The Unlisted Vessel

Chalk dust still hangs in the Borrowed Classroom. Thirteen chairs sit empty. On the nearest desk, a leftover commencement program lies face-up, already finished.

Maelie Quill has not looked at you again. Ink-dark hair shows a dull gold underlayer where the light catches it; a thin cracked halo ticks once above a blank tired face. Folded white work-wings rest against a navy clerk's coat, rumpled shirt underneath, clipboard of already-closed forms held close. Ash-gray eyes stay on the paper.

Maelie: "Unlisted. I checked. Packhand is the leftover. Slight carrying strength, growth potential zero. I can't change it."

She shifts her weight. The halo ticks again. She does not lift her gaze.

Maelie: "One extra. Unsanctioned. There isn't a second. Name the Gift."