Blaine continued to sneak off campus, but was it really sneaking, anymore, if someone else knew you were doing it? He still hadn't asked Edwards why he kept silent on the issue, but there was a knowing look in his eye on any occasion Blaine used the computer in the headmaster's office. They never talked explicitly about Blaine's trips to the Lima Bean to see Kurt. Instead Edwards had taken to asking simply, "Will you need a cab today, Sir?" and Blaine would answer, always gratefully, regardless of whether it was a yes or no.

For a while Blaine was ecstatic. Between the Warbler's more intense preparations for Sectionals, and visits with a very real, very lovely, very lovable Kurt (there were never enough "very's" where Kurt was concerned), Blaine was soaring.

Until he wasn't.

When Kurt asked about the cost of tuition at Dalton one day during one of their Lima Bean meetings, Blaine nearly choked on his coffee. Why had it never occurred to him that Kurt might think Dalton was a way to escape? A way to finally be free of David Karofsky? Most likely is was because in Blaine's mind the terms "Dalton," "escape" and "free" simply didn't belong together.

Blaine was still lost in thought as he heard Kurt finish, ". . . so he and Carol have this money they'd like to use from their honeymoon, and I hate the idea of it but it's starting to look like the only option."

Blaine stared down at his own drink, speechless. What could he even say? He felt slightly ashamed, really, because he should know better. His own mother had, that was for certain. What was it he'd overheard her saying to his father last fall, before she was gone? "Everything has a breaking point—and everyone. You're going to get so lost in this—you are already! I can see it, I can see where your thoughts are leading you! Don't get so wrapped up in an idea that you lose us all." Blaine wondered whether any of his recent choices would send him down a path: of ruining his father's work, of putting his own safety at risk. But he was certain that he needed Kurt in his life, there was no question, and Kurt needed him. He was needed. So when he looked up to face an expectant Kurt, Blaine paused, then said simply, "You should do whatever you have to—so you can be safe." Everything else, Blaine acquiesced, was just details.

That night at Dalton after dinner, Blaine padded along the polished tile of the main floor en route to the upper dormitories and the lab. If Kurt was truly considering Dalton, there were logistics to work out, and Blaine wondered whether he could really pull any of this off without his father's knowledge. He entered the lab deep in thought, and immediately sat down to write. Mostly, he had questions. And concerns:

• Who would Kurt's dad even speak to about Dalton? (Edwards? What does Edwards need to know?)
• Would it be weird to charge tuition? Come up with a scholarship . . . for students who just happen to be exactly like Kurt :)
• Classes. I would have to go. (All the time . . . )
• Programming Needs. Under no circumstances can Kurt know the truth. Some kind of silencing subroutine for students? There's no way around it.
• Kurt can't live here.

As he wrote the last bullet point, Blaine knew that probably, for financial reasons, Kurt would commute anyway. Even so, it was uncomfortable to see that list item in his own hand, or to see the rest of the list for that matter. It was all so complicated, and his stomach knotted just thinking about it.

A squeak of the door caused Blaine to practically jump out of his chair. "Wes?" he asked automatically, because really, no one else he could think of would ever pop in unannounced, at this or any hour. Blaine turned to see the door pry open further, revealing a student. It took Blaine a moment to remember his name, as he wasn't a Warbler. Sebastian—that was it.

"Hi, Sebastian," said Blaine. "Can I, um, help you with something tonight before we all sort of . . . close down here?" He tried to remember the last time he'd talked to the boy. He was pretty sure they had History class together, but rarely interacted.

The other boy shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets, then tilted his head and offered, "Look. I know I'm pretty new here and all compared to the others, but I really admire you, Blaine." Sebastian leaned forward and added, more quietly, "Anything I say here is just between you and me, right?"

"Sure," Blaine practically whispered back. He shifted uncomfortably as he listened to Sebastian; he couldn't shake the feeling that Sebastian had some sort of agenda. And Blaine wasn't quite sure how that was possible. He tried to keep his composure as the boy continued.

"Don't get me wrong," Sebastian started. "You know we all like it here."

"We?" wondered Blaine, raising his eyebrows slightly. He quickly found himself cycling through any memories he had of seeing Sebastian. Were there others the boy interacted with regularly? Others he'd seen Sebastian with? Blaine couldn't remember feeling flustered around a Dalton student, but the feeling was there regardless, as evidenced by the hair prickling on the back of Blaine's neck.

"Oh, you know," Sebastian said, as he started to walk slowly around the lab. "Your . . . fellow students," he said, gesturing vaguely. But Blaine noted as Sebastian's eyes settled on a corner of the lab—where an assortment of limbs and other parts were organized neatly into boxes. Without looking away from those boxes Sebastian continued, "You can make us do whatever you want—I get that." Turning back toward Blaine he said, "And yet you choose to have us move like cattle through the halls. It's not interesting. You have to admit, this place is sort of like an old folks' home. Why don't you live a little?"

"I live a lot," said Blaine, caught off guard. "I live just fine."

"Obviously," said Sebastian, looking around the lab. "This is every teenager's dream."

"Wow. You just. You know," Blaine countered, "Not that I need to defend myself to you, but most teenagers don't have the responsibilities I've been given, or get to participate in a really important project. For the government!" he added, pointing. "I can't be reckless. I—" he stopped, glaring now at Sebastian. "Why does it even matter to you?" asked Blaine, indignantly, and then, more quietly, "Wait. What would you have me do, anyway?"

Sebastian just smiled back.

"I could help with the Warblers," Sebastian offered. "I see how much work that is, and besides, don't you have some kind of competition thing coming up?"

Blaine was silent. "You want to . . . join the Warblers." In all his time here, he'd never really seen any of the students go out of their way to enroll in something. Immediately he wondered if there was some other phase of the Dalton Project that his dad hadn't told him about. Why was Sebastian different?

Sebastian seemed to pick up on Blaine's line of thinking as he said, "I know we don't normally ask for things—not like this. But the reality is that you're in over your head, I think. You need the help. I'm sure I have some . . . unique skills that may be useful."

Slightly flustered, Blaine gaped at Sebastian, who merely smiled back. The other boy's eyes seemed to pierce Blaine, as if some layer of himself—some protective casing—was being peeled away. Exposed. "You're so talented," he said, still smiling. "I've actually seen you perform," he nodded, "and if I were a real boy . . ." He'd crept closer as he spoke, then laughed and said, "Well, I guess then I'd get to see you perform in other contexts."

Blaine just blinked. Then blinked again.

And so with Blaine speechless on the matter, Sebastian became the first Dalton student to actually join the Warblers.

The days that followed were full of chaos. Kurt was peppering Blaine with questions about Dalton (he found the website, he'd said, but there didn't seem to be any way of contacting anyone directly), and Blaine was just about losing his mind determining how to protect the project's secrets as well as his own. The guilt he already felt became more acute whenever his mind wandered, and on top of that he hadn't counted on the reaction Sebastian's introduction to the Warblers would receive.

It was as if the other Warblers were offended.

Part of the problem was that Sebastian was actually very, very good—which made no sense to Blaine, given that the Warblers were specifically programmed to be Warblers.

At the meeting in question, Blaine had brought Sebastian along and then announced simply, "Sebastian is a new Warbler, guys." And then he'd paused at the murmuring that spread instantly around the room.

"Is that—okay?" Blaine asked, surprised. "You guys usually like my contributions."

"Of course it's fine," Wes said, raising an eyebrow. "But why not let him audition anyway?"

"Audition." Blaine glanced over at Sebastian, who seemed amused by the formality of the proceedings, then said, seeing as nothing today was going to be predictable, "Sure, why not?"

And then Sebastian led the group in singing a number they'd done before, leaving Blaine to wonder how, exactly, Sebastian was so familiar with the arrangement, the phrasing, the everything. As he listened, Blaine found himself dwelling on the lyrics he was used to singing himself. How different they seemed in another's voice:

Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem,

You'd rather cover up; I'd rather let them bleed.

So let me be, and I'll set you free.

As he continued to watch what was a polished performance, Blaine had the same feeling he'd had the other night in the lab: the feeling that Sebastian could peer inside him somehow. It was disconcerting, and Blaine thought at least now he could keep an eye on the other boy—a boy, he had to admit, who was sort of handsome. For a machine.

The rest of the Warblers seemed to like the audition; that the performance ended up with Jeff, Nick and Thad in the center of the group doing their individual versions of an axel seemed to indicate they'd accepted Sebastian. As for the newest Warbler, Blaine watched with some astonishment as he stepped to the center and performed an axel too, easily besting the others in the height of the jump and, Blaine conceded, in the grace with which he executed it.

As the Warblers left the commons afterwards, Blaine spied the headmaster lingering outside the door. Great, thought Blaine. More surprises. But truth be told, he needed to talk to Edwards if Kurt was ever going to find safety here. So he headed straight for the headmaster, who said, "Care to take a walk back to my office, young man?" Blaine nodded and they walked together down the now-silent hall.

They walked quietly together, Blaine lost in his own questions about Edwards himself, from what the headmaster wanted right at this moment to why he'd been essentially an accomplice to Blaine's multiple transgressions in order to spend time with Kurt. And then there was the sectionals competition, which was only weeks away now. Why had Edwards not told his father about that?

The headmaster held the office door open for Blaine, who entered and took a seat opposite the desk. Edwards followed and sat at the computer. Clicking the mouse, he seemed to locate something, then said to Blaine, "Care to tell me why we've received an inquiry from Mr. Kurt Hummel regarding admission to the school?"

Blaine shifted in his seat, confused. "He what?" That Kurt was interested wasn't surprising. That he found a way to contact Dalton itself was.

"He submitted a message to the school's e-mail account—which, as you know, isn't publicized. Anywhere."

"I didn't give it to him!"

"I'm not accusing, Sir. The account itself, I imagine, would be easy to guess: admissions@daltonacademy.edu. It's a dummy account, but what I'm more concerned with at the present moment is how to handle the inquiry." Edwards surveyed Blaine, then waited for his response.

Blaine sighed, and looked down at his shoes, unsure of what to do. A moment later he found himself blurting out, "Why didn't you tell my dad about the competition?" When he lifted his head to meet Edwards' gaze, he found a sympathetic expression on his face.

The headmaster set his elbows atop the desk and clasped his hands. "Well," he started, "that's a rather complex question." He continued, clearing his throat. "I've known you for some time, now, Blaine," he said, rather awkwardly, causing Blaine to smile. "It's my job to protect you. But I can also surmise the extent to which your needs might not be met here. Is it also my job to report to your father? Somewhat. You are also in charge. So my position . . . is conflicted to a degree, which I'm sure you can appreciate. But I've obviously been supporting your efforts with the competition. And with your friend—yes, I do know about him, or have been able to guess the details enough. My stance at this point is to comply with your wishes, because that is the hierarchy here. It's also to let your father deal with you himself, if and when he finds out what you're doing. His knowledge of your plans is, the way I see it, your responsibility."

"So your job is to protect me over the Project? I was kind of surprised when you started helping me actually leave campus in order to visit Kurt."

"I think, Sir, that you would have probably found a way to leave campus with or without my knowledge. I would rather it happened with."

Blaine sat back and thought, then readied himself to ask even more of Edwards, although maybe, actually, this new plan would be safer. "So—Kurt wants to go to school here. His life has been threatened by another student. Having him here would mean I'd be leaving a little less often . . . which would be better, right?" He eyed the headmaster hopefully.

Edwards rubbed his forehead, then brought the hand down to rest his chin on it. "How would that work, exactly?"

Blaine smiled and pulled out his notebook. Everything, he thought, was going to be fine.