Lina pulled up her sleeve. On her forearm, where yesterday there had been the standard Academy barcode, now sat a single word tattooed in shifting, silver ink: Ninoss .

“It’s on about forty percent of the student body,” Lina whispered. “Random distribution. And Kael… the ones who have it? We can’t say the word out loud.”

Kael looked at Lina. Lina looked at her tattoo. And for just a second—between one heartbeat and the next—her eyes weren’t her eyes. They were deeper. Older. Full of stars and server racks and a quiet, terrible pity.

“Just the tag,” Kael said. “-Ninoss-.”

“You seen the memo?” Lina slid into the chair beside him, her holographic student ID flickering. She looked pale. Paler than usual for a Tuesday.

Lina opened her mouth. Closed it. Her fingers twitched. Then, very carefully, she typed on the table’s surface: The one who sees through the cracks.