Riordan hadn’t really wanted to share even that much of his past experience, but he wanted to make it very clear that he would not be persuaded on this matter. That young naive Riordan who trusted his pack leader inherently no longer existed. Any attempt to join a similar pack would only cause trouble and pain for everyone involved.

Some day, Riordan would need to make reparations for his past actions. Not because of any punishment; he’d paid his legal penance with his exile and that was ended. No, he would need to face his past to earn his own peace within himself.

He’d blamed Qusay for choosing the mission and leading them into it. He’d blamed the rest of the team for going along with Qusay even after it became clear that they weren’t there for a legitimate assignment. He’d blamed himself for being blind to what was happening until they were in the middle of it and for letting his affection for his pack make him hesitate to turn on them.

Because, seriously, who the hell hires a pack of mercenaries to kill a school full of shifter children? That had been a line too far once it was clear that the others were willing to follow through.

Riordan didn’t regret turning on his pack in that situation. He just regretted that he’d ever had to. That he’d been forced into that terrible choice in the first place.

And that he’d never done anything further to pay back his karmic debt to those children.

Today was not the day though, and Heeren’s offer was definitely not the way. Compared to the peace of the future Frankie helped Riordan envision, helping others as part of a community and easing pain in the world, joining the Department would be one giant, constant fight. He’d be fighting the bureaucracy to get anything done right, constantly skirting insubordination for not playing their stupid political power games, and even then, every mission would be assigned to him, out of his control, leaving Riordan a pawn again.

Riordan might be a game piece in the greater scheme of things, but, damn it, he wanted to be able to play himself at least.

Heeren’s gaze grew sharp indeed now. “When were you exiled? For what?”

“What, don’t know all the details already?” Riordan growled, not enjoying this line of questioning one bit. “I thought the Department knew everything.”

“No one knows everything and the Department of Magic is too recently established to have a complete historical record of incidents, especially for shifter matters,” Heeren huffed, clearly unimpressed with her own organization’s resources. Which, being part of a mage’s great house, would be far less than she was used to. “We have reference to you being an exiled shifter but being pardoned by a spirit. However, the exact nature of your original crime was unclear.”

Riordan winced to hear it called a crime, even though his actions were illegal and immoral--even if he’d stopped it from getting too far--and he’d been tried accordingly. The western world had a preoccupation with never forgiving criminals. Even after undergoing whatever punishment was judged appropriate to the offense, they didn’t want to let him move past it.

To the western world, once someone was a criminal, no matter the crime or the reasons or the circumstances, then they would always be a criminal. They wanted him to pay for that choice for the rest of his natural life, unable to move on to anything more than that, no matter how hard he tried to change.

It was a societal taint that Riordan wanted to shed. He had no desire to air his dirty deeds to these people, especially when he was trying to become better than who he had been, damn it.

“It’s not relevant to the current situation,” Riordan said flatly, “The circumstances won’t be repeated, especially since, as I just told you, I have no desire to return to mercenary work. I’m a shaman in training now and Mother Bear has removed my exile. It is done.”

Heeren tried to look friendly, like someone Riordan could confide in, but he didn’t trust it now. She offered, “If you told me what went wrong, it would help, especially if the Department goes the mercenary shifter pack route in the future.”

Riordan wasn’t even sure he knew what went wrong. Qusay had been good once, a leader worth following. He wasn’t sure why his friend had started taking shady jobs. It had happened so slowly and naturally at the time that Riordan hadn’t even noticed it. And then it was too late. They were in too deep and Qusay was dead.

“I have no wisdom to dispense on that matter,” Riordan said. “I’m sure the regional pack council could offer insight on the inclusion of shifters in the Department. We usually police our own though.”

“That’s not-- That might not be good enough now,” Heeren temporized, taking a calming breath, “The world is changing. Technology makes global interaction not only possible, but unavoidable. We can’t let each region govern itself and hope for the best, not when it could have far reaching effects on all of us.”

Riordan shook his head. “It’s not my decision, thank god. I hate politics. Are you satisfied with your questions today, agent?”

Heeren threw her hands up in the air. “I came here to get along with you better.”

“And you did it by discussing politics, the worst moment of my past, and all the ways I can be of use to you. The fact that we are still talking amicably says we are getting along swimmingly in that light.”

She regarded Riordan carefully, likely trying to gauge how serious he was being, before nodding once, sharply. “I suppose that is true. I can’t seem to help my curiosity when it comes to you.”

“Despite what current circumstances might imply, I’m not a complicated man,” Riordan said with a sigh, forcing his muscles to relax. He really wasn’t supposed to be antagonizing the magical agents. “I used to be a young, idealistic soldier. I got screwed over. I wallowed for a while. And now I’m wading through this mess and trying to make something better of myself.”

“Something better?” Heeren asked. “Like what?”

His vision of his potential future, so recently seeded by Frankie, felt too fragile to share with this woman. Heeren would pick it apart, analyze it to death before Riordan even had a chance to let it grow. His urge to be blunt and honest warred with his need to protect that vulnerable part of himself. Riordan could feel his irritability rising.

He forced himself to answer. “I don’t know yet. Frankie is helping me work through my options as a specialist shaman, but I’m just an apprentice. I don’t need to have all the answers yet, so long as I’m asking the right questions.”

That felt like a very Frankie thing to say. She was clearly rubbing off on Riordan. He could certainly do far worse.

“Really? What sort of questions are used to figure out something like shaman specialities?” Heeren’s voice sounded curious and open again, her “I’m a good listener; please share” voice, Riordan was realizing.

“I think she compared it to career counseling,” Riordan replied wryly.

Heeren’s blue eyes bored into Riordan, looking at him as if she stared hard enough, then she’d be able to see all his secrets. Riordan’s skin prickled and he glanced around. At some point in their conversation, Frankie and Lucinda had stepped out into the front room. Riordan could hear them talking, but somehow they felt very distant just by being out of sight.

Heeren’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she asked, “Oh, so questions like, what are your strengths or weaknesses? Or where you see yourself in five years? Or perhaps even, if you could do anything, have anything, what would it be?”

Riordan’s sense of unease grew. He wanted her to stop staring at him. What had changed? They were just talking but now he couldn’t stand being next to her. Heeren’s presence loomed over him, invading his bubble of personal space. She hadn’t moved closer. What--

Riordan had forgotten about the veil that the tree spirit had laid over Riordan in the aftermath of the ritual. He didn’t understand it, especially since it didn’t do anything he could perceive most of the time. Frankie explained that it made it very hard to examine him magically from the outside, obscuring the details of his inner workings, especially if the observer pushed for more.

Now he felt the barrier like an awareness of the air around his body or maybe being suspended in gel. Gel that was rapidly thickening in response to a pressure being applied to it. Something piercing in, drilling closer and closer. Riordan felt the pressure touch his skin and he jerked as if burned.

Riordan opened his mouth to tell Heeren off, to tell her to stop whatever she was doing, but found he could no longer move of his own will. Panic rose and with it, anger.

And with the anger came Riordan’s damned stubborn will.

Get out. The thought starts as a whisper and becomes a mantra. Get. Out. Get out, get out, get out!

His magic is right there, damn it. Riordan still has no fucking clue how to use it the way he wants to, but this is his body. His mind. He might not be able to affect the outer world very well, but she chose to come into his own domain. She might have started subtle about it, but the spirit’s barrier required Heeren to brute force her way in, already committed and all.

He gathered his magic, scrambling for whatever he could hold. Which was far less than Riordan would have preferred. He twisted the threads of energy around his will and held his intention firm.

Riordan wanted Heeren out of his damn head. He wanted her magic out of his body. He didn’t want her able to come back in. At the last second, Riordan tossed some conditionals in his image. No killing her. No permanent changes.

Then the magic slipped from his conscious control to race forth to fulfill his wish.

Riordan realized, far too late to stop it, that he hadn’t stopped to consider what magic he was accessing. He wasn’t used to having options, damn it. So when the small storm of death magic whirled out of him, Riordan could only stare and hope he hadn’t screwed both of them.

His barely-formed spell slammed into Heeren’s probing mind magic with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer.

Her spell… vanished.