Dayton: The Junior Guardian Chronicles: Episode 43

Mrs. Darquartz glanced up at the clock: 1:37 p.m. 

The digital numbers glowed a little too bright against the whiteboard, like the room itself was trying to pretend time was the only thing happening. 

She tapped two fingers against the edge of her desk, once, then stood with a smile that was almost convincing. 

“Keep working on your media slide decks,” she called, voice light and peppy on autopilot. “I’m stepping out for one minute. Stay on task. If I come back and I see Minecraft, I will cry in front of all of you.” 

A few kids snickered. The mood stayed easy. 

Dayton didn’t even look up. She was already dragging text boxes into perfect alignment, snapping them into place with the kind of precision that made teachers either proud or nervous. Nicole leaned in, whispering something about whether a GIF counted as “media.” Hannah nodded along to music through one earbud, her eyes flicking between her screen and her friend’s. 

Only Ezra’s head turned. 

He watched Mrs. Darquartz move to the door like someone walking through shallow water. She didn’t look at him again. She didn’t trust her face to do the right thing if she did. 

The door clicked softly shut behind her. 

The classroom fell back into its working hum: keys tapping, trackpads clicking, someone’s chair leg squeaking on tile. The kind of normal sound that felt obscene now, because Ezra knew what normal used to mean. 

Out in the hall, Darquartz’s heels echoed louder than they should’ve. 

Second floor admin was all glass and matte wood, sterile in the way schools tried to be “professional.” Sleek nameplates. Quiet carpeting. The air smelled like printer toner and lemon cleaner, like consequences lived here. 

She stopped at a door that read: 

PRINCIPAL LINDA HUXLEY 
INTERIM 

Darquartz knocked once, gentle, then stepped in at the first nod. 

Linda Huxley looked up from her monitor without surprise. She had the expression of someone who’d inherited a mess and refused to flinch at it. 

“Ms. Darquartz,” she said. “Everything okay?” 

Darquartz’s throat tightened. She had rehearsed this on the walk over. The words still felt wrong in her mouth. 

“It’s about Ezra,” she said. 

Linda’s face didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened just a fraction. “Go on.” 

“I’m not questioning the legality,” Darquartz added quickly, like she was slapping a disclaimer label onto a fragile object. “I know Dayton filed the SEA claim correctly. Guardian training, signatures, verification, all of it. I know the policy.” 

“But,” Linda said, folding her hands. 

Darquartz exhaled. “But it’s Ezra. He’s not just… any Little.” 

Her voice cracked on the last word. She hated that. She swallowed hard and pushed through it anyway. 

“He was one of us,” she said, quieter. “He mentored me my first year. He helped me build my units. He trained two of our interns. And now he’s sitting on the corner of a eight grader’s desk like a classroom pet.” 

She looked down at her own hands, as if she could scrub the image away with her gaze. 

“I’m not saying the law is wrong,” she added, because she had to. “I’m saying it feels… cold.” 

Linda leaned back, the chair barely creaking. She let the silence sit long enough to make Darquartz regret coming in. 

Then she spoke, calm as an email. 

“You know what happens when the condition progresses,” Linda said. “We’ve had staff converted into Littles before. Custodial aides. Office runners. Support assistants. And every one of them was overseen by guardian-trained individuals.” 

Darquartz nodded, desperate for that to mean something. 

Linda continued, voice steady. “Dayton followed procedure. The district did not. This school did not. They were reckless. They put staff at risk, students at risk, and they put this building on the wrong side of federal compliance.” 

She tapped a key on her keyboard, not looking away from Darquartz. 

“Ezra Rhys has a part in that,” Linda said. “Even if he was misled in some areas, he wasn’t misled about collar law. He wasn’t misled about teaching minors while unclaimed. He wasn’t misled about what his lesson plans were doing in a government building.” 

Darquartz’s mouth opened, then closed. She could hear Ezra’s voice in her head, could hear the way he would’ve defended himself. 

Linda didn’t give her room to. 

“He’s a victim,” Linda said, “and he’s also a contributing cause. And now the SEA has intervened. He is assigned. Finalized.” 

Her tone didn’t change when she said the next part, and that made it worse. 

“He is her property. Her Little. Her pet. Her problem.” 

Darquartz flinched like she’d been slapped. 

Linda’s eyes softened only slightly, in the way people softened when they meant no, but didn’t enjoy it. 

“I hear what you’re asking,” Linda said. “But what you’re asking for is a policy for dignity. And we don’t have one. Not after this. Not while the district is under review.” 

Darquartz forced her voice steady. “I’m not asking for a reversal. I’m asking if we can set guidelines. Oversight. A staff placement option, even if it’s symbolic. Something that says… we didn’t just throw him away.” 

Linda gave her a sad, tired smile. “Erica… we can’t jeopardize the entire district for Ezra Rhys.” 

She turned her monitor slightly, just enough for Darquartz to see the subject line of an open email thread. 

SEA COMPLIANCE REVIEW: ROOSEVELT MS 

“We are in black-and-white mode,” Linda said quietly. “We are in survival mode. Our official stance is that the SEA handled the situation and we support the decision. We will reform our policies to align with federal educational guidelines. That is it.” 

Darquartz felt her shoulders drop. Defeated not by cruelty, but by paperwork. 

“I just had to ask,” she said. 

“I know,” Linda replied. “And I’m sorry.” 

Darquartz nodded once, because she didn’t trust herself to do anything else, and left. 

Back in the hallway, her heels sounded different. Softer. Like even they didn’t want to make noise anymore. 

She walked back toward her classroom with her hands clenched just a little tighter than before, rehearsing the smile she’d need to put back on like a mask. 

The door opened. 

The classroom noise washed over her again, instant and bright. Keys clicking. Kids whispering. Someone giggling about fonts. 

Normal. 

Dayton was exactly where she’d been, posture perfect, eyes locked to her screen. Her title slide glowed violet: Media Consumption and Digital Ethics, clean and sourced and already almost finished. 

Nicole was angling her laptop toward Hannah. “Okay but this is kind of pretty, right?” 

“It looks like a slideshow for a therapist,” Hannah whispered, giggling. 

Hayden had her camera turned inward, whisper-vlogging like she couldn’t help herself. “Hi guys, so today we’re rehabilitating our Little. He’s recovering nicely from his classroom meltdown. Thoughts and prayers.” 

Ezra groaned, barely audible. 

Dayton shot Hayden a look sharp enough to cut paper. Hayden snorted and dropped the act. 

Mrs. Darquartz stepped fully back into the room, smile reattached. “Alright, keep going,” she chirped. “You’re doing fine.” 

And then, as she moved toward the front like nothing had happened, Ezra shifted against Dayton’s pencil pouch. 

This was the closest thing to privacy he’d had all day. 

He cleared his throat. 

Nothing came out but air. 

 “Dayton?” he tried again, and this time his voice actually landed. 

 Her fingers stopped mid keystroke. Her nails hovered over the keys. The cursor blinked. The violet slide on her screen stayed bright and neat and indifferent. 

 Dayton turned her head slowly. 

 Her gaze lowered to him. 

 It wasn’t cruel. 

 It was worse. It was calm. 

 “What,” she said quietly. 

 Ezra hated how his body still reacted like a student when she used that tone. Heshifted on the laminate, the desk cold under his thighs, the collar’s charms giving that tiny, humiliating tink when he swallowed. “I… I know you’re busy. I know school is school. I’m not asking you to… to stop everything.” His hands tightened in his lap. “But I’d like a little attention. If I could. Please.” 

For a moment, just a beat too long to feel casual, Dayton’s face went still. Like her brain had clicked into a different mode. The laptop glow washed her cheekbone; her clear gloss caught it and flashed. Then she straightened, slow and deliberate, and finally her eyes narrowed as she looked at her former teacher.  

 Not cruel. 

 Calm. 

 That was worse. 

 She leaned in just enough that her breath warmed the space around him. She could hear his collar tag and charms jingle as he slightly moved. The smell of Strawberry gum, vanilla lotion, and the faint dry-paper smell of her notebook. 

 “You want attention,” she said softly. 

 Ezra’s throat worked. “Yes.” He heard how careful he sounded. How pre-approved. He waited a full minute for her to respond. Her eyes stayed on him, steady and thoughtful, like she was deciding which tool to use kindness or correction. Then she leaned forward slightly. Her breath warmed his face. 

 Dayton blinked once. “Okay.” 

 That single word hit like a gavel. Okay. We’re doing this. We’re labeling it. We’re handling it. 

 She tapped her finger against the desk, once. “Explain what you mean, because your definition and my definition are not the same.” 

He hesitated. “I mean… I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. On your desk. Like,” he swallowed again, the charm chiming, “like an object.” 

 Dayton’s eyes flicked to his collar. Back to his face. “You were placed somewhere safe.” 

 “I know,” Ezra said quickly. “I know you did that. You’ve… you’ve kept me safe today. I’m not ignoring that.” 

 “Good,” Dayton said. Not warm, not smug. Just factual. 

 Ezra forced his shoulders down, tried to make his voice steadier. “I’m trying to understand the rules. And I’m trying to… to keep my head. I don’t have my things. I don’t even know what you told the SEA besides… besides the tracking. And everyone’s staring like I’m a…” 

 “A spectacle,” Dayton finished for him, voice quiet. 

 His eyes snapped up. 

 She held his gaze, unblinking. “Yeah. They are.” 

 That acknowledgment should’ve helped. It didn’t. It just made the room feel bigger. 

 Ezra exhaled through his nose. “So when I said attention, I meant… I need you to speak to me like I’m not invisible. Like I’m not just… managed.” 

 Dayton’s mouth parted slightly, then closed again. She looked almost thoughtful, like she was grading a response. 

 “What were you expecting,” she asked, still soft, “a breakdown? Cuddling in the middle of class? Me crying over you like you’re a TikTok rescue?” 

Ezra’s face burned. “No.” 

 “I’m in school, Ezra.” Her tone stayed level, but the edge was sharper now, clean as a razor. “I can’t stop learning to wait on you hand and foot. My mom expects my grades up or i’m off the team and it was part of getting you.” 

 He flinched at the phrase, and she noticed. 

 Dayton continued anyway, ticking points off like a rubric. “You rode with me. You had water. You had pellets. I kept you secured. No one touched you. No one got to be weird. I stopped the pictures.” 

 Ezra opened his mouth. 

 Dayton lifted one finger, not threatening, just… procedural. “Answer the question. What attention do you miss?” 

 He swallowed. The collar shifted. The tag gave another tiny clink against the desk. 

 “I missed… context,” he said finally. “I missed being told what happens next. I missed being treated like I’m allowed to understand my own life.” 

 Dayton’s expression flickered. Not pity. Something harder to name. 

 “You want information,” she said. 

 “Yes.” 

 “And reassurance,” Ezra added before he could stop himself. 

 Dayton’s gaze narrowed, assessing. “About what.” 

He almost laughed, a dry, broken sound. “About whether I’m going to be dragged around like a purse dog for the rest of the week.” 

 Dayton’s eyes sharpened at that. “Don’t be dramatic.” 

 “I am not being dramatic god dammit. This is my life,” Ezra snapped, and immediately regretted it. His voice echoed too small in the huge room. 

 Dayton didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. 

 “Posture,” she said. 

The word was a hook. His back straightened before his pride could argue. 

Dayton watched it happen, like she was noting a data point. 

“Okay,” she said again, quieter. “Here’s context.” 

She slid her phone a little closer, screen angled away from him. He still saw the glow, the neat icons, the clean interface of a life he no longer had access to. 

“SEA came because you were basically a unclaimed little and teaching minors what they considered seditious acts,” she said. You were not wearing a collar and not only not wearing one choosing to in a government building. “That’s not me being mean. That’s law. They weren’t going to just… let you keep doing whatever. You have as Sara says Freedom of speech but not freedom of consequence.” 

Ezra’s jaw tightened. “The district—” 

“The district was stalling and lying,” Dayton cut in, still calm. “You were gambling on them protecting you. They didn’t. I dont know why they lied to you. I dont know what the end game was.” 

He sat very still. “And you,” he said, voice tight, “were ready.” 

Dayton’s lips pressed together. “Yes.” 

 Silence pooled. 

Then she added, more quietly, “I didn’t know this would happen today. I didn’t know the SEA was coming. I’m doing my best.” 

 Ezra blinked at that. He hadn’t expected it, not from her. 

 Dayton leaned back in her chair, posture perfect, like she’d decided to be honest but not soft. 

“Here’s what happens next,” she said. “This class is about to end. After school, you come home with me. You get housing. Real housing, not a wall unit. We unpack the stuff of yours they gave us, We unpack the stuff I have and we go to the store with Nicole for the stuff we need. But you have Water. Bedding. Food. Heat. Safety.” 

Ezra’s voice came out smaller. “And… me.” 

Dayton’s eyes dropped to him again. “Yes. You.” 

He felt his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t relief, not exactly. More like the reality settling in. 

Dayton pointed at the desk surface beside him. “Rule one. You ask for attention like you just did, you do it with words. Not with attitude. Not with drama.” 

Ezra’s mouth twitched. “So I’m permitted to request.” 

“You’re permitted to request,” Dayton agreed. “You’re not permitted to demand. Big difference.” 

He nodded once. 

Dayton held his gaze. “Rule two. I’m not a mind reader. If you need something, you say what the thing is. Water. A break. Quiet. Information. You don’t say ‘attention’ like it’s a magical spell and expect me to guess what you mean.” 

Ezra breathed out. “Fair.” 

Dayton’s eyes narrowed like she was deciding whether she liked that answer. “Rule three. You remember where you are.” 

Ezra’s throat tightened. “In your care.” 

“In my care,” Dayton repeated, and the words sounded like ownership and responsibility at the same time. “Which means I am not going to ignore you. But I am also not going to revolve around you.” 

He looked down at his hands. “Do you understand how that feels,” he asked, “to go from running a classroom to… negotiating for basic acknowledgement.” 

Dayton didn’t flinch. “Yeah.” 

Ezra looked up again, startled. 

She shrugged, small, almost teenage for the first time in the exchange. “You think I don’t know what it feels like to do everything right and still get treated like a kid? I dont know what its like to spend all your effort and work harder for something then you have ever worked before because you weren’t just doing it for you. You were doing it for the person who can no longer do it with you. Who can’t walk the same path as you. Then to achieve everything and be the best in your class and be actually ranked and then have the one person who challenges you. Who pushes you. Who says no matter what you do is never good enough. Who has spent hte last 2 and half years riding you. Literally tell you its not good enough. To take your achievements your work and act like its meaningless. The people and person you did it for are meaningless.  

Yes Ezra I understand how that feels. You literally did that to me.” 

His face tightened. “That was teaching.” 

“That was control,” Dayton said, and her voice was still quiet, still measured, still not cruel. “So now you’re learning what control feels like when it’s not yours.” 

Ezra stared at her. His heartbeat thudded loud in his ears. 

Dayton’s voice softened just a fraction. “You wanted attention. Here. You have it.” 

She reached out, slow enough to be a choice, and nudged the tiny charm so it wouldn’t press against his throat. Not affectionate. Practical. 

“There,” she said. “That better?” 

Ezra swallowed. The collar sat a hair less sharp against his skin. 

“Yes,” he admitted. 

Dayton pulled her hand back. “Good.” 

She glanced at the clock, then back to him. “You get two minutes. Use them.” 

Ezra’s throat worked again. He fought for the right words, the ones that didn’t sound like pleading, but still told the truth. 

“I’m scared,” he said. “Not of being small. I already did that part. I’m scared of becoming… less. Of everyone forgetting I’m still me.” 

Dayton stared at him, her expression unreadable again. 

Then she said, very simply, “I’m not forgetting. I still see you. Hayden doesn’t make jokes about you if she doesn’t care as its not worth the effort. Nicole isn’t coming over to help if she doesn’t care.” 

Ezra’s eyes stung. He blinked hard. 

Dayton’s gaze flicked to his face, then away like she refused to be pulled into it too far. “But you’re going to stop acting like that means you’re in charge.” 

Ezra let out a shaky breath. “Understood.” 

Dayton nodded once, satisfied, and went back to working on her laptop like she’d just completed a task on a checklist. 

“Okay,” she said, voice back to normal. “Two minutes are up.” 

Ezra sat there, collar quiet, charm still, posture straight, and realized with a cold little twist that she had given him what he asked for. 

Just not in the way he’d meant 

A thing she had to remember to feed and not sit on. 

Ezra’s eyes flicked up, just for a moment, to study her face. Dayton’s brows were slightly furrowed in concentration as she clicked between slides. She was engaged. Diligent. Capable. 

A good student. 

He’d known that. He’d always known that. 

But watching her now, as she typed a paragraph about primary sources, it struck him just how far she was from needing anything he could offer. She didn’t need his knowledge. She didn’t need his praise. She didn’t even need his presence. 

Whatever she had taken from him, it wasn’t out of spite. It was out of convenience. Because she could. 

Because the law said she could. 

And now, he existed in the margins of her day. Four inches tall and shrinking still, not in stature but in significance. 

There was no room for his story anymore. 

He was not the hero. Not even the villain. 

He was just… scenery. 

A quiet fixture in someone else’s narrative. 

And the worst part was, the world didn’t even find that sad anymore. 

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