The room was warm, almost hot, and I could feel sweat beginning to slide down the small of my back the moment I stepped inside. It was probably intentional, easier to manipulate the suspect if they were uncomfortable and agitated. It looked exactly like I expected an interrogation room to look. A heavy metal desk was bolted down to the concrete floor in the middle of the room. Chairs sat on either side, the one facing the two-way mirror was also bolted down and had two small hooks on the arms for restraints. A small analog clock ticked loudly on the wall across from the mirror, while a single row of fluorescent lights cast a blue glow over dingy white walls. In the corner perched a camera, its light flashing green.

"Go ahead and have a seat," the Agent said, with a nod to the bolted down chair. "Someone will be with you shortly. Can I get you water or anything?" Unable to find my voice, I just shook my head.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, a wave of terror suddenly washed over me, and my hand was on the brass knob before I even realized what I was doing. Shocked, I stared down at my fingers, clinched so tight that the knuckles were starting to turn white. I stood there every muscle in my body ridged as I fought the urge to rip the door open, rush out, and beg him to come back, to not leave me in here alone.

What was wrong with me? He'd been nice enough, but I didn't trust him, I wasn't that stupid, so why did I now want nothing more than to have him back in the room with me. His presence had brought with it a sense of calmness that was only apparent now by its absence and the fear I should have had this entire time came rushing in, threatening to drown me. Was it something he'd intentionally done? I hadn't seen any weaves, and emotional manipulation was supposed to be an extinct talent, one of the many we'd lost over the centuries of intermingling our bloodlines with the humans, but who really knew what those in the Vanguard were capable of.

He had to have done something. Why else would I have willing walked into a place that I knew I might never walk out of. Sure, I'd been uncomfortable, nervous even, ever since they found me in the diner but I should have been knee knocking, heart pounding terrified, the kind of terror that I now felt clawing at my mind. The question was, why had he done it. Was he standing just on the other side of the door, waiting for me to rush out, promising to tell him everything as long as he came back because that's what I felt like doing, what my mind was screaming at me to do.

Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to let him manipulate me any further. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pried my fingers from their death grip and forced myself to turn around, my legs feeling weak as I shakily walked over to the table and slid into the seat. Resting my forehead in my hands, I tried to focus on my breathing, pushing down the nearly overwhelming urge to go after the Agent. It took a few minutes, but slowly my muscles began to relax, and my breathing became less shallow and jagged. The fear was still there, but it wasn't the near-paralyzing terror that it had been, though I knew that if I didn't find something to occupy my mind, it would slowly creep its way back in.

Though the Agent had taken his calming weave or whatever it was, with him when he left, his shield remained, an ever-persistent barrier between me and my awen. I'd had so much else on my mind before that I'd been able to ignore it, but now it was the distraction I needed. Other than for a few minutes while Ben was teaching me to weave shields, I had never been cut off before, and I was surprised by how vulnerable it made me feel, especially since I routinely went entire weeks without using my awen, if I didn't have a job, but there was something different about not using it and not being able to use it. Licking my lips, I wished I'd taken up his offer of a glass of water.

I started by simply inspected the shield, searching for some weakness or small defect that I might be able to exploit if given time. Revisiting the techniques I learned when I was first taught to touch my awen I mentally probed at the shield, letting my mind glide across the weave. All I needed was to find a strand that was a little loose, a thread that was a little weaker than the rest.

After a few minutes, I gave up. It was solid, an impenetrable force, guarding my awen as securely as a vault guarded its wealth. It didn't matter anyway. Outside were more than a dozen agents, any one of which could bring me down as easily as a great white would an injured seal, even if I had full use of my awen.

The constant rhythmic ticking of the clock was starting to wear on my nerves when the door finally opened. A man in his mid-fifties who was just shy of portly walked in. Tall and broad, he was intimidating despite the bulge around his waist. He looked like someone who used to be in great shape, but years of sitting behind a desk had allowed a layer of fat to settle over the muscle. He had short salt and pepper hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on a short nose. Placing a file, notepad, ink pen, and a plastic evidence bag containing the blue phone I'd left in my apartment on the table, he sat down.

I internally flinched a little when I saw my name printed clearly across the file tab, Desirae Marie Cradle. There was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about it, of course, that was who I was, but now I wasn't so sure. Regardless of if that was who I really was or not, the file was thicker than what I thought my sixteen years warranted. What was all in there?

"I'm Supervisory Agent Angus Grimes," he said, thumbing open my file. "Can I get you anything before we begin Miss. Cradle?" When he finally looked at me, his eyes were a grayish blue that seemed to pin me to my chair.

I'd been practically dying for a glass of water earlier, and my mouth and throat felt dry, but I was too nervous to do anything but slightly shake my head. It was probably for the best. If I tried to drink anything now, I'd only choke on it anyways.

"Then let's get started," he said, flipping open the file. "Last night you made a phone call to this office advising you had information on an illegal crossing. Is that correct?"

"Yes." With my phone already in his possession, there was no point in denying it.

"And how did you come by this information?"

This was where I'd considered making up a story. I'd concocted and rejected half a dozen on the drive here, but each had snags that would unravel under the right questioning. I also thought about asking for a deal up front, but how do you ask for immunity from something without admitting what it was first? Our judicial system wasn't like the humans you weren't innocent until proven guilty, there was no jury of your peers, and nothing was off the record or inadmissible. In the end, I had decided to be a hundred percent truthful, or at least ninety percent.

"Because I'm the one who made the crossing."

His back stiffened as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He studied me for a moment before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "So you're freely admitting to illegally crossing the veil?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

He hadn't expected me to incriminate myself so quickly. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. If I was so willing to admit to this, what was I trying to cover up?

"Yes," I said, my voice cracking slightly. I wanted to slink down in my chair, but I forced myself to sit up, back straight.

"Do you know that they're investigating that incident as a terrorist attack?"

My breath hitched in the back of my throat, and I became light headed as the blood drain from my face. Suddenly there didn't seem like there was enough oxygen in the room. Here they were, investigating me for possible terrorism, and I was about ready to admit to treason as well. I'd be lucky to get life in prison.

"I swear I didn't mean any harm," I said my voice quivering while moisture pooled in the corner of my eyes.

This was definitely far beyond the worst-case scenario I'd imagined. My mind had been so preoccupied with the shifter that I hadn't even considered the consequences for what happened in the market. The Faye and Tuatha governments didn't get along, but of course, something like this would have been reported.

"I panicked, and things just got way out of hand." The tears were flowing freely now, and I tried to wipe them away with the tips of my fingers.

"Seventeen people reportedly injured, several seriously, and you meant no harm?" he said, one eyebrow arching as he tilted his head to the side.

I sat there sniffling, my fingers pressed to the top of my nose as I tried to stifle the tears. There was nothing I could say, regardless of my intentions people were hurt, at least he hadn't mentioned any deaths, I didn't think I could live with myself if I'd actually killed someone. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief. Leaning over, he passed it across the table to me. He sat silently as I wiped my eyes and nose, giving me a moment to try to regain some composure.

"What were you doing there?" he asked when my tears had finally subsided.

"I was there to escort someone across the border."

"Have you done this before?"

"Yes, several times."

"At whose request?"

"Jason Price." I barely hesitated before giving the name.

Jason had basically saved my life or at least made it much less perilous when he offered to let me work for him, not that the arrangement was solely or even mainly for my benefit. Crossing the veil was not a common talent and most of those who could where offered positions working for the Council, some of them for the Vanguard. The weave itself was considered a state secret, and using it was illegal unless authorized by the Council.

Giving his name to the authorities was kind of a crappy way to repay him, but it wasn't like they weren't already aware of him. Since I'd been with him, he'd moved his operation twice because the Vanguard was getting a little too close for comfort. Besides, I partially blamed him for my situation. After all, I wouldn't be here if he hadn't sent me to pick up the shifter in the first place, it was his job to vet the clients, or if I'd had even the slightest confidence that he'd have notified someone himself. This whole situation was as much his fault as mine.

"How long have you been working for Mr. Price?" Agent Grimes asked, his pen scratching across the paper.

I could tell that he was going to start focusing on Jason; after all, he had no reason to think this hadn't been a regular smuggling job. I knew he had his questions lined up, a predetermined set meant to extract the most information from me, but there was only one piece of information I had come to give.

"He was a shifter," I said, interrupting him as he tried to repeat the question.

He dropped his pen which rolled off the desk and onto the floor. It would have been comical if I hadn't just admitted to a treasonous offense. One that if I was an adult could very well get me bound or executed. It might still.

"How do you know?" he asked, after an extended pause as he reached down to retrieve his pen. I couldn't suppress a sigh. This was my conversation with Ben all over again.

I once again went over how I knew he was a shifter, and yes, I did bring him over knowing full well what he was. He sat in silence, processing what I'd said. He'd probably thought that the incident in Galicia was the big crime here, that the rest was just a low-level smuggling confession; instead, he'd gotten a potential time bomb.

"I want to know exactly where you brought him through and what he looks like," he said, pushing over the notepad and pen.

He watched me, his eyes never leaving my face as I quickly scribbled the same map I'd given to Ben along with a description, though I wasn't sure what use that was when he could look like anyone.

He snatched up the pad as soon as I stopped writing, only glancing at it for a second before tearing off the sheet and passing the rest of the notepad back to me. "I want dates, times, locations, and descriptions of everyone you've brought across," he said, tapping the paper for emphasis. "I also want names and descriptions of your associates. I hope you understand the gravity of your situation, Miss. Cradle. I expect full cooperation," he finished as he gathered his files and left me alone in the room. Well, semi-alone, I was sure someone was watching somewhere.

I quickly started jotting down the info on my jobs. I had no names, and if people were stupid enough to hang around where I dropped them off, then they deserved to get caught. I was about halfway through the list when I started to have second thoughts.

For the last day and a half, I'd done nothing but careen from one bad decision to the next. Was I about to make yet another one? From the moment I'd put that shield in place, I'd felt like I'd fallen overboard, adrift in stormy seas, miles from shore with no lifeboat in sight. I barely knew up from down, and I was one more wave away from drowning.

With Agent Grimes out of the room, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts, tried to reason instead of react. Did I really want to just give him this information? He hadn't even brought up charges or mentioned a deal. It would be stupid of me to give up my only leverage without even trying to work something out. But the Tuatha took nothing more seriously than security. Our survival depended on every member doing their part, putting the wellbeing of the community above their own. Our laws aren't many, but those we have are militantly enforced. Would it be even worse to try to hold back? I could just as easily find myself being forced to comply anyway, with no good will to help me afterward.

I didn't know what to do. It seemed like no matter which way I turned there was a pit waiting for me to fall into. I'd spent the last year and a half almost entirely on my own, but I had never felt more alone than at this moment. I wanted someone who had my best interest at heart to tell me what I should do. I wanted my mother.

Chewing on the end of the pen, I flipped back and forth, cooperate or don't cooperate, for what felt like hours. Finally, I started writing again, each line coming a little easier than the one before, as I came to terms with the fact that it was already too late to turn back. In for a penny, in for a pound, at least that's what I thought the saying was.

I completed the list of jobs quickly, but the people I worked with was a little harder. Providing information on them seemed like far more of a betrayal. Grudgingly I started writing what I knew. In all truth, I didn't know that much anyways. I had only met a few in person and had been given only first names. Names that might or might not be real. Even with my crisis of indecision, I was done in about twenty minutes, but it was more than an hour before Agent Grimes returned, accompanied by a slender woman in a tan pantsuit.

"This is Mrs. Avery with the Magistrate's office, she has some paperwork for you to sign before we can get things moving," Agent Grimes said as he picked up the pad from the table and started reading over it.

Mrs. Avery sat down, pulling out a stack of papers from her briefcase. "Alright, Miss. Cradle," she said, pushing the stack towards me. "This is an agreement to drop the treason and the aiding and abetting charges down to delinquent minor and reckless endangerment in return for your full cooperation in all matters concerning your previous criminal conduct. It also forbids you from discussing any matters relating to those activities with anyone outside of this office." She said, flipping through the first few pages too fast for me to really read what was on them. "You will be placed under the care of a court-appointed guardian until your eighteenth birthday, at which point you will be on probation until your twenty-first birthday. Failure to comply with the investigation, court guardianship, or probation will result in the reinstatement of the original charges. I'll need you to initial each page and sign the bottom of the last," she finished, pushing the papers towards me and handed me a pen as if she had no doubt that I would put my signature on the dotted line.

I could have cried. She had talked so fast that my head was spinning by the time she was finished, but I understood enough to realize she was offering the life preserver I'd been praying for. Taking the pen, I made a point of thumbing through the document, trying to skim over the dense paragraphs but they were so full of legal jargon and circular sentences that even if I hadn't felt pressured to hurry, I would have had little chance of truly understanding what it said. Warning bells were going off in the back of my head, but I ignored them. I was a bit suspicious as to why they were offering a deal, one I hadn't even asked for, but beggars can't be choosers, and in the end, this was precisely what I'd been hoping for.

My hand trembled the entire time but fifteen initials and one signature later it was done. She glanced through to make sure I hadn't missed one before placing the stack back in her briefcase. Agent Grimes opened the door to let her out.

"How did you first make contact with Mr. Price?' Agent Grimes asked as soon as the attorney left. He said it as if it was an afterthought, something that had just come to him, but his voice was tight.

"He found me," I said, shifting a little in my chair, uncomfortable.

"How did he find you?"

"I don't know."

"So you didn't know him previously, possibly as an associate of your mother's?"

I had thought it was just coincidence. I had occasionally been using my awen to get by out in the human world. Not enough that any evidence would linger or that anyone not in the immediate area would feel it, just a small bit here and there. I had always considered it good fortune that Jason had sensed me. After all, this last year would have gone very differently without him, but now I wasn't sure.

"No, I didn't know him before." I didn't think he believed me, but he opened the door and motioned for someone in the hall to come in.

"Agent Vaughn will take it from here," he said, as the blonde from earlier stepped in.

"You can call me Justin."