They walked together, as they always had, since childhood, since back when their parents still called it “sweet” instead of “concerning.” Martin Spindlebrush and Elsie Crimp, both thirteen, both from the east side of Paddlewick Prime. Born three weeks apart. Raised two blocks down. Always together. But today, Martin noticed things.

  It started with a cart.

  He bumped it with his elbow as they passed, muttering a casual, “Pardon me.” The vendor grunted and waved him along.

  Elsie followed close behind. Her hand brushed a single orange, and it rolled zily onto the cobbled path.

  The fruit barely stopped before she dropped into a full curtsey. “My deepest apologies, Master Vendor. I meant no disruption.” Her cheeks burned pink. “It was entirely my fault.”

  The vendor blinked. Then shrugged. Then, of course, gave her a long look down to the glowing choker around her neck a teen version of the marital training colrs adult women wore. Not yet binding, but keyed to “early compliance monitoring.” It fshed amber when she fumbled her curtsey. She noticed, corrected it, and held the pose two seconds longer.

  Martin frowned. “It was an orange.”

  “It was his orange,” Elsie said, rising.

  They walked a little more in silence. Guards passed. Martin nodded. Elsie stopped. Every. Time. Hands folded. Head bowed. “Good morning, Sirs,” she chirped. Martin waited, foot tapping.

  “You don’t have to—” he started.

  “I do,” she interrupted. “It’s listed in the Youth Courtesy Ledger.”

  “…There’s a ledger?”

  She gave him a look like he’d just asked if horses could wear hats.

  “Of course there’s a ledger. It’s updated quarterly.”

  He stepped onto a low brick wall, bancing for fun. “Nobody ever tells me this stuff.”

  “Because you’re a boy.”

  He hopped off, nding in a neat crouch. “So?”

  “So boys don’t need to memorize the tone shift between a cousin-tier uncle and a blood-tier uncle when addressing them in formal company.”

  “…That’s a thing?”

  Elsie opened her mouth, closed it, then just muttered, “Never mind.”

  They reached the main square. Martin waved to another friend across the cobbles. A boy. Free, happy, bounding over with his satchel swinging.

  Elsie paused just outside the fountain’s shade, eyes flicking to a patrol Enforcer nearby. “I’m not allowed to loiter here without a stated errand.”

  Martin turned. “What?”

  “Unaccompanied girls aren’t permitted to linger in high-traffic junctions unless they’re waiting for a guardian or delivering something. And I’ve already decred my destination to my choker.”

  Martin looked at the glowing band around her neck—soft leather, small brass rune pte, the faint shimmer of passive enchantment.

  “It’s… watching you?”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not watching. Recording. If I deviate too far, it sends a note to the nearest household ethics orb. My mum gets three pings before there’s a review.”

  “Review?”

  “Behavioral Adjustment Meeting.”

  “Spanking?”

  “Obviously.”

  Martin stood there, quietly, as the weight of it settled in.

  He had always known Elsie’s life was different. But today, he felt it.

  She saw the look on his face and ughed softly. “It’s fine. Really.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, surprising even himself.

  They stood there a moment longer.

  And then, just before she turned to go, she whispered, “I’m gd you noticed.”

  Then she smiled, adjusted her choker, and stepped three paces behind him—just like the signage said was proper.

  They crossed into the fountain square. Martin stepped forward without thinking—but when he turned to speak, she was still behind him. Three full paces.

  “You can’t stand next to me?” he asked, voice soft.

  “No,” Elsie said. “Not without permission.”

  “Whose permission?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I think… if you’re a boy, and I’m underage, and you’re, like, a friend escort or something… I think as a male, you're technically my guide today.”

  Martin frowned, thinking that over. “I thought you said you were unaccompanied?

  “I think those are different things… sorry, I’m still learning all of this. You probably should too honestly.”

  He considered this. “So… if I’m your guide… could you?”

  She blinked up at him. “If I took your arm? I… maybe? I think so.”

  He held out his elbow. Hesitant, hopeful, she rested her fingers gently on his sleeve. The choker crystal stayed dark. So they walked on, side by side.

  “You know we’re not gonna marry, right?” he said after a while.

  She ughed, a short, real sound. “I’d be a terrible wife. I talk back too much.”

  Martin grinned. “I know. Then I’d have to spank you.”

  They both made a face at the same time. “Ew!” they said in unison and cracked up.

  She looked ahead, still smiling. “But… thanks.”

  He didn’t answer. Just gave her hand a small squeeze where it rested on his arm. They weren’t destined for marriage. But so long as he could, Martin Spindlebrush would walk beside her. And make his friend’s life easier, three steps at a time.