As soon as the clock strikes 4 a.m., I make my way to the secluded woods near the Wild Springs boundary fence. The forgetting bell looms ahead, solemn and silent.

From the outside, Wild Springs masquerades as an academic haven, boasting study centers, auditoriums, lounges, and cafeterias—everything a top institution should have. But that couldn't be further from the truth. At best, it's a containment center. A system of control. The only ideas allowed are ones that align with its founding doctrine.

Everything here is vetted, right down to the food we eat and the fabric we wear. That isn’t just Wild Springs, though. It’s the Pyrenees as a whole. Except... for the powerful. Clans with old wealth and ancient names. They get to rewrite the rules.

Take the Miltonians. They refuse depopulation policies and continue raising families, unbothered by the 'contraceptive-in-water' mandate. Then there are the Euchatel, Celine's clan. Only the elite reproduce there, and now they're rationing salt. As for the Rehadhi, they embrace technology, though it’s tightly monitored by Tetris.

That brings me to the forgetting bell, one of their cruelest inventions.

It doesn’t toll every time someone dies. Only when a death or loss might cause unrest. It performs selective memory erasure through a magical frequency, wiping specific events from collective recall. It doesn’t affect everyone: the authorities, Panacheans, and the Seven Signs are immune. Everyone else? Disposable.

It’ll ring again by nightfall.

I hesitate before pulling the cord. Tampering with memories doesn’t sit right with me. But if I refuse, I risk mutiny... and questions I can’t yet answer. So I pull. The selfish route. The survival route.

By mid-morning, Wild Springs is already back to business as usual. Whispers about a new football captain are buzzing through the halls. I pretend to care, nodding when expected. But I feel a crack in the illusion every time someone passes me in the corridor and doesn’t mention Jacob.

Later, I head to the Candy Shop. A check-in. Ever since... Jacob, things have been quiet on the boys’ front. Too quiet. I know Mezzo’s shaken.

From the outside, the shop looks abandoned, a jarring shift from the usual frenzy, especially during lunch when girls practically knock down the door.

I push inside.

Heavy panting hits my ears before my eyes catch up. There, sprawled on the peach couch, sweaty and half-dressed, are Nick and... Celine.

Nick groans. “Here we go. The fun police.”

Celine scrambles. “Frankie, I can explain.”

Don’t. Just don’t.

I pivot, walking right back out.

“Frankie!” She runs after me. “Wait—please.”

I keep walking. No idea where I’m headed, just away.

“You’re hooking up with students now?” I throw over my shoulder.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

I stop. Wait.

“This is why non-Panacheans shouldn’t hold rank,” I say quietly. “Your urges compromise everything. Everything’s going to spiral now. What about Wallace?”

She looks down.

“I thought you two were working things out. You’re always going on about ‘space’ and ‘mending’ and whatever else.”

“He cheated. Okay?” she snaps. “There’s nothing to fix. He’s dead to me.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I did not see that coming.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s humiliating! My mother threw a whole royal wedding for show and now look. Wasted.”

I want to scream that Nick, omw, Nick—isn’t a solution. But I don’t.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, eyes wet. “But Nick gives me what I need right now.”

“I don’t care if he’s giving you the whole world. End it.”

I leave before she can argue.

In my office, I try to catch my breath. But a soft knock and a voice from the doorway drag me back. “Miss Oliveira?”

A recruit stands tall. “Kareem sent for you.”

***

♤♤♤

Kareem’s sanctuary smells like herbs, ash, and mischief. He’s redecorated: geometric throws, patterned quilts, and... a hubbly bubbly stand?

I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. He’s lounging in a silver silk robe, casually watching water boil in a copper teapot.

“You’ve been saying Amelia might be innocent.”

“I’m exploring all possibilities,” I reply, stepping barefoot onto the cool wood tiles. “I’d rather be wrong than blindsided.”

He shifts into lotus pose across from me. “So you’re questioning the demize clock?”

“I’m questioning everything.”

“And choosing to trust Amelia.”

I exhale. “Maybe I suspect a third party.”

He leans forward. “A hunch, then?”

“No.”

He claps. “Good. Because we’re going way back today. And I’m saying this as your shrink.”

I groan. “Kareem...”

He spins an hourglass, a trick he uses to disarm me. “What really happened between you and Amelia in your old world?”

I keep it brief, guarded. “She was engaged to someone. Austin. But he didn’t love her.”

Kareem squints. “He loved you?”

Silence.

“And you? Did you love him?”

“I... found him charming. He was kind. He stood up for me.”

“But this isn’t about Amelia’s innocence, is it?” he says slowly. “It’s about losing your last ties to Leeseland. Her and Madame Brooke, without them, the past disappears. Including Austin.”

“You think I’m compromised?”

“I think you’re scared of losing the one thread connecting you to your roots.”

He means well. But he’s wrong.

“No,” I say. “My ties are with Sister Evelyn and Ombre. Leeseland hated me. Ostracized me. Madame Brooke found me in the rubble of that rejection.”

He exhales. “Keep going.”

“Amelia did everything right, played her role perfectly. And yet... look. Displaced by a typhoon. Facing dungeon or death.”

“So you pity her?”

“No. I just see the reality.”

The room fills with pineapple-flavored smoke as he takes another puff of shisha. I find myself unraveling further.

“Tell me about Leeseland,” he says, lying down now.

Against my better judgment, I sprawl beside him. The memories spill out—Trent, Kiera Merrigold, Austin... our behavior modification school.

“Kiera wrote a gossip column. Trent fought Austin during a big game. That’s where Amelia got the idea for Jacob and Mezzo to fight. She was recreating a Leeseland moment.”

Kareem howls with laughter. “Wait, you went to a behavior mod school?”

We laugh until a knock interrupts.

“Oh shit.”

His eyes widen as he scrambles to hide the hubbly. I can barely breathe from laughing.

“You drugged me?” I whisper.

He shrugs, waving a cushion through the air. “Just loosened you up.”

The door swings open.

Madame Sage stands there, flanked by a recruit.

“What is that smell?”

We answer in unison. “What smell?”

Her gaze sharpens. “Lord Morais is here. Wants a tour of the library. Frankie, you were informed?”

I sit upright, still light-headed. “Yes,” I say with a small smile.