Mirrorkin tapped his chin thoughtfully, pacing within his mirror as he scrutinized Max. Max realized he did the same chin-tapping thing when he was mulling something over. Being stared at by your reflection with your identical mannerisms was beyond disconcerting.

“First we need to properly categorize your Unreal powers,” Mirrorkin said. “That’s easy enough. You’re a Void Walker. With the ability to teleport using shadows, you could hardly be anything else.”

This was the second time Max had been called a Void Walker. The first time had been by Stiletto, after she had knocked Sheriff Barker out and told Max to kill him. What was it she had said? As a Void Walker, you’re probably not as dumb as a Titan, but one can never be too careful with you newbie Unreals.

“What’s a Void Walker?” Max demanded of Mirrorkin. The fact he had so quickly acclimated to the absurdity of talking to a magic mirror showed just how topsy-turvy his life had become since running afoul of Stiletto.

“What’s a Void Walker?” Mirrorkin parroted incredulously, rolling his eyes. “I swear, incoming students get stupider by the year. Must be all the microplastics in the water. Don’t you know anything?”

Max brandished his iron poker again. “I know I’m sick of your attitude. So how about some straight answers before I do my best Wreck-It Ralph impersonation.”

Mirrorkin raised his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, I was just about to explain everything. Sheesh! You have the patience of an over-caffeinated gnat.

“There are ten broad categories of Unreals,” Mirrorkin explained. “Gadgeteer, Titan, Mystic, Shifter, Biomancer, Psionic, Energist, Elementalist, Reality Weaver, and Void Walker. Unreals in the Void Walker category have the ability to manipulate space. Things like creating pocket dimensions, or making objects larger or smaller without affecting their mass. Or in your case, using shadows as a teleportation medium. Void Walkers are the second rarest Unreals, right after Reality Weavers. In fact, I haven’t seen someone who can use shadows to teleport since the school’s founding. And since every Prometheus student gets categorized by me, I’ve seen thousands of you knuckleheads.”

Max decided to let the knucklehead remark go for now. “How do you know what my powers are? And how do you know my father’s dead?”

Max could tell it was an effort for Mirrorkin to not roll his eyes again.

“Like I said before, I’m you. Well, not entirely you. It’s not like I know your every thought. But I do know how you think and behave and the major events of your life. I scanned you when you came in. It takes a few seconds for me to get dialed in. That’s why your reflection was fuzzy when you first stood in front of me.

“And before you ask—because everyone does—no, I don’t keep your engrams forever. My slate is wiped clean once you leave the chamber. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell Strategos that you wet the bed until you were fifteen.”

“I didn’t wet the bed until I was fifteen,” Max protested.

“Really? I don’t have any memory of you doing so, but I was making an educated guess. You strike me as the bed-wetting type.

“Anyway,” Mirrorkin added hastily as Max lifted the poker again, “though I sense your powers are just at the rudimentary Initiate level, I can tell you’ve got a lot of untapped potential. With time and proper training, you should be able to do a heck of a lot more than making short shadow jumps.”

Max lowered the poker, his curiosity piqued in spite of his irritation at his reflection’s constant gibes. “More? Like what?”

Mirrorkin shrugged. “Got no idea. If you ate a calorie surplus and lifted weights every day for four years, would you get bigger and stronger? Of course you would. But if I asked you to draw a detailed picture of exactly what your body would look like at the end of those four years, would you be able to do it?”

“No,” Max said.

“Asking me what you’re capable of power-wise is the same thing. I can feel the latent strength in you, waiting to be unlocked. The extent of your abilities, however, hinges on your dedication to training and the innate potential woven into your very DNA.”

Max couldn’t help but be intrigued by the possibility of doing more than short-range shadow hopping. He had long dreamed of being as powerful as a Hero like Knight Templar, but had assumed such an ambition was out of reach because of his luck of the superpower draw.

Mirrorkin clapped his hands together.

“We’ve knocked out your power category and mastery level. The last thing on the agenda is the toughest part—selecting your Division.

“Ever pull the wings off of butterflies?” Mirrorkin asked suddenly, taking Max aback by the question and the intensity of his reflection’s gaze. “And then put their writhing, wingless bodies on ant nests to be eaten alive? Or cause a city-wide blackout because light pollution was hindering your enjoyment of the stars?”

“No, of course not. Why would I do such things?”

Mirrorkin relaxed visibly.

“Well, that’s a relief. I figured you were a little too well-adjusted to find a home in the Anarchy Division, but I have to do my job and ask. I always feel a little dirty when I slot someone into the Anarchy Division. Half of them are insane. And I’m being charitable when I just say half. It’s a wonder they let those folks into the school at all. But I suppose it’s better to have nutjobs inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.”

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Ravi had negative things to say about the Anarchy Division, too, and Strategos seemed to find its leader Mr. Puzzles distasteful. If even Villains didn’t like the Anarchy Division, Max thought he would be wise to avoid its students.

“The Occult Division we can cross off the list without discussion,” Mirrorkin continued. “I don’t sense any mystical ability in you at all.

“The Henchman Division we can eliminate, too. Obedient followers excel there. You’d make a terrible henchman.” Mirrorkin’s mouth twisted wryly, his eyes darting toward Max’s poker. “Too uppity.”

“Hey!”

“Would you prefer ‘freethinking’ over ‘uppity’? Regardless, my point stands. Hmmm . . . ever build anything?”

“I rebuilt a transmission with my Dad once.” The pleasant memory made a fresh bit of anguish at his father’s death stab his heart.

Mirrorkin was shaking his head.

“That’s kindergarten stuff. I’m talking about future tech. Ever construct a quantum flux stabilizer capable of synchronizing multidimensional energy fields?”

“Ask me again, only slower and in English.”

“Moron,” Mirrorkin muttered under his breath, before adding, “I think it safe to say the Gadgetry Division is not the place for you.

“The process of elimination leaves us with your three best options: the Apex, Vigilante, and Stealth Divisions. You’d be a natural fit in the Stealth Div—”

“No!” Max interjected.

Mirrorkin raised an eyebrow at Max’s vehemence. “Considering how you operate in the shadows, the Stealth Division arguably makes the most sense.”

“I said no. And that’s final.” It was bad enough that Max was in the same school as Stiletto. There was no way he was going to put himself in a Division she was in charge of. Until he was able to get shut of this place entirely, he was going to stay as far as humanly possible from the woman who had literally stabbed him in the back. Stab me in the back once, shame on you, he thought. Stab me in the back twice, shame on me.

“And you wonder why I called you uppity.” Mirrorkin sighed. “You’re clearly the give orders rather than take orders type. Maybe they can put your bossiness and obstinance to good use in the Apex Division. You don’t have the alpha bro energy students in that Division tend to exude, but if anybody can push you toward realizing the true potential of your powers, the Apex Division can.”

Max pondered Mirrorkin’s words. Escape from this madhouse was obviously his top priority. But, in the meantime, he might as well capitalize on the school’s resources and try to unlock his power’s potential. If joining the Apex Division would accelerate that, maybe it was the Division for him.

Two people gave him pause: Ravi and Pantheon. Ravi was a member of the Apex Division. It left a bad taste in Max’s mouth how the fourth year had kissed up to Damian, but punched down when it came to people Ravi considered of lesser status. If Ravi was representative of how the Apex Division operated, Max didn’t want to be a part of it.

And it didn’t sit right with him how Pantheon, the head of the Apex Division, had looked at Bastion with jealousy when Strategos introduced Bastion to the first years. His father had always said that jealousy was a sign of the small-minded.

“How about the Vigilante Division instead?” Max asked.

“The seek justice regardless of the personal cost Division? The one Division that would be at home in a Hero academy if it were slightly more law-abiding?” Mirrorkin snorted. “I’m shocked that the guy who’d confront a corrupt sheriff armed with little more than a whittling knife and wishful thinking would pick the Vigilante Division. Shocked, I say.”

Mirrorkin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He flashed a triumphant grin.

“The moment I scanned you, I knew—you were cut out for the Vigilante Division."

Max’s brows knit together in confusion. “Then why the rigmarole discussing the other Divisions?"

Mirrorkin leaned forward, his voice certain. “Directly pointing you to the Vigilante Division would have only triggered your defiance. You’re not one to be told what to do. When someone tells Max Blackwood to jump, his first instinct isn’t to ask, ‘How high?’ His first instinct is to say, ‘How about you go jump in the lake, instead? You don’t own me.’ That’s just who you are, Max. I’ve got your number.”

Max’s lips parted, ready to protest, but he paused, doubt flashing through his mind. Was Mirrorkin’s assessment really so far off? Max wrestled with the notion, torn between rejecting it and considering the unnerving possibility that Mirrorkin had indeed seen through him.

Mirrorkin speaking again interrupted Max’s contemplative thoughts.

“Besides, choosing your Division yourself rather than it being picked for you makes it more likely you’ll be successful within the Division. It’s self-determination theory 101. Crack a psychology book, would ya? Like that old cliché says, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him choose the Vigilante Division.”

“That’s not the expression,” Max protested.

“Don’t try to teach grandpa how to suck eggs. I invented that expression. The fact that it’s been corrupted over the past century isn’t my fault.”

Mirrorkin rubbed his hands together.

“Okay, daylight’s burning, and I’ve got a ton more first years to guide and harass. Put that poker down and touch me with both of your palms.”

Mirrorkin’s order made Max clutch the poker even tighter. Maybe, he realized, the magical reflection was right about him being instinctually contrarian.

“Why?” Max asked suspiciously.

Mirrorkin leered at Max. Coming from Max’s identical twin, the leer was deeply unsettling. “Why do I want you to touch me? Because I think I love you, so I’m going to let you get to second base.”

Max’s reflection dropped the leer and shook his head with disgust, muttering under his breath.

“Look, kid, a certain amount of suspicion is healthy. But take it too far, and soon you’ll be checking your shoelaces for listening devices and thinking your pet goldfish is a covert operative. I want you to touch me so I can activate your chest insignia. I want you to put the poker down because iron and magical entities don’t mix well. You’ll learn that in your second-year Defense Against Magical Forces class—assuming you survive that long—so you’re welcome for the early lesson. Chop, chop! We’re on the clock.”

Swallowing his second thoughts, Max put the poker on the stone floor. He pressed his palms against the mirror. Its surface was warm, pulsing gently. The pulses shivered up his arms and pooled on his chest. The sensation was pleasant, like being gently massaged.

Four emblems emerged from Max’s suit, like islands forming from the eruption of an underwater volcano. Identical emblems manifested on the chest of Mirrorkin’s suit.

“This,” Mirrorkin said, pointing at the small circle on the right side of his chest, “is the symbol for you first years. This scale next to it is the emblem for the Vigilante Division.”

Mirrorkin pointed at the other side of his chest. “This white bar means your Unreal power mastery level is Initiate class. The black hole symbol next to it indicates you’re a Void Walker. Now, if I were you—”

Mirrorkin’s words were cut off like he was an album whose needle had been snatched from the record player. His glowing mirror disappeared.

The floor and the rest of the stone chamber also disappeared. Without warning, Max was plunged into a frigid, absolute darkness.