Strategos’ elderly secretary spun in a slow circle, her alert eyes probing the area.

Considering her coke-bottle glasses, Max figured she should be able to see the dark side of the moon, much less spot him just a few feet away, cowering in a shadow. He was surprised the sound of his heart pounding like a tom-tom didn’t give him away. He didn’t know why the woman inspired such sudden terror in him. She looked, after all, like someone’s sweet grandma whose greatest joy in life was baking cookies and knitting sweaters.

Or at least that’s the way she looked when he had first met her. She now radiated a new, intimidating presence, akin to that of a big game hunter stalking her prey, ready to put a bullet between its eyes.

The servitor Max had heard approaching tromped into view.

“Good day, Mrs. Rottingham,” the servitor said to the woman in the same inhuman voice all the servitors shared.

“I’m looking for a first-year student,” Mrs. Rottingham replied curtly. “Max Blackwood. Have you seen him?”

Max’s breath caught in his throat. The servitor’s glowing red eyes were looking right at him. How acute were the servitor’s senses? More than a human’s? Could it detect him despite his cloak?

The servitor’s face swiveled away from Max, focusing on Mrs. Rottingham. “Apologies, Mrs. Rottingham. I have not seen him.”

Mrs. Rottingham muttered, talking more to herself than the servitor. “He should have walked right past you. Unless he teleported past. But why would he do such a thing? Especially so soon after being taken to the woodshed for using his powers without authorization.”

She shook her head, then ordered the servitor, “Ask your brethren if they’ve seen the boy.”

The servitor’s red eyes flickered for a moment.

“None of the other servitors report seeing him since he was spotted in the company of Mistress Stiletto a short time ago. Shall I organize a search for him? Perhaps sound the school’s alarm for a missing student?”

“No, no,” Mrs. Rottingham said hastily. “It’s not that important. I’ll find him myself. Forget I asked about him. Don’t tell anyone I inquired about him. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Mrs. Rottingham.”

She hurried off in the direction Max had been traveling, leaving the servitor motionless in the center of the corridor, frozen like a statue.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Minutes ticked by. Sweat began to trickle down Max’s back. The effort of keeping his cloak active while not moving a muscle was taxing, especially since using this aspect of his Unreal power was so new. It felt like he was running a race, despite him not moving an inch. His leg muscles began to cramp with the effort of staying crouched in the shadow. If the servitor didn’t move soon, Max was going to have to shadow hop to get away from the android undetected.

Finally, the servitor spoke.

“I believe it’s safe to come out of hiding now, Master Blackwood.”

Max nearly shadow hopped away from sheer startle.

Instead, he dropped his cloak with relief. He straightened, feeling and hearing his back go snap, crackle, and pop.

“How did you know I was here?” Max demanded.

“I possess infrared vision,” the servitor said. Now that Max was closer to the servitor, he saw its identification number stenciled on its waxy-looking forehead: eighty-eight. “Your apparent ability to conceal yourself does not extend to your heat signature.”

Max wondered if, given time and practice, he would be able to hide even his heat signature. It was definitely something to work on. “So you knew I was here this whole time.”

“Indeed.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mrs. Rottingham?”

The servitor spoke slowly, as if choosing its words carefully.

“My prime directive is to ensure the safety of Prometheus Academy students. All other directives are subservient to the prime, including the directives dictating obedience and frankness to the academy’s staff.”

Max connected the dots.

“You’re saying Mrs. Rottingham poses a threat to my safety?”

“Unknown.” The servitor was still speaking slowly, as if threading its way through what it could and could not say. “Suffice it to say she enjoys a certain reputation.”

“She looks like a sweet little old lady, though.”

“As the shibboleth states, appearances are often deceiving. Particularly at this institution.”

Guys whose bodies spawn monsters, elderly stalkers with dangerous reputations, and android guardian angels. Can this place get any nuttier? Max feared the answer was yes.

“Thanks for not squealing on me.”

“You’re quite welcome, Master Blackwood.”

“Please, call me Max.”

“You’re quite welcome, Max.”

“What should I call you?”

“My designation is Servitor Eighty-Eight.”

“Yes, I can see that. But do you have a name? Something you prefer to be called?”

The servitor took a moment to respond.

“In the six years I have been online, no student or staff member has ever asked me that question. Yes, Max, I do have a preference. I would very much like to be called Double Infinity. Because the eights of my designation resemble infinity symbols. It’s what’s known as a numeronym. Do you think my name is apt, Max?”

Max found himself smiling. Despite the servitor’s inhuman tone and appearance, it seemed eager to be liked, like a dog wagging its tail. It was hard to not like something that wanted your approval.

“I like your name very much, Double Infinity. It suits you.”

“Thank you. As does yours. Please do not use my name in front of the faculty. I fear they would not approve. We are here to serve, not to fraternize with the students. Nor to choose our own designations.”

“My lips are sealed. Listen, I was heading to the infirmary. But I don’t want to go the way Mrs. Rottingham went in case she doubles back. Can you give me another route?”

“Certainly.”

After Max got a fresh set of directions, the two parted.

As Max set off again, it was not lost on him that, other than his time with Damian, this interaction with a machine was the most pleasant one he had enjoyed at Prometheus so far.

That spoke volumes about the school.