"I will be back at oh-seven hundred tomorrow." Zephyr spoke for the first time since the argument. He remained ridgid, his entire body tense and held as far from Braxton as he could manage. All of the youth were inside Braxton's room, except for Zephyr.

"And I shall be here," Braxton replied flippantly, "awaiting my jailer to let me out."

Matt shot him a glare. Braxton remained unapologetic.

Zephyr nodded once, curtly, before turning away and slamming his hand against the button on the wall to shut Braxton's door. The metal doors snapped shut, cutting them off from each other for the night.

Braxton sighed with relief. "I am so glad he's gone."

"You are doing a terrible job of making friends with him!" Matt practically exploded. "This was your idea, and you are the worst at it! Are you putting any effort into this at all?"

"What was his idea?" Sy asked softly. "Jim? What's going on?"

Jim panicked. "Uh."

Braxton rolled his eyes. "Jim asked us to try and make things less awkward in the group. He said it stresses you out that De Châteaupers and I are always fighting, and wanted to try and find some way to ease the tensions. I suggested that I could try making friends with him, so the problems would just go away. But it's practically impossible!"

"It is not impossible to be Zephyr's friend," Matt chastised him. "You just don't bother to put any actual effort in. You're having far too much fun pushing all his buttons."

"Being a button pusher," Braxton corrected Matt flippantly.

"Now is not the time!"

Braxton actually shrank back. "Matt, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were actually upset at me."

"Of course I'm upset," Matt snapped. "You blame everything on Zephyr and aren't even trying to put an ounce of thought into this whole thing. You wanted to be his friend, so step up and be his friend."

"How am I supposed to do that when he's everything I hate?" Braxton demanded. He gestured wildly at absolutely nothing. "Look at us, Matt. We don't belong with him. He doesn't think we belong with him either. He is the crust at the top, the elite nobility, the creme de la creme. He cares about appearances, and money, and impressing his rich little friends. He's never had to get his hands dirty, never suffered for anything. He's never been without, or wanted for anything. He's got family just handing him things, and people falling over themselves to impress him, just because he was born with the correct last name. Not even that, because he was born pretty and with the correct last name."

"You know nothing about him," Sy stated, his voice wavering like he might cry. "None of that is true, Braxton."

"I assure you, it is." Braxton answered, his arms folded over his chest. "Zephyr de Châteaupers is the admiral's perfect, painted, golden grandson. Everything about him is absolutely flawless, and the only things he's ever been told to change are cosmetic. Token changes to keep his place at the top, minor adjustments that just maintain the status quo, only painting over the problem to appease people if they get too rowdy. Nothing actually changes. As long as he follows the rules of his family, no one else's laws matter. He can be anything he wants. Meanwhile people like me are two steps away from failing to survive. He is-"

"That. Is. Enough."

Braxton fell silent at Matt's command. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. "I'm sorry. Look, I will try, okay? I promise. I know I'm not giving him a chance, and I know I said I would. So he gets one chance. For real this time."

Matt sighed heavily, but nodded. "Alright."

Sy just studied his feet quietly.

"Sy," Braxton gently placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I know you care a lot about Zephyr, and I'm sorry if I've hurt you because I struggle with our interpersonal conflict. But what I feel and say about him, it's not a reflection of you. You and Zephyr are not the same person."

Sy gave Braxton a small, sad smile. "Thank you, but, Zephyr and I are best friends for a reason. He's a lot more like me than you give me credit for."

Jim reached over and pulled Sy into his arms. "The only thing that is similar about you two is that you share the same religion. Or, at least, one that's very similar."

"Same one," Sy confirmed. "His father and my mother went to the same church. They actually hosted religious services here and helped convert a couple of individuals."

"Anyway," Varian interrupted the conversation now that it was less tense. "What are we doing tonight?"

"Wanna play Guess It?" Jim suggested.

"What's that?"

"It's a game that we came up with last year. You get a handful of minutes, usually between three and five per round. You get a stack of papers and a pen or something, then you think of a word and you draw it as fast as you can. Once you're satisfied, you show it to the others, and they try to guess it. You can add to it if they're not getting it, but you can't move on until they've gotten it. Once they guess it, you go again. Then you try to get as many drawings guessed as you can. We all take turns guessing and drawing."

"Sounds fun! Let's form teams!" Varian agreed eagerly.

"We're splitting up Sy and Jim!" Braxton demanded. "I am not watching them draw nothing but hearts for each other!"

"You aren't allowed to repeat words," Matt pointed out with a bright laugh.

"That doesn't mean that they won't be all mushy gushy anyway!"

"I think I resent that," Jim laughed.

"I think I don't care." Braxton retaliated. "Come on, teams then. I get Matt."

"Oh no," Jim answered firmly. "If I can't be on Sy's team, you don't get Matt. You're on my team. Matt, you go with Sy. Varian, Hogarth, pick your side."

Varian shrugged. "I got you, I guess."