Chapter OneGertrude, as usual, was giving me a headache. Her high-pitched wails echoed from the tall ceiling of our dormitory. I stood with my arms crossed tightly and my fingertips digging into my ribs as if that could keep my short temper from betraying me. Again.
“Why did you do it?” Professor Dunn asked me, a thread of exasperation in her voice. She tilted her head, grimacing as one of Gertrude’s cries reached a bone-rattling volume. I studied the embroidered ruffle at the professor’s collar. It was slightly askew. She’d likely hurled herself out of bed in alarm at the sound of Gertrude’s shrieking. Gertrude had that effect on people. And I had a negative effect on Gertrude.
My hesitation betrayed my lack of a reasonable answer to Professor Dunn’s question. With my teeth set together so tightly that my jaw ached, I lowered my chin and tried to recall precisely what Gertrude had been saying before my radiance escaped me like a rabid dog unleashed.
She’d been harping on my temper, probably. My lack of precision when conducting. My generally unpleasant nature. How I deserved to be a Generator, kept locked away and out of trouble. Normally these declarations were easy to ignore. Gertrude had nasty things to say about everyone, from the pimple-faced first years to the kind old cook who made us cinnamon buns.
But tonight was the night before the Assignment Ceremony.
If Master Hayes shared Gertrude’s sentiments, I’d never be assigned to a renowned Mission. I’d be cast impossibly far from the hubs of Industry. I’d end up in some miserable rural Mission—unappreciated at best, feared by backward locals at worst. I’d be years behind my peers. Years away from the chance to prove I was capable of running my own Mission.
I’d be an insignificant cog in the great machine of Progress. Powerless. Disappointing.
“Gertrude made me angry,” I finally mumbled. The blush that followed was like a thousand ants shimmying up my throat. I resisted the urge to cover my scarlet cheeks. Professor Dunn was harder on me than any of my other instructors, but she’d also taken the most interest in the rehabilitation of my inconsistent academic performance. Now, with mere hours left at the House of Industry, I still required her pitying sort of patience.
And I’d let her down one last time.
Professor Dunn sighed and removed her glasses to wipe them with a kerchief from her pocket—a tic I’d long since identified as an attempt to work through tremendous frustration with one of her students.
Usually me.
Time and time again, she’d explained this to me: If I wanted to be a great Conductor, I had to control my impulses. My temper. These traits were at odds with the House of Industry.
Sometimes it felt like my very nature was at odds with the House of Industry.
The only undesirable trait Professor Dunn had ever let slide was my curiosity. Occasionally, I asked questions that resulted in being kept behind after lectures. Each time, I expected my palms to be caned. But Professor Dunn never hit me. Instead, she would take the time to answer me, showing me the inner workings of gadgets and helping me understand why radiance made the intricate gears whir.
I’d miss her classes.
In our dormitory, Gertrude had stopped wailing, likely in smug anticipation of discovering what my punishment would be. A crowd of girls perched on her tiny cot, petting her hair and glaring at me. I couldn’t bring myself to care whether they were angry. After all, none of us would see one another ever again after tomorrow afternoon. Our bags were already packed and lined up along the wall.
We’d been taught for ten years not to become attached to anyone. That was one rule I followed as if my life depended on it. Caring made people unreasonable. I could see it now in the way these girls felt compelled to protect Gertrude and her big, stupid mouth. The way their eyes flicked over me warily.
I wondered if any of them knew what Gertrude and I had done when no one was looking.
It didn’t matter. They’d be the ones weeping tomorrow, agonizing over leaving their friends. While I’d walk away without a single care for who I was leaving behind. It would make me stronger. More focused. No longer distracted by how difficult it was to avoid knowing and being known by others.
I had to do what was expected of me without hesitation, without question. Only then would I be trusted to run my own Mission.
Only then would I stop doubting myself.
“You will complete Gertrude’s morning chores and your own, along with cleaning the chamber pots,” Professor Dunn said, her pale brown eyes daring me to argue. She had a narrow face and wary tension around her mouth. Which made sense—she was surrounded by children all day. “You’ll begin now. And when you are finished, make yourself presentable and reflect on your actions in the great hall.”
I pinched the thin skin at my ribs through my nightgown. No sleep at all, then. I’d be a bleary-eyed wraith at the Assignment Ceremony. “Yes, Professor.”
There was no sense in lingering. There’d be no final lecture. Nothing Professor Dunn could say now would make an impact, considering the last four years in the Secondary School of the House of Industry had done nothing to reduce my impulsivity. I crouched beside my cot and shoved my feet into my boots. To my horror, my fingers trembled as I tied the laces. Pressure built behind my eyes. I closed them briefly, willing back the tears that would humiliate me far more than being punished in front of the other eleven girls in my graduating class.
There were no tears in Gertrude’s eyes when I hurried past. There was, I noticed with terrible satisfaction, a burn mark on the front of her nightgown where I’d struck her with radiance.
“If you don’t watch yourself,” she muttered, grabbing my sleeve, “you’ll wash out and end up a House servant.”
I rolled my eyes and let her see a threatening thread of radiance stretching between my forefinger and thumb as I shook out of her grip.
Her breath sucked in with a hiss of rage. “Always acting like you’re a Transistor,” she said in a low snarl that only I could hear. “They didn’t want you, Josephine Haven.”
It stung like she’d slapped me.
The same refrain ran through my head every night. Every morning. Every time my radiance wanted to lash out without precision.
They didn’t want me. When the time had come to enter secondary school, I’d begged to train as a Transistor, to learn how to fight and defend the House of Industry as a powerful, elite guard. I hoped down to my bones that it was my destiny, because I couldn’t understand why else I felt so hopelessly angry, so in need of release.
What I hoped for didn’t matter. They’d denied my request, and instead the House had called on me to serve as a Conductor. There were no adjustments to the decisions the Elders made. It didn’t matter that I was certain they’d only disqualified me from serving in the Transistor guard on account of my being small for my age. It didn’t matter that I was certain I had the ability to use my radiance as a weapon.
It didn’t matter that my emotions made me feel violent.
Maybe they’d looked into my heart and seen how much I hated the part of myself that enjoyed hurting people.
With my face searing hot, I left the dormitory for the washroom, where I’d spend hours scouring chamber pots until my hands were raw with lye.
Transistors, perhaps even more so than Conductors, had to demonstrate extreme control in addition to the ability to cast radiance from their bodies like lightning. Professor Dunn had explained this on numerous occasions in the rare joint classes we had with the Transistors. Every time, I’d felt her eyes on me. It was a reminder that a penchant for occasionally attacking classmates wasn’t enough for an elite role in the House’s guard. Transistors protected the House of Industry and its interests. They didn’t use radiance at will to get revenge on bratty girls with overly perceptive eyes and soft mouths.
Tears wet my cheeks in the chilly washroom as I scrubbed each porcelain pot mercilessly, wishing there were a way to wash off the fear that my temper and my lack of certainty made me inadequate to even function as a Conductor—let alone advance enough to run my own Mission. If I didn’t perform to expectations as an apprentice, I’d be sent home to the House of Industry. I’d join the servants who became nameless over the years, blessed with radiance but unworthy of representing the House as Conductors or Transistors. House servants turned on the lights, heated the hearths, ran the lifts. Tasks any small child with radiance could complete.
A birthright unrealized.
I could not allow that to happen. I had to stop lashing out. I had to stop examining the place in me that felt like a loose tooth. And I had to stop caring about what the other girls thought of me or what I thought of them.
Once I ran my own Mission, an entire community would rely on me. Everyone would know exactly who I was and why I existed. I’d gladly do what was expected of me.
Scraping my tears away with the inside of my arms, I rinsed another chamber pot. Just because I wanted to throw it across the room didn’t mean I would, didn’t mean my impulses were anything but that—fleeting weaknesses.
I
was capable. I’d passed my exams and practicals. And tomorrow, I’d leave the House of Industry and work alongside someone who never needed to know that I’d set a few sleeves on fire and burned a few nightgowns and knocked out one particularly mouthy classmate who had entirely deserved it.
Copyright © 2026 by Maria Ingrande Mora. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
