The Tribunal towers a hundred feet above ground, hidden within the Fleur Panache headquarters.

Sixty-seven Panacheans sit in raised cubicles, shouting out opinions in mandatory purple uniforms.

It's hard to believe this chaotic amphitheater is where laws get passed.

Gothic flourishes line the walls. Beside each seat, a torch burns, a flame that extinguishes only upon the bearer’s death.

"We welcome back Level 5 member Franchesca Oliveira, who had been sent on an undercover mission in Kunava," Madame Brooke announces, her voice booming with authority as she lies without hesitation.

She gestures toward me.

A murmur rises. Some of them know the truth that I ran.

Brooke lies anyway. It’s her way of closing chapters.

Nobody dares challenge her. Certainly not Sira, who brought me back and is conspicuously absent today. Unlike Amelia, Sira follows Brooke's orders to the letter.

I offer a reluctant bow and take my seat.

What’s the point in outing myself? Everyone already knows.

My punishment began the second I walked through that gate.

The tribunal moves on without ceremony, sweeping my return under a long list of Pyrenees affairs; food rations, border tensions, deaths.

Two Fleur Panache members are found guilty of leaking intel. Madame Cornelius strikes them with her wand-cane. Moments later, the Ashuer brothers arrive, collecting both bodies and souls with a single touch.

The hearing ends with Madame Sage assigning new missions.

I’m excluded.

Training awaits.

 
♤♤♤

"My demize clock is missing."

"That can’t be good," Kareem replies.

His stern face flickers with amusement. He doesn’t look worried.

That makes me worry more.

After the tribunal, I felt this gnawing urgency to check on the clock.

Brooke’s cover-up about my running off had been too smooth. No public reckoning, no dungeon, no slap on the wrist?

It reeked of distraction.

And what could be more important than the demize clock?

It’s my calling. My burden.

And my gut had been right.

I’d shifted my narrow bed, opened the wall safe…

Empty.

It had been stolen.

"You need to focus," Kareem interrupts my spiral. "Brooke has a mission for you."

Easy for him to say.

He’s not the one with a stolen, world-ending device... or secretly conspiring with a nun to defect to the Puritans behind Brooke and the High Matron's back.

I hate to admit it, but the Puritans’ ideals—balance, silence, prevention—are starting to appeal.

Maybe Puritanism is the way out.

The more of us that join, the better the world becomes, Sister Evelyn had whispered.

"I’ve got a lot on my plate, Kareem. Knowing where my apocalypse clock is would help."

I narrow my eyes.

"I searched everywhere. Where is it?"

He rewraps my bruised knuckles, gaze avoiding mine like a guilty child.

When he finishes, he steps onto the tatami mat. His gi shifts, revealing the sculpted tension in his back.

"It’s safe."

Then he turns.

"I heard you met with the underwater prince last night."

Xanthe.

Why bring him up now? Can’t he see I’m unraveling?

"And?"

"Not the right time..."

"You brought it up."

"I wasn’t finished," he says, voice tightening.

"Have you taken the repression meds since you got back?"

"You think I need to be drugged to resist him?"

"I think you need to be careful. He’s a merman. He’s never taken an interest in our world, ever. His appearance isn’t a coincidence."

A pause.

"And Amelia has the clock."

My fists clench.

I smile to keep from screaming.

"She stole it?"

"You were gone. Amelia was appointed lead for the Savages and Purists operation—"

"She’s running my op?"

"Ops," he corrects. "She’s also coaching your fencing team. And doing a great job at Wild Springs High."

Wait. What?

"You let Amelia near Wild Springs? There are kids there!"

"She’s handling it well," he says, almost too calmly.

He places his hands gently on my arms. Among Panacheans, physical contact like this is sacred.

"Things got messy when she took over. Even the Seven Signs couldn’t handle the Truants. The clock became necessary."

I open my mouth, but he speaks first.

"Brooke needs you grounded. No more distractions."

"Does she know?" I ask.

A flicker of hesitation. Then a nod.

"You can reclaim what’s yours after the next session," he says. "Alright?"

I can’t believe Brooke is letting this happen.

She knows what Amelia is.

"And about Xanthe Linea Morais, take the meds."

He steps back, raising his hands.

"Let’s train."

                            *****

Training

My first punches are pathetic.

"Come on, Frankie."

More sluggish strikes.

"Get into it."

Suddenly, the dojo shifts. Kareem’s body warps, ages. His voice deepens. The air thickens.

F*ck.

Enasis.

The dojo dissolves into a rocky plateau overlooking a roaring waterfall. Mist curls around us.

He circles me.

Enasis isn’t just any trainer. He’s seventy-three, stronger than thirty men, and a master illusionist. Surprise sessions are his signature move.

"Howdy, favorite student. Been a while," he rasps.

He launches—hook, hook, uppercut—then flings me across the stone. I slam down hard.

Three hours later, I’m still crashing.

Every time I rise, he knocks me back down.

Brooke was not playing when she said she wanted me back on the ground. I've barely been back two days and this is my fate, getting my ass handed to me by this old man.

"Screw this!" I roar, forcing myself upright.

In Kunava, I relied on raw power. No technique.

Now I’m paying the price.

Then something clicks.

I land a clean punch. He stumbles. Smiles.

Ramps up his energy.

I nearly choke him with a guillotine, but he slips out, locking my neck.

I twist free... barely.

My body flows. Instinct takes over.

"There it is…" he murmurs.

We battle for what feels like hours,  me following his 'light as a leaf' technique, him reeling me into what's now clearly an endurance match. Enasis can do this for a century.

Then I collapse, breathless.

The waterfall roars in my ears.

Footsteps.

"Hey! You didn’t rate me!" I gasp.

He laughs, and disappears.

The dojo returns.

Kareem is beside me, draping a blanket over my shoulders.

♤♤♤

*Wild Springs High*

I find Amelia teaching a 17th-grade class.

Wild Springs runs from grade 1 to 50—ages six to sixty.

And there she is, interacting with students.

What is this charade?

She sees me and stops in her tracks for a moment.

With a knowing look, she excuses herself and heads in my direction. That smirk, too smug for her porcelain features, boils my blood.

Her pristine FP suit, turquoise eyes, and gold curls scream fairytale.

But I know better.

After the Typhoon, masks mean nothing.

Without as much as a warning, I single-handedly crash her windpipe and thrust her against the walls next to the classroom's door

As much as I hate fighting, this is the only way you deal with this monstress.

"I want my demize clock back."

There is a bit of a crack in her voice, then I realize she is laughing.

"Frankie?"

D*mnit.

"What are you doing?"

It's Madame Brooke, standing behind me, displeased.

"My office. Now," she commands, in her lowest octave.

Great.

"This is not over," I warn Amelia.

Amelia adjusts her collar, all smugness.

"Better hurry. Mama’s calling."

 ***

Brooke’s Office

"In front of the whole school?"

"It was the hallway. You know she took what’s mine."

"Kareem couldn't keep anything away from you to save his own life. It was required."

"You let her ransack my room? My underground safe?"

"It was necessary."

"I don't know... it seems to me you have grown to have a liking for her erratic, rogue, selfish ways that you may have forgotten 'her ways' have gotten us in deep waters before."

"Amelia is troubled."

"You don’t have to tell me."

"But she’s useful."

I half laugh.

"Because she kills?"

"Because she gets things done. And if I must grant her favors, so be it. These are dangerous times. Principles and morals no longer suffice."

"Since when are we not in danger?"

"Maybe. But thanks to her, you might not have to see how bad it could get."

"That’s your answer? I expected more from you."

Brooke’s gaze sharpens like a knife.

"Watch it. I run this organization. Don’t forget that."

"Then why bring me back from Kunava at all?"

"Because I can. You belong to Fleur Panache. You belong to me."

Instead of succumbing to the fury her last words has inserted in my chest, I settle for a dismissive, "Whatever."

Brooke’s voice grows cold.

"Then it’s time for consequences. Neyah!"

Neyah appears at the door, hesitant.

"Take Miss Oliveira to the dungeon. One week for assaulting a colleague."

"What?" Neyah blinks.

"You heard me."

She hesitates.

I don’t.

"It’s okay. Let’s go."

✨️Authors Notes✨️

To both ftr and new readers, thanks for reading 😊