The outcome was already decided. That much was certain.

Their side of the room had something of a frustrated air, as if they were all waiting for a foregone conclusion. Even if the detractors weren’t entirely onboard, they’d toe the blue line if the majority decided to pull the trigger.

They were waiting for Miles.

Which meant my only outward advantage going into this—that Miles was doubting himself, unsure of the course he’d put into motion—was somewhat mitigated if they were less likely to listen to him. As expected, this was more trial than inquiry.

Still. There was a sliver of hope.

No conviction is a sure thing. The guiltiest person in the world can escape out from under a mountain of evidence if they create enough doubt in the trial.

My father’s words.

And from cursory research in the matter and my personal delve into legal minutia, he was correct. Juries blew bird-in-hand convictions all the time because prosecutors failed to use the bounty of evidence at their disposal to create a convincing narrative. My circumstances here were, in many ways, worse than a fair trial. My judge, jury, and prosecution comprised the same group of people. Which meant, on top of the evidence, there was a mountain of bias that would be insurmountably difficult to overcome.

Alternatively, the advantages were scant. But not insignificant.

It’s several magnitudes more difficult to get a conviction for a death penalty case than a multi-year imprisonment. The threshold of proof is higher, the jury acutely aware that any lingering doubt will sit far more heavily once the sentence is carried out.

The same concept applied here to a much greater degree. If they got it wrong, the death of an innocent person would be on their heads.

And sure, it was possible that I was overestimating their humanity. That they’d done the ruthless arithmetic and reached the conclusion that the possibility of killing one innocent person was worth the high-chance of taking out a monster capable of destroying an entire region and killing hundreds of thousands off the board.

But I didn’t think so. If that was the case, I’d either be hanging upside down in some basement while one of them worked me over with a car battery, or dead.

Miles might have been the holdout, but they were all taking a serious risk, questioning me here. Putting both themselves and the Adventurer’s Guild in peril. A risk that was borderline idiot if they didn’t have some form of counter-measures in place.

A strong suppression ability, or something along those lines?

No, still too risky without knowing definitively it could be contained.

Instance?

It rankled that I still didn’t entirely understand what instancing did. I knew it was an uncommon ability that some Users possessed to isolate a selected area from civilians and spying eyes. That it was sometimes used to tidy up bodies or contain volatile powers. And that there was more than one type.

This whole set-up supported that theory—dangling me here by the back window for Myrddin to see didn’t make sense if all instances created a visual interference or a pocket dimension. More than likely, this one contained abilities and possibly people.

If that was true, there was a simple enough way to test it.

I drank my milkshake. When I reached the bottom and was noisily sucking air, I made a show of looking around for a trashcan and, finding none, stood and walked towards the door. “One second, let me toss this.”

“Wait—” Miles’ said.

Before he could finish, I turned the knob. The door didn’t budge, a surge of indicated the remnants of an ability used on the door that spanned the room. I tried to follow the threads and search for the source.

It wasn’t tied to anyone in the room.

They had someone outside set it up. Meaning they’re locked in with me, and they know it.

Contingencies on contingencies.

When I turned back, half of them had risen out of their seats. Hawkins seemed to have teleported across the room, now standing within arms’ reach, her smile significantly more forced than before. Cook in particular looked ready to leap over the table.

Hawkins touched her hair, prodding it to make sure it was still in place. It was. Was that a tell? “Sorry. Probably should have mentioned this earlier, but with all the potential for counter-intelligence, we have a standard operating procedure.”

I glanced at Miles.

Miles nodded. “No one leaves the blackout area until the meeting’s over.”

“Blackout area?” I asked.

“There’s a power that restricts outside communication within a certain area.” Hawkins explained. “We’ve found it invaluable. Without it, people could just hop on a voice call and effectively broadcast audio to whomever they wanted.”

“Ah. Yeah. That would be a problem.” I frowned, as if I was suddenly realizing how many conversations and meetings I’d had could have been transmitted that way. I was walking a thin line here. Furthermore, I needed to come off as inexperienced and somewhat naive, but if I came off as stupid, Miles would realize immediately that it was nothing more than theater.

Had to strike a balance somewhere in the middle.

“There’s a bin under the lectern.” Waller studied me intensely. He was waiting for me to insist, push back, try to get out of the room.

Instead, I nodded to him apologetically and tossed my cup in the trash bin and returned to my seat, doing nothing to give away the fact that this small interaction was enough to confirm my suspicions. Miles, his people, they were still clinging to decency. Bureaucracy. None of them were ready to go full black site without checking their boxes first.

Which meant the sliver of hope was expanding.

As soon as my ass hit the chair, Waller fired off a command. In contrast to Miles’, his voice was stern and nasally. Naturally grating in a way that demanded respect. “Take us through the timeline.”

“Which timeline?” I looked between Miles and Waller.

“The formation of the Adventurer’s Guild, and your first encounters with the individual known as Myrddin.” Waller said flatly, staring me down.

Hawkins smiled. “Be as thorough as you can. Even the smallest detail can make a huge difference.”

And the smallest fabricated detail you can disprove will give you enough rope to hang me with.

Azure’s voice cut through my mind.

“Foster was weathering a midlife crisis before the dome. Male pattern hair-loss was already doing a number on his self-esteem, and then his long-term partner left him shortly after. He was passed over for promotion a handful of times. There’s some animosity between him and Waller, though he’s not thinking about it enough for me to get anything more specific.”

Of course, the only skeptic on my side also happened to be a wet blanket. “Get more specifics if you can. Next?”

“Cook hates himself almost as much as he hates you. Which is impressive, considering how they suspect you of literal wholesale slaughter.”

”Why?”

“He’s doing his best to suppress it, but I’m still getting flashes. They had him in a behavioral analysis unit, reviewing footage. Twisted subject matter, even by my standards.”

“Let me guess. Cook found something he “liked” in the footage.”

“A little too much. Can’t nail down exactly what it is, but it totally unsettled him. Was on a leave of absence until Miles pulled him back in.”

“I can work with that. Keep going. Hawkins and Waller?”

“Hawkins is solid. DEA. She was working with Miles to take down Roderick on a RICO case, stayed with him when the focus shifted to necromancers. Hawkins might be the only person in the room who doesn’t believe you’re manipulating Miles to get out of this. They all think highly of him, but she has Miles on one hell of a pedestal.

“So Miles is DEA, then? I asked. The Roderick RICO connection was concerning, especially considering their alliance with the Merchant’s Guild, but I’d need to pull on that thread later.

Azure hesitated. “No. I get the feeling he was assisting Hawkins in an unofficial capacity. And that isn’t unique to her. From what I can tell, Miles has filled in as a pinch hitter for almost everyone in this room. Every one of them owes him. And they’re incredibly loyal.”

Fucking fantastic. Feds had a well-recorded history of not playing well with other institutions, both at the local level and with other federal agencies. Normally, I could have leaned on that a little, but Miles being a divide-crossing messiah had just nixed that tool from my toolbox.

“Anything from Miles himself?”

“No. Still drawing a blank. But Matt, he's not the one you should be worried about.”

“Waller’s a rabid dog disguised as a beancounter. Yeah. I know the type.”

Azure sounded panicked. “It’s worse than that. That profile Miles blasted out at the emergency meeting? It came from Waller. This is his area of expertise. And he’s convinced you’re the one they’re looking for. He knows—“

I cut Azure off quickly, “Don’t tell me the specifics. Whatever he throws at me, my reaction needs to be as authentic as possible. Just amp up his confidence in his findings.”

”But… he’s going to crucify you.”

Let him. The stronger he clung to his profile, the more jarring it would be when I pulled the rug out from under him. I’d interrupted Azure before he could get into the details of the warning, but the context was clear.

I couldn’t bullshit my way out of this without falling into one of the many traps Waller had undoubtedly laid.

The best way forward was playing this straight. I looked up at Waller. “Is it okay if I start a little further back, for context?”

Waller inclined his head. “Certainly.”

I took a deep breath, my brow furrowing in focus. “I was walking home from school, the morning the meteor hit…”