Dayton: The Junior Guardian Chronicles: Episode 25

The sky over Roosevelt Middle School was that washed out winter blue that looked fake in photos. Breath steamed in little clouds from kids’ mouths as they clogged the sidewalk, jackets open because nobody believed in zipping coats all the way up. A bus honked. Somebody dropped a Hydro Flask on the concrete and swore. 

Dayton Harris shifted her backpack on her shoulder and pulled the front door open with her hip. 

The lobby smelled like old floor wax and cold air. The security guard nodded at her. The metal detector blinked its usual bored little green light.  

Hayden slid in beside her, shrugging her bag higher. “You finish the vocab?” she asked, breathless. 

“Yeah,” Dayton said. “On the bus friday.” 

“Of course you did,” Hayden muttered. “I was watching videos till like midnight. I’m dead.” 

Nicole and Hannah converged as they cut across the lobby toward the main stairwell. Nicole had a coffee and a look that said she dared anyone to try to take it. Hannah had her sketchbook hugged to her chest. 

“Still no word?” Nicole asked, low. 

Dayton knew exactly what she meant. 

She shook her head. “Nothing since that first meeting.” 

That had been… what, three weeks ago? A month? An SEA email with a polite subject line about “follow-up on your report.” Agent Flaunders sitting across from her in the conference room, asking Dayton to go over everything she’d seen and heard in Room 305 

How he never wore a collar. How he gnawed on the edges of the law in class. Talking about Littles as “citizens” like the statute pages weren’t right there in the guardian handbook. How he’d told them once that being reduced “shouldn’t erase your rights and freedoms”. That littles have equal rights to people” Dayton didnt fully disagaree with him or the principle he was stating but there is a time and place and school curriculum shouldn’t run afoul of the law even if the law isnt fair. The school and a teacher teaches the law as it is. Let the students decide what is and isn’t right after that. 

They’d thanked her. However, Dayton suspected they already knew the answers to the questions they asked. They’d said the word investigation in that careful way adults used when it was actually serious. 

Then… quiet. 

“I feels like they just ghosted,” Hayden said. “Like, why ask all that stuff and then dip? Either do something or don’t.” 

“It’s the government,” Nicole said. “They probably forgot where we are.” 

Dayton snorted. “Pretty sure they haven’t misplaced a whole middle school.” 

“Yet,” Hayden said. 

Hannah hadn’t said much about any of it. Now she did. “Maybe that’s a good sign,” she murmured. “If it was really bad, they would’ve done something already, right?” 

Dayton wanted to agree. Wanted to believe it was like when you report a weird smell in the cafeteria, and the janitor finds out it’s just someone’s science experiment molding in the back. Embarrassing, but not life ruining.  

Except… this was the SEA. And everything they’d taught her in guardian training said those people did not “forget.” They watched. They checked camera feeds and email logs and classroom recordings. They didn’t need to come back and ask more questions to keep digging. 

She adjusted her backpack strap again. “They’ll let us know,” she said. It came out flat. Neutral. Like she was reading a rule off a poster. 

They took the stairs two at a time, boots thudding on concrete, talking about anything except the elephant in English class. 

By the time they dropped their stuff in their lockers and headed for Room 305, the morning had settled into its usual rhythm. Kids dodged each other in the hallway, yelling “watch it” and “move” and “yo” without listening. Someone had one of those little Bluetooth speakers cupped in their hoodie pocket, leaking tinny music. The school smelled like pencil shavings, deodorant, and whatever the cafeteria was already defrosting for lunch. 

Normal. 

Dayton stepped into 305 and for a second it was like nothing at all had changed. 

Same beige walls that looked beige in every season. Same scuffed desks. Same tall windows showing slices of gray city sky. 

And there he was. 

Mr. Ezra J. Rhys stood on his stack of books podium at the front of the room, tiny tablet glowing on the desk like a much cooler version of a Post-it. Pressed shirt, neat hair, and permanently unimpressed expression. 

No collar. No tag. 

Her chest tightened a little when she saw his bare neck. 

He glanced up as they came in, sharp blue eyes flicking over the room. For half a second, his gaze caught on Dayton. Then he looked away like she was any other kid. Like she hadn’t filed a federal complaint on him and signed her name to it in black ink. 

Dayton slid into her seat.. Her chair creaked like always. She set her bag down under the desk, lined up her notebook and pen. Routine. 

Nicole flopped down beside her, whispering, “He’s seriously still acting like he owns the place.” 

Hayden sat to her right, hoodie half-zipped, tugging at the sleeves. “Maybe the SEA was like, ‘Nah, it’s fine, just let the unclaimed Little teach minors, what could go wrong.’” 

“Guys,” Hannah said quietly from behind them. “Can you not, like, say ‘unclaimed’ so loud?” 

Dayton stared at the ruled lines in her notebook and tried to listen to the sounds of the room instead of the way her heart had started to pound. 

Chairs scraping. Backpacks zipping. Someone laughing too loud in the back. The faint hum of the old projector cooling on the ceiling. It was all so familiar it almost canceled out the little voice in her head whispering today feels weird. 

Mr. Rhys tapped his stylus against the tablet. The amplifier on the desk picked up the small sound and threw his voice to the back of the room. 

“All right,” he said. “If everyone could take their seats, we are starting a new unit on…” 

The door opened. 

Not the lazy half swing of a kid sneaking in late. Not the knock knock then peek of a guidance counselor. 

The door snapped inward in one clean motion, and four people in navy uniforms filled the frame like a wall. 

For a second, the class froze like someone had hit pause. 

The uniforms were darker than the school cops’ polos, the fabric thicker. Armor plates hugged their chests and shoulders. Compact rifles sat slung across them at a casual diagonal that did absolutely nothing to make Dayton feel better. Helmets bumped against their hips, clipped to their belts. The SEA crest glinted silver on each chest. 

Two officers peeled off to either side of the door. One moved straight toward the back of the class with quick, soft steps, boots whispering on the linoleum. The last one went to the window and planted himself there, back to the glass, gaze sweeping the room. 

“Phones on desks,” the back officer barked. “Face down. Hands visible.” 

The room erupted into confused scrambling. 

“What the” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yo, is this like a drill or” 

“Now,” he said, not louder, just sharper. 

Dayton’s phone was in her hoodie pocket. She’d half started to pull it out for attendance. Now she set it down in front of her, screen facing the scratched desktop. Around her, everyone did the same. The air changed. Thicker. Charged. 

Her mind snagged on one word: Smallara Enforcement Agency. 

They hadn’t forgotten. 

Another two people stepped in behind the officers, suits instead of armor. Agent Rachel Flaunders looked exactly the way Dayton remembered from the conference room: hair in a precise twist at the back of her head, SEA badge at her belt, eyes that missed nothing. Agent Evans came with his tablet, neutral expression screwed on so tight it might have been part of his skin. 

The last two officers slipped in and closed the door. One reached back and turned the lock with a hard little click that sounded way too loud in the silence that followed. 

“Remain seated,” Flaunders said. She didn’t bother with the amp. Didn’t need it. “Do not approach the doors or windows. Do not attempt to record. The Smallara Enforcement Agency is conducting a federal enforcement action related to Little Regulation Statute on this campus.” 

Dayton’s skin prickled. She could feel her friends’ eyes on her, like tiny lasers between her shoulder blades. 

Nicole’s voice, low: “You didn’t know, right?” 

“No,” Dayton whispered, throat dry. “I swear.” 

If they’d told her, she would have dressed differently or something. Worn the guardian pin. Prepared. Not walked in with morning bedhead and half a granola bar in her bag like it was just another Monday. 

Flaunders stepped aside just enough that everyone could see both her and the tiny man on the podium. 

“Ezra J. Rhys,” she said. “You are an unclaimed Little currently acting in a teaching capacity in direct violation of federal law.” 

Every breath in the room seemed to pause. 

Mr. Rhys straightened, his whole diminished body going rigid. “I am a licensed teacher,” he said. The amp made his voice sound bigger, but you could hear the crack in it. “The district approved my placement under the District’s Little Teacher Program. All procedures were followed.” 

Evans tilted the tablet toward himself, thumb flicking. “The investigation has shown otherwise,” he said calmly. “Using security footage and audio from this classroom, internal emails throughout the district, recorded phone calls, and recorded lesson plans, we confirmed that the district bypassed the required SEA review. They didn’t consult Generitech or take advantage of their federally approved teacher program. You have been working in close proximity to minors without a Guardian, without a collar, and without any of the mandated safeguards.” 

The words hit like falling bricks. 

Security footage. Dayton pictured the tiny camera bubble in the corner of the ceiling, blinking red. Watching every class. Catching every time he paced the length of the podium, every quote about “personhood” and “citizenship” he’d dropped like little bombs. 

“We also documented repeated incidents,” Flaunders added, “in which you used your role to promote unauthorized pro-Little ideology. You have described Littles as ‘citizens,’ suggested they should retain property, and questioned the legitimacy of current statute, and the validity of the current sitting president and his adminstration in discussions with minors.” 

A hiss rolled through the class. 

Dayton’s ears burned. Hearing it all stacked up like that made it sound even more reckless than it had in the moment, when he’d dressed the comments up as “critical thinking.” 

He opened his mouth again. “I was teaching them to examine laws, not just accept them. That’s called education, Agent. The SEA does not have jurisdiction over” 

One of the armored officers stepped closer to the podium, rifle still slung but very present. He didn’t say a word. 

Mr. Rhys’s jaw snapped shut. 

“Critical thinking is permitted,” Flaunders said. “Propagandizing minors against federal policy and law is not. Littles are classified as Homo parvus under law. They are domesticated dependents. They do not possess independent political or property rights. Littles cannot hold any public office. They vote accompanied by their guardian for a reason. Suggesting otherwise to minors is considered radicalization.” 

Dayton’s thoughts snagged on the phrase radicalization. It sounded like something from the news, not from Room 305 at Roosevelt. Middle School with its crooked map and ghost marker stains. 

Flaunders turned back to the room, addressing the students now. 

“As a result of this investigation,” she said, “Roosevelt Middle School and the district leadership are being sanctioned. The principal, vice principal, and superintendent have and everyone adminstering the districts Teacher pgoram been removed from campus and district offices. They have been placed on immediate and indefinite unpaid leave. They each face federal fines totaling four hundred thousand dollars, mandatory compliance, the revocation of their teaching licenses and credentials, retraining, and potential loss of state funding if further violations are found.” 

A gasp burst out from someone in the back. 

“They just… they took Reznik?” a boy whispered. “For real?” 

“Quiet,” an officer snapped. The boy went rigid. 

Dayton’s mind raced, trying to picture offices emptied out, grown-ups marched past the pep rally posters with their boxes. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted… rules enforced. Someone, somewhere, saying Yeah, you can’t just throw an unclaimed Little in front of kids and let him talk like the law doesn’t exist. 

Not… this huge hammer dropped on all of them. 

“English instruction will transition to compliant staff,” Evans continued, as if he were reading a schedule change. “Mr. Rhys’s employment contract is void. His unclaimed status is terminated as of now.” 

He glanced at his tablet again, then at Dayton. 

It felt like the room suddenly tilted. Heat crawled up Dayton’s neck. 

Flaunders followed his gaze. “Dayton Harris,” she said. “Please rise.” 

Nicole’s hand twitched toward Dayton’s arm, then stopped. Hannah sucked in a breath behind her. Hayden muttered, “This is you, isn’t it.” 

Dayton pushed her chair back. The scrape of the legs against the floor sounded too loud. 

She stood. 

Her legs felt weirdly light and heavy at the same time, like she’d run too fast. 

“Front of the room, Miss Harris,” Flaunders said. 

The path between the rows had never felt so long. Kids watched her like she was a show. Phones sat on desks, dark, behaving for once. 

She walked anyway. 

She could feel Mr. Rhys’s eyes on her as she approached, small and sharp. The stack of books made him about level with her sternum. Up close, the lines in his tiny forehead were deeper than they looked from her seat. 

“Miss Harris filed the initial complaint that triggered this investigation,” Evans told the room, conversational. “As part of that, she petitioned for legal guardianship over this Little.” 

Dayton remembered sitting at the dining table, guardian handbook open, application pulled up on her mom’s laptop. Hands shaking a little as she filled in his full name, her license number, checking the boxes that said yes, I understand he will be my responsibility and yes, I accept property transfer. 

She had done that. On purpose. 

“She completed Guardian certification with distinction,” Evans went on. “After reviewing her record, home inspection, and training scores, the SEA has approved her petition.” 

Approved. 

The word landed in Dayton’s chest like a stone and like a key at the same time. 

Flaunders nodded once at Dayton. “You may proceed.” 

Dayton swallowed. Her throat clicked. 

Guardian training came back in pieces. Clear body language. Simple cues. No room for doubt. 

She set her hand down flat on the surface of the podium beside him. Her palm looked huge next to his shoes, every crease magnified. 

When she spoke, she aimed her voice for calm and matter of fact. 

“When my hand is flat like this,” she said, “that’s recall. It means you climb on. That will be our signal going forward.” 

He stared at her hand like it was a trap. 

“Dayton,” he said, and the way he said her name made her flinch inside. The amp caught the strain in his voice and threw it around the room. “You don’t have to do this. They can assign me to a shelter. Or to an adult Guardian. You don’t want this responsibility.” 

Something in her chest pinched. 

He was her teacher. Had been, anyway. The one who’d marked up her essays and picked apart her arguments and rolled his eyes at her when she got too smug. The idea of him shoved into some overcrowded shelter with old Littles who smelled like bleach made her stomach twist. 

“I’m not letting them warehouse you,” she said, low. “You know what shelters are like.” 

She shifted her eyes toward his just enough that he would see she meant it. That this wasn’t punishment, not in her head. 

“I take care of my Littles,” she added, carefully. “You’ll be with me. You’ll be safe. We’ll workout what your teaching options are if you want to continue. ” 

He blinked at that. For a second, something like disbelief flickered over his face. 

Behind Dayton, one of the officers said, “Guardian issued a command, Little. You should comply.” 

She hated that he’d said it. Hated that the words made her sound like she couldn’t handle her own Little without them looming there. But she also knew what refusal would look like in their reports: noncompliant subject, behavioral risk, recommend shelter or lab reassignment. 

She kept her gaze on Rhys. 

His shoulders sagged, the tiniest fraction. 

Slowly, he moved. 

He stepped forward, onto the warm skin of her palm. His fingers dug briefly into the crease between her thumb and index finger as he pulled himself fully onto her hand. She barely felt his weight. It was like holding a plastic figure or a small mouse. 

“Good,” she said softly. “Thank you.” 

It slipped out before she could stop it. A little bit of teacher voice, twisted around. 

She curled her fingers around him with practiced care, making a loose cage. The heat of her skin pressed around his sides. He shivered once and went very still. 

“Miss Harris,” Flaunders said. “You are now authorized to collar your Little.” 

Dayton pulled in a breath. 

The collar had been sitting in her backpack all morning, wrapped in soft fabric so it wouldn’t get scratched. She’d put it together a few weeks ago just in case, fingers tracing the engraved letters over and over until she was sure they weren’t a typo. 

She reached into the front pocket and unwrapped it. 

The leather band gleamed darkly in the fluorescent light. Little violet stones winked along the outside. The tag hung from a tiny ring, metal edges smooth and heavy for its size. 

EZRA J. RHYS 
PROPERTY OF GUARDIAN DAYTON HARRIS 

Seeing it out here, in front of everyone, made her stomach drop and her back straighten at the same time. 

She held him a little higher so she could see his neck, then brought the collar close. 

“Ezra,” she murmured, keeping her voice low, hoping the amp wouldn’t pick it up too clearly. “This is happening no matter what. With me, you get somebody who actually passed Guardian training and cares if you eat. Okay?” 

His throat bobbed. The soccer and dance charms on the collar jingled faintly in her fingers, like it was already laughing at them. 

He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t say anything at all. 

She wrapped the collar around his neck. 

The leather kissed his skin, cool at first, then warming fast. She guided the ends together at the back, fingers steady by sheer force of will. The clasp found the receiving notch and slid in with a tiny, final click. 

A soft vibration ran through the band as the chip activated. 

On Evans’s tablet, a chime sounded. “Little ID 7E-JR registered to Guardian Dayton Harris, license DH-1472,” he announced. “Tracking online. Judicial hold cleared.” 

A weird, tiny jingle noise tinkled from Rhys’s throat when he swallowed. 

Dayton’s fingers stayed there half a second longer than they had to, resting against the back of his neck in a light, human touch before she pulled her hand away. 

Flaunders turned back to the rows of desks, her voice broadening just enough that it sounded like she was addressing more than one classroom. 

“What you’ve just seen is federal law doing exactly what it’s designed to do,” she said. “This is what happens when institutions treat Littles as anything other than dependents. When teachers and staff use their positions to push anti-government messaging dressed up as ‘pro-Little rights.’ There are consequences. For them. For the people who hire them. For anyone who looks the other way.” 

Her gaze moved slowly across the room, weighing each face. 

“Freedom in this country means freedom to think, to speak, to act within the law,” she went on. “It does not mean freedom to mislead minors about what Littles are. Littles are domesticated dependents. They are biologically and legally designed to live under Guardianship. Telling you they’re ‘just like you,’ or that treating them as pets is somehow wrong, isn’t critical thinking. It’s misinformation. And it puts Littles and humans at risk.” 

She let that settle before she continued. 

“This is part of what makes the United States the greatest nation on earth,” Flaunders said. “In the face of the Smallara pandemic, while other governments stumbled, while weaker regimes collapsed, we upheld the law. We protected our citizens and our Littles. We rose. And we rose alongside our partners and allies in Mexico and Canada, nations that share our commitment to order, to stability, and to building a safer tomorrow.” 

Her eyes found Dayton for a beat. 

“Miss Harris did exactly what we ask of responsible citizens and trained Guardians,” she said. “She saw something that felt wrong. She didn’t ignore it. She reported it. Not every report leads to action. Not everything that feels wrong is illegal. But we cannot protect anyone from what we never hear about. It is always better to err on the side of caution than to stay silent and hope someone else will do the hard thing.” 

She shifted her attention back to the class at large. 

“If you hear adults or students talking about Littles as equals,” she continued, “or trying to make you feel guilty for following the law and caring for them as dependents, you report it. To the SEA. To your teachers. To your parents. You do not ignore it. That is how we keep your school, your community, and our country strong.” 

Dayton’s stomach tightened. Part of her wanted to sink into the floor from the weight of everyone staring. Part of her wanted to nod along and say Yes, exactly, this is what I said, this is what he wouldn’t listen to. 

Instead she just held still, her Little curled in her palm, collar cool against her skin. 

Miss Harris,” Evans said, turning back to her. “Effective immediately, you are responsible for this Little’s housing, health, and behavior.” 

He glanced down at his tablet, then added, “Because of his documented pattern of noncompliance, SEA will require you to submit detailed guardian reports for the next several months. We’ll be auditing your logs regularly to make sure he’s stable under your care.” 

He tapped something into the screen before looking up again. 

“You are authorized to remove him from campus and secure him at home as needed. Before you do, you’ll report to the office to meet with the guidance counselor, the SEA representative, and your mother to review your responsibilities and sign the transfer packet. 

Dayton nodded once. “Yes, sir.” 

Her voice sounded steadier than the jitter in her chest. 

She turned toward the door, then hesitated, Flaunders’ words blurring for a moment under the memory of Nicole’s bedroom floor, Kinsley’s terrarium glass, and Nicole saying they were done with secrets. No more carrying things alone. No more shutting her out. 

We’re a unit. 

Dayton shifted Mr. Rhys a little higher in her right hand, then reached her left back toward the third row. Nicole’s fingers slid into hers automatically, startled, then tightened. 

“Come on,” Dayton murmured, just for her. “We go together.” 

The nearest officer clocked the movement, eyes flicking to their joined hands, then adjusted a half step to the side without comment. The formation shifted around them: two officers moved ahead of Dayton into the hallway, two fell in behind, Flaunders and Evans slotting neatly into the middle like this was all choreographed. 

The lock on the classroom door snapped open with a sharp metallic clack. 

Dayton stepped through first, Nicole still anchored at her side, and the hallway on the other side did not look like their school anymore. 

SEA uniforms dotted the corridor at regular intervals. Some officers stood at intersections, rifles resting against their chests, visors up, eyes hard. Others walked in slow, deliberate pairs, scanning doors and ceilings and the knots of hushed students pressed back against the lockers. Bright yellow tape sealed the main office at the far end, the words SEA RESTRICTED AREA shouting in block letters across the familiar glass. 

A couple of teachers stood against the wall near the main office, cardboard boxes at their feet. Papers and framed photos stuck up over the edges. Their faces had that tight, flat look adults got when they were trying very hard not to cry in front of kids. 

Dayton’s heart clenched. 

She hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted people marched out like they were being evicted from their own jobs. She just hadn’t wanted an unclaimed Little saying things that sounded illegal and getting away with it because he used big words and called it “discussion.” 

Kids in the hallway went quiet as the SEA formation came into view. Conversations broke off mid-sentence. Lockers stayed half open. All eyes slid to the armor and rifles, then to Dayton, then to the tiny shape in her hand and the way Nicole’s fingers were laced through her other one. 

“Dude, that’s Rhys.” 

“He got collared? No way.” 

“Is that Dayton’s? Look at the tag, look at the tag.” 

Dayton kept her chin up and her shoulders squared, just like they’d drilled in Guardian posture class. The hand holding Nicole stayed firm. The hand holding Mr. Rhys curved protectively around him, blocking most of the staring. She could feel his small weight, the faint tremor in his body, the cool edge of his tag against her skin. 

The Soccer and dance charms along with a baby blue letter D Charm attached to the collar at his throat jingled slightly with each careful step. 

He felt very small and very solid in her palm. 

He wasn’t their teacher anymore. He wasn’t the man on the podium pushing them to poke holes in laws he didn’t believe in. He wasn’t “Mr. Rhys, period five” or “the hard English teacher.” 

He was her responsibility now. 

Her Little. 

An officer ahead of them stopped at the taped-off office door and pushed it open just wide enough to let their group slip through. Inside, the main office felt both familiar and wrong. The fluorescent lights buzzed, the copier hummed in the corner, the same sad plant drooped by the window. But all the normal clutter and chatter had been scraped out of the room and replaced with an intense, focused stillness. 

The secretary’s desk sat empty, chair rolled back. A temporary SEA sign-in tablet glowed where the paper visitor log used to be. 

“Guidance is in here,” one of the officers said, gesturing toward Reznik’s old conference room. 

Flaunders nodded. “Miss Harris, Miss Myers, in you go.” 

Nicole blinked. “Me too?” she whispered. 

“You’re already involved,” Dayton murmured back. “Might as well be in the room.” 

She squeezed Nicole’s hand once, then led the way into the conference room. 

The space looked smaller than it had during the investigation meeting. One wall was all glass, blinds half-closed against the hallway. The big oval table swallowed the middle of the room. On one side sat Ms. Patel, the guidance counselor, hands clasped around a mug that had probably gone cold an hour ago. Next to her was a man in a navy blazer with a SEA pin that said LIAISON instead of ENFORCEMENT. On the opposite side sat Dayton’s mom, her purse on the floor, her expression calm but tight around the edges. 

Mrs. Harris stood as soon as she saw them. “Dayton. Nicole.” Her eyes dropped to Dayton’s hand, to the tiny collared figure nestled there. “And Mr. Rhys.” 

He flinched at his name. 

“Come sit,” Ms. Patel said gently, gesturing to the chairs closest to her. Her smile was the same one she used on kids crying over breakups or bad grades, but there was a crease between her eyebrows that hadn’t been there before. 

Dayton lowered herself into a chair. Nicole took the one next to her, close enough their shoulders touched. The SEA liaison tapped something on his tablet, glanced up, and nodded. 

Flaunders and Evans stayed standing by the back wall, along with one officer who stationed himself near the door, arms folded. They felt like extra furniture. Tall, armed, judgmental furniture. 

“Okay,” the liaison said. “Let’s make this fast. I’m Agent Carillo. We just need to walk through the transfer packet and expectations.” 

He looked directly at Dayton. “Miss Harris, as Agent Evans stated in the classroom, guardianship over this Little is now fully vested in you. Your parents co-sign on housing and financial responsibility, but day-to-day care, discipline, and handling are yours.” 

Dayton nodded. “I understand.” 

Her mom’s hand slid onto her forearm, solid and warm. “We’ve gone over the handbook,” Mrs. Harris added. “Day knows what this means.” 

Carillo nodded. “Good. Now, because of Mr. Rhys’s documented noncompliance—his refusal to wear a collar, his repeated proselytizing in the classroom—SEA is putting your case on an elevated reporting track for the next three months.” 

He turned the tablet so she could see. A form filled the screen: drop-down menus, checkboxes, text boxes. 

“You’ll submit weekly guardian reports,” he said. “Feeding schedule, housing environment, exercise, any behavioral incidents. These aren’t for show. We’ll be auditing your logs regularly because of his history, to make sure he’s stabilizing under your care and not trying to use you as a new platform. If he tries to continue his… commentary… you flag it. If he attempts to manipulate you or other minors around Littles and the law, you flag it. Clear?” 

Dayton swallowed. “Yes, sir.” 

“None of this is a punishment for you,” Ms. Patel put in quickly. “It’s just an extra layer to make sure he’s stabilizing, and that you’re supported.” 

Supported by the government that had just gutted half the English department. Sure. 

Nicole shifted forward in her seat. “So… does she still go to class?” she asked. “Or is she just, like, done for the day now?” 

“Miss Harris may continue her school day,” Evans said, matter-of-fact. “The enforcement action is concluded. From here on, she keeps him under her direct supervision on campus until dismissal, then takes him home to permanent housing. If there are any issues before then, she contacts the SEA rep on this card.” 

Carillo slid a physical card across the table, SEA logo blazing on the front, a QR code and a case number underneath. Dayton tucked it into her pocket with the slow care of someone handling a detonator. 

“Miss Myers,” Carillo added, looking at Nicole, “you’re her support?” 

“Yeah,” Nicole said instantly. “We’re… we go together.” She glanced at Dayton. “If that’s okay.” 

Dayton’s chest tightened. 

Hayden would make jokes, cover her own nerves with sarcasm. Hannah would draw this whole scene later, try to make sense of it in pencil. Nicole just leaned in and said we, like it was non-negotiable. 

“I’d like her there,” Dayton said. 

Mrs. Harris nodded. “Nicole’s practically family,” she said to the adults. “She’s already a Guardian for her sister. She understands the responsibilities.” 

Carillo made a small approving noise. “Another certified Guardian in the support network,” he said. “That’s a positive indicator.” 

He slid a stylus across the table. “All right. Transfer packet. Guardian and parent signatures at the bottom. Miss Myers, if you’re present during initial placement, you sign as a secondary witness.” 

The packet was full of language Dayton had already read in training. Homo parvus. Domesticated dependent. Property transfer. Liability. 

She signed anyway, the stylus feeling heavier than it should. 

Her mom signed next. Nicole scribbled in the witness line, jaw tight. 

“Good,” Carillo said, once the signatures were done and the tablet chimed. “Your Guardian kit will be couriered to your home by the end of the week. In the meantime, you have provisional authorization. Food, housing, and basic supplies will be reimbursed under the standard Little stipends.” 

“Transportation?” Mrs. Harris asked. 

“You may carry him by hand on campus and to and from school,” Evans said. “Once the tag sync finishes propagating through the network, he’ll clear most public scanners as properly collared property. If you take him off campus during the day for any reason, you call your parents and use the case number on that card. For now, after this meeting, you return to class and keep him with you until normal dismissal.” 

Ms. Patel nodded. “We’ll let your teachers know,” she said. “You can sit near the door if that makes it easier to come and go, but academically, you’re expected to continue as normal.” 

“Normal,” Nicole muttered under her breath. “Sure.” 

“Any questions?” Ms. Patel asked softly, eyes mostly on Dayton. 

A dozen spun through Dayton’s head. 

What if he hates me forever. 
What if he keeps trying to argue with me about the law. 
What if I mess up and he gets taken away anyway. 

What if this all really is my fault. 

She swallowed them down. “No,” she said. “I’m okay.” 

Nicole made a disbelieving little snort but didn’t contradict her out loud. 

“All right,” Carillo said. “Then we’re done here. Miss Harris, Miss Myers, you may return to class. Mrs. Harris, we’ll send you the full administrative findings by email this afternoon.” 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Harris said, even though no one in the room looked particularly thankful. 

They stood. Dayton adjusted her grip on Mr. Rhys, bringing him closer to her chest. He hadn’t said a word the entire meeting. He’d just sat there in her palm, collar snug against his throat, eyes taking everything in. 

Now, as they turned to go, he finally spoke, voice low enough the amp in the classroom couldn’t have caught it even if it were here. 

“I hope you know,” he said, the words barely audible to her and Nicole, “that signing the paperwork doesn’t make this right.” 

Nicole bristled. “You got yourself into this,” she hissed back, keeping her voice just as low. “She’s the one cleaning it up.” 

“Nic,” Dayton said, gentle but firm. 

She looked down at him. His face was set in that stubborn, slightly superior way she knew way too well from essay conferences. Smallara had shrunk his body, not his ego. 

“This is the law,” she said quietly. “I didn’t write it. I’m just… making sure you don’t end up somewhere worse.” 

He held her gaze a second longer, then looked away. 

Out in the main office again, the air felt even heavier. Through the glass, they could see students being herded around SEA tape, teachers talking in tight clusters, enforcement officers moving like a blue-black current through the building. 

Nicole slid her hand back into Dayton’s. “You good?” she asked. 

“No,” Dayton said honestly. “But I have math next, so… I guess I’m going to be.” 

They stepped out into the hallway together. 

The SEA presence swallowed the space. It was everywhere: uniforms at the corners, rifles held casually but clearly not for show, yellow tape sealing off anything that looked like authority. Office doors that used to be open for schedule changes and lost permission slips were now crime scenes. 

A bell rang overhead, shrill and normal and completely wrong against the backdrop of armored vests and federal tape. Kids started moving again in jerky bursts, trying to pretend this was just another passing period. 

Dayton didn’t need Chloe Gracewood’s calm voice in her head to connect the dots, but it showed up anyway. 

This is what Chloe had meant, talking about “pressure” and “protection” when she’d walked Dayton through Generitech’s Little programs. What the company was really doing when it threw money and lawyers and influence at “initiatives” and “pilot cities.” 

Not just making cool tech. Not just printing glossy brochures about responsible ownership. 

They were carving out pockets of safety away from this. Away from rifles in hallways and yellow tape on doors. Using their weight to blunt exactly this kind of federal hammer whenever they could, to tuck Littles into places the government looked at and checked off as “handled” so the SEA moved on. 

Out here, without that shield, the rules hit like a freight train. 

In this world, the government did not shrug at people who bent the rules for Littles. 

It watched. It recorded. It waited while you talked and argued and pretended the law was fuzzy. 

Then, when it was ready, it came to collect. 

Dayton tightened her fingers around Nicole’s hand and around the tiny body in her other palm, felt the little charms clink and jingle once against her skin, and turned down the hall toward her next class. 

 ~~~~~~

Thursdays and rest of the episodes should post at the regular time. As we approach the holidays i’m tentatively looking at december 19th being last post of the year but its a bit influx. If its not the 19th. the following week wouldn’t be a full a week. But I will let you know all what the last post of the year will be and when the new posts will start as we get closer. 

As we look more forward. while there is still  more to this story to tell before we swap to a new story. The next story will most likely be either Madison’s World season which is long over due but I also have an idea for another story involving what happens with Charity’s brother that i have characters and storyboarded out but not actually written or produced anything.  Nothing is decided yet that is just where my head is at for whats next. 

Related Images: