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Valerian’s nerve stimulator pressing against the small of my back the entire way. If I were to make any move that she deemed suspect, a simple press of a button would do anything from frying all my nerve-endings to inducing instant cardiac arrest, depending on the device’s setting and her mood. From what I’ve already experienced, I know I don’t want to test either.
    The closer I get to the Prefect’s tower, the faster my heart beats and the shorter my breaths. It’s been two years. Since just before my mother died. Other than a few smuggled communications, we’ve barely had any contact. If they find out we’ve interacted in any way, it could destroy him.
    I’m not sure what to expect. Life in the service can change a person. I think about how I’ve changed since Mom died. How has he changed?
    As Valerian prods my body up and around the winding staircase leading to the Prefect’s antechamber, my mind dances around the questions that I so desperately want answered, but so desperately fear the answers to.
    Will he still feel the same way about me now that he’s lived away from the Parish and been exposed to so much more, in two years, than I’ve been in my entire life? Or have I gambled Cole’s life away in vain?
    The stairs dead-end in front of a set of high, arched, paneled doors that are flanked by two other stone-faced Imps.
    The answers to both my questions lie just beyond.
    Valerian salutes the Imps. “Captain Valerian requesting permission to enter the Prefect’s chamber with the prisoner.”
    The guards salute back. The one on the right presses a button on the panel by the doors. They move apart with a soft creak.
    I gulp down the last of my spit, staring at the widening rift.
    When Valerian nudges me inside, I almost risk the stimulator’s wrath before my feet finally respond and propel their burden inside.
    The room, if you can call it that, is the grandest I’ve ever seen. The ceiling towers overhead, culminating in a glass skylight that frames the noon sun in an oval, like it’s an all-powerful eye. Tearing my eyes from the blinding light, I take in molded archways flanked by columns three times the width of my body. On one wall, marble busts of previous Prefects rest in alcoves a couple of feet apart, making you feel like dozens of eyes are scrutinizing your every move as you walk past them. Set into the opposite wall is a huge glass tank, displaying a couple of small trees sprouting every color of the rainbow. Bands of scaly black twist through their branches. My skin erupts into gooseflesh and I look away.
    Across from this tank is a clear enclosure with two fluffy white rats pressed against the glass, their whiskers twitching as if they can smell me.
    Ahead, a tall shape stands with its back to me, silhouetted on a balcony overlooking Town Square. I don’t have to see the face to know who it is. My pulse quickens. Sure, he’s taller now, but that outline is the same, imprinted in my brain. The last time I saw it was on the bank of Fortune’s River. He was standing with his back to me then, too. Except we’d just said our goodbyes.
    As much as I’ve played out this moment in my mind every day for the past two years, now that it’s here, my mouth suddenly forgets to speak.
    Valerian’s hasn’t. “Excuse me, Prefect Thorn. I’ve brought you the prisoner as requested.”
    He turns and faces me at last, but the brightness behind him masks his face in shadow.
    “Leave us.” His voice sounds deeper, more like a man’s. He’s eighteen now, I remind myself.
    “But, Sir,” Valerian responds. “The prisoner has exhibited signs of violent behavior. Is it wise to—”
    “That will be all, Officer.”
    Valerian clicks her boots together. “Yes, Sir.” She whirls and bumps into my arm, reigniting the bruise on her way out.
    “And lock the door. I’m not to be disturbed.”
    “Yes, Sir!”
    Then she’s gone, the great doors swinging closed with a soft click.
    He just stands there