareness, by the way.” 

“You are not supposed to free climb,” Nicole said, scooping her up with practiced ease. “You have a carrier for exactly this reason.” 

“Carriers are for Littles who are not elite athletes,” Kinsley said. “Also I didnt want to miss the live apology special.” 

She settled easily into Nicole’s palm, legs dangling over the edge. 

“So,” she said, looking between them. “Are we done being emotionally weird or do I need to schedule another session and start charging hourly.” 

“Please do not become a tiny therapist,” Dayton said. “That is somehow the scariest possible version of you.” 

“Imagine how much you would hate hearing ‘and how does that make you feel’ from six inches away,” Kinsley mused. “In surround sound.” 

Nicole snorted. “Absolutely not. You are banned from psychology.” 

“Rude,” Kinsley said. She glanced back at Dayton. “You did good, by the way. For someone who usually communicates exclusively in policy citations and thinly veiled threats.” 

“That was the worst compliment I have ever received,” Dayton said. 

“It was not a compliment,” Kinsley said. “It was an observation.” 

Nicole nudged Dayton with her elbow. “She is right, though. You did good.” 

Heat crawled up Dayton’s neck. “I did necessary,” she said. “Good is pushing it.” 

“Necessary is good,” Nicole said. “Most people never make it that far.” 

Kinsley wrinkled her nose and leaned dramatically into Nicole’s chest. “Ew. Gross. Feelings. Can we go back to watching hot people make terrible choices now.” 

Nicole shifted her grip so Kinsley was tucked against her palm, thumb instinctively braced near the collar. “Yeah. Let us feed your chaos.” 

She grabbed the cereal bowl with her free hand, milk sloshing dangerously close to the rim. 

“You are going to spill that all over your duvet,” Dayton said. 

“I live on the edge,” Nicole replied, already heading for the stairs. 

Dayton lingered for half a second in the kitchen. 

The apology hadn’t erased everything. It hadn’t magically untangled the SEA investigation or the knot of anger in her chest or the way her heart skittered whenever she thought about tomorrow. 

But there was a new thread now. A small, solid thing tied between her and Nicole. 

We are a unit. 

She liked the way that felt. 

She followed them up the stairs, listening to Kinsley narrate her own life like a sports commentator. 

“And here we have the daring Little, freshly victorious from a moral debate, being chauffeured to the viewing chamber where she will critique humans who think love can be found in eight weeks with cameras.” 

“You are insufferable,” Nicole said. 

“You love me,” Kinsley answered. 

Dayton smiled into the stairwell. 

At the top, as they turned toward Nicole’s room, her phone buzzed in her pocket again. That now familiar vibration against her thigh. 

Her hand twitched toward it. 

Nicole glanced back over her shoulder, cereal bowl in one hand, Kinsley in the other. 

“Leave it,” she said. “If it is SEA, they can wait ten more minutes. Co-questing starts after snack time.” 

Dayton let her hand fall. 

“Co-questing,” she repeated. “Right.” 

She stepped into the warm light of the bedroom behind them, the three of them settling back into place. Two full sized girls on the bed, one Little on the nightstand, the TV flickering blue across all their faces. 

The next episode loaded in with a blast of theme music and sweeping drone shots of some rented beach house. Nicole set the cereal bowl between them, immediately fishing out all the marshmallows. 

“Food inequality,” Kinsley muttered from the nightstand. “First they take our rights, then they take the marshmallows.” 

“You cannot even eat those,” Nicole said. “You had three last time and your stomach hated you.” 

“My stomach hates everything except prescribed Little Chow,” Kinsley said. “Why not go down swinging.” 

Dayton watched her from where she sat propped against the headboard. The flicker of the TV cut blue and white across Kinsley’s face, catching on the little metal tag at her throat every time she moved. 

For a minute, the three of them just watched. 

On-screen, couples were forced into “trust exercises” that mostly involved being blindfolded near swimming pools. In the room, Nicole narrated everyone’s bad decisions, and Kinsley heckled the editors. 

Then Kinsley leaned sideways, squinting. 

“Okay, rude,” she said. “Whoever designed this room layout clearly did not think about line of sight from six inches.” 

Nicole looked over. “You can’t see?” 

“I can see the light show,” Kinsley said. “Not the subtitles. And these people mumble. It is offensive.” 

Dayton glanced from the screen to the nightstand. From her angle, Kinsley was basically staring through the halo of the bedside lamp. 

“I can move you,” she offered. 

“I can move me,” Kinsley shot back automatically. Then she glanced at the edge of the nightstand, the distance to the bed, the drop to the floor. Her mouth flattened. 

She hated asking. Dayton knew that look. 

Dayton slid off the headboard without commenting and padded over. “Taxi service,” she announced, holding out a hand like she always used to do on the field before a piggyback race. “One ride to VIP seating.” 

Kinsley rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Fine. But I’m not tipping.” 

She stepped into Dayton’s palm with the easy familiarity of muscle memory. Dayton curled her fingers just enough to make a wall around her without boxing her in. Kinsley’s bare feet were warm against her skin; Dayton could feel the tiny flex of careful balance. 

She didn’t think she would ever stop being aware of how little it would take to hurt her now. 

Dayton walked slowly back to the bed, setting Kinsley down between her knees, near the cereal bowl, where the TV was full in front of her. 

“How’s that?” Dayton asked. 

“Better,” Kinsley said, squinting at the screen. “Now I can fully judge everyone’s life choices.” 

She settled back against Dayton’s shin like it was the back of a couch, hands linked over her knees. The contact was casual, loose. Automatic. It hit Dayton in the chest anyway. 

Nicole shoved the cereal bowl toward Kinsley with one finger. “You want a piece of Cheerio or are we still pretending you’re on that tiny clean eating plan.” 

Kinsley wrinkled her nose. “Those things taste like cardboard got sad.” 

“You literally begged me to share last time,” Nicole said. 

“That was before I remembered my taste buds survived reduction,” Kinsley said. “I am trying to protect them.” 

Dayton dug her nails lightly into the comforter. “You can have a marshmallow,” she said. “It’s just one. We can watch you and intervene if you explode.” 

Kinsley tipped her head back to look at her, upside down. “Is this your medical opinion, Dr. Harris.” 

“It is my Guardian opinion,” Dayton said. “Medical adjacent.” 

“You just want an excuse to hover,” Kinsley said. 

“You say that like it is a bad thing,” Dayton answered. 

Nicole plucked one pink marshmallow from the bowl and dropped it delicately into Kinsley’s hands. It was almost the size of her face. 

“Chew,” Nicole warned. “Tiny bites. I am not explaining how you choked on a cartoon heart.” 

“Yes, Mom,” Kinsley muttered, tearing off a piece and popping it into her mouth. “Mmm. Artificial joy.” 

They watched in quiet for a few minutes. 

Kinsley finished her marshmallow shard, wiped sticky fingers on the hem of her little lounge pants, and then, without looking, tapped Dayton’s leg twice. 

Dayton knew that tap. The “talk to me” one. 

She lowered her voice automatically, even though Nicole was right there. “What.” 

“You know we are going to have to recalibrate the rivalry, right,” Kinsley said, still watching the TV. “My current vertical leap is… compromised.” 

Dayton blinked. “We already recalibrated. You beat me in fantasy league last month.” 

“That is not a real sport,” Kinsley scoffed. “I mean the important stuff. Soccer. Training. Who gets picked for what.” 

A familiar little ache opened up under Dayton’s ribs. The one she got whenever she walked past their old practice field. 

“We were going to do Guardian training together,” she said quietly. “I still have the text.” 

Kinsley’s eyes flicked up to her face. For once, she did not make a joke. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.” 

They had spent an entire lunch period last year planning it. Which electives to drop to make time for the after school sessions. Which generitech  training courses they’d ace. Who would beat who in the skils challenges. 

They had argued so loudly in the cafeteria about whether memorizing statute numbers would be “try hard” or “essential” that a teacher had come over to check on them. 

Then Smallara had burned through the city again like a second storm system. 

And the plan had… changed. 

Dayton looked at Kinsley now, at the little collar, at the way her legs didnt quite reach the seam fold in the blanket. 

“Sometimes,” Dayton said, the words slow like they had weights on them, “it feels like I stole it.” 

“The training?” Kinsley asked. 

“The… everything,” Dayton said. “The field. The classes. The presentations. It was supposed to be us. Co-applying. Competing. Talking trash in the back row. And then it was just… me. Sitting there. Taking notes. Like I had not lost anything.” 

Kinsley twisted a thread on the blanket. “You lost me,” she said. “At least that version.” 

“Yeah,” Dayton said, staring at the TV without seeing it. “And I still… wanted it. I still went. I still wanted to be top of the class of the training cohort. I wanted the certificate with my name on it. And sometimes it feels like I should’ve… I don’t know. Sat out. In solidarity. Refused, or something.” 

“That is dumb,” Kinsley said immediately. 

Dayton’s head snapped down. “Wow. Okay. Thanks.” 

“I mean it,” Kinsley said, twisting around so she was kneeling on the blanket facing Dayton fully. “That’s dumb. ‘I will ruin my own future so the universe feels fair’ isn’t a noble move, it is just two tragedies for the price of one.” 

Dayton blinked. “That’s not… not what I expected you to say.” 

“What did you expect,” Kinsley asked. “That I would be like ‘yes, you should’ve sat in a dark room and refused all growth.’ Come on. You know me better. I am a maximalist. If you can get something, get it.” 

“You were always the one who yelled at me for hogging the ball,” Dayton reminded her. 

“Because you were hogging the ball wrong,” Kinsley said, exasperated. “You hog it, then you score, then you pass. There is a system.” 

Dayton snorted. 

Kinsley’s expression gentled a notch. “Day. I am mad at Smallara. I get to be mad at a virus that nuked my shot at playing in college. I get to be mad at a government that decided my new name is ‘Homo Parvus’ like I am a Pokémon evolution.” 

“That part is definitely trash,” Dayton said. 

“But I’m not mad at you for still being tall,” Kinsley said. “What I am is invested in how you use it.” 

Dayton’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to use it without you.” 

“You aren’t,” Kinsley said simply. “You just… get the boring part where they take attendance and make you sign forms. I get the fun part where I haunt your DMs and insult your life choices like a very specific ghost.” 

“That is not exactly equal,” Dayton said. 

“No, it isn’t,” Kinsley agreed. “Because this world is stupid. But it is what we have. And I would rather you be in those rooms with our name in your head than leave them to people who think Littles are accessories.” 

Dayton looked at her, really looked. At the stubborn line of her jaw. At the way she sat like a captain even with a blanket puddled around her ankles. 

“You know you are still my rival, right,” Dayton said, voice rough. “Like, in my head. When I am trying to beat some time or memorize something first or whatever. It is still… you. In the other lane. In the other jersey.” 

Kinsley’s mouth quirked. “Oh, I know. You text me about it every time you beat someone else and it was ‘not as satisfying as beating you.’” 

“That is confidential information,” Dayton said. 

“I am your rival,” Kinsley said. “All your embarrassing thoughts belong to me.” 

Nicole made a gagging noise around a mouthful of cereal. “Can we not trauma-bond on my duvet.” 

“You are the one who didn’t turn the volume up,” Kinsley said. “We had to fill the emotional space somehow.” 

Nicole reached over and nudged Kinsley with a fingertip, just enough to make her wobble and grab for balance. “Dont let her off easy, by the way. On the Rhys thing. You have to stay in her ear.” 

“Please,” Kinsley said. “I have been in her ear since she refused to crawl because it looked uncivilized and went right to walking. I’m practically her conscience.” 

Dayton snorted. “You are the opposite of a conscience.” 

“I am the spicy version,” Kinsley said. Then she looked back up at Dayton, eyes serious again under the joke. “I’m not just here to keep you from going full villain, you know. I am here to remind you why you wanted this in the first place.” 

Dayton knew the answer, but she let Kinsley say it anyway. 

“Because you hate leaving weak spots in the system,” Kinsley said. “Because somewhere between soccer drills and statute memorizations, your brain decided vulnerable Littles are part of your team now.” 

“You are part of my team,” Dayton said. “Everything else just… follows.” 

For a second, the room went quiet in that specific way it did when something true landed and no one wanted to poke it too hard. 

Nicole broke it first. “Wow. We are really doing the feelings arc this season, huh.” 

“Shut up,” Kinsley said, but she was smiling. 

Dayton shifted down a little so she was half-sitting, half-lying, creating a valley in the blanket. Kinsley flopped back in it like she used to do on the grass after sprints, arms stretched over her head. 

Dayton watched her chest rise and fall. So small. So… normal. 

“You know Mom literally calls you her fourth daughter now, right,” Nicole said, flicking to the next episode. 

Dayton dragged her eyes away from Kinsley. “She does not.” 

“She does,” Nicole said. “She says ‘my girls’ and means me, Kins, and you. Which is rude to Dad but also accurate.” 

“I’m honored to be part of this extremely dysfunctional dynasty,” Dayton said. The words came out lighter than she felt. 

“Dysfunctional but elite,” Kinsley said from the blanket trench. “We are like the Real Madrid of emotional chaos.” 

“Please never say that again,” Nicole said. 

Dayton let her hand rest palm up on the bed, not quite touching Kinsley, just in reach. 

Kinsley noticed. Of course she did. 

After a beat, she rolled onto her side and laid her hand in Dayton’s. Tiny palm against thumb. Warm. Solid. 

It wasnt the way teammates used to clasp forearms after a win. It was not the shoulder-check on the way back to the locker room. It was something new. And it still felt like them. 

On the TV, a guy declared he was “here for the right reasons” in a voice that made it sound like he absolutely was not. 

“Two hundred bucks says he gets cut in the next elimination,” Kinsley said. 

“You do not have two hundred bucks,” Dayton said automatically. 

“It is hypothetical money,” Kinsley said. “Keep up.” 

“Loser does the other’s SEA reading for a week,” Nicole suggested. 

“You are not even in our ethics chat,” Kinsley said. 

“I am now,” Nicole shot back. 

Dayton smiled, the knot in her chest loosening another notch. 

“Deal,” she said. “You are on.” 

They watched, three girls pressed into the same messy bed, hurling commentary at strangers on a screen. The city hummed outside. Somewhere, in some quiet office, people were clicking through files with Mr. Rhys’s name on them. 

Here, tonight, Kinsley’s fingers squeezed once around hers. 

Dayton squeezed back. 

Rivals, sure. 

But first and always, her friend. 

Her family. 

 

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