Our dinner discussion transitioned away from the past to other topics, such as Macaila's potions. She had improved over the years. To hear her parents tease her about it, it had taken some trial and error for Macaila to get to where she was at now. Laughing over dessert, which were delectable bite-sized treats called bless bars, Serra, Cassiah, and Meaghan told me stories about how Macaila had burnt a hole in the ceiling of her room once, and during another time, gave herself second-degree burns. Meaghan also excitedly informed me that the family would depart Astraera for a two-week-long vacation at the end of the year when the Academia went on holiday break. They were going to visit their mother's side of the family in Nicaragua, where Meaghan would stay for an extended amount of time. The girls were already salivating over their grandmother's homemade tamales and tres leches cake.

Being with Macaila's little family was quite enjoyable. Jay's concern and fear over their intentions had made me apprehensive about the dinner. It turned out to be unnecessary, and Macaila's nuclear family opened their home to me. Before Macaila declared she was going to show me the rest of the home, Serra enveloped me in an enormous hug and told me I was welcomed anytime at their house. Even quiet Michael hugged me in farewell.

Cassiah grabbed another bless bar, and inspired by both him and my taste buds, I grabbed one, too, before following Macaila's ascent up the staircase. Macaila told me to grab more, since I ate like a six-year-old girl. I muttered something about how the quality of her dad's cooking was superb, and that it was my appetite that was to blame for how little I ate. We passed the second level without stopping, as it hosted the master suite. Macaila stopped on the third level, which she shared with her sister. The stairs continued to ascend to a darkened region of the home. Macaila pushed open the door to her bedroom, telling us, "Give me a second." She rushed to her desk without waiting for us to answer.

I stood at the threshold with Cassiah and, taking the opportunity to nibble on the bless bar, I examined Macaila's bedroom. Macaila was twenty-four years old, an age where many mortals would be out of their parents' homes, exploring life and their adult lives. Mage life was different, however, and many mages stayed at home with their parents until their thirties due to school taking longer to complete. During one of our ice cream ventures, Cassiah had told me that Academia students under the Nullus program (usually the non-magical students) commuted to school daily. The students who were learning how to control their magic had to board at the Academia to prevent any major accidents.

Macaila's room was on the smaller side, containing only a daybed, dresser, and desk. The furniture had scruff marks on it and the material looked dull from age. The blankets piled on her bed were thin from normal wear and tear. Her school backpack was tossed by her desk, its zipper still pulled up. Heaps of clothes were strewn about her room's floor. Her desk's surface was covered by empty glass bottles (of different sizes and colors) and corks. On one side, she had jars of different substances. Cleanliness was not one of Macaila's priorities. I appreciated that about Macaila, as it probably contributed to her easy-going personality.

"You have to get your mother to give me the recipe for this," I informed Macaila as I nibbled on the bar. I didn't know when I would ever cook it, as my apartment lacked a small kitchen.

Cassiah threw the rest of his inside of his mouth. "No need. It's a traditional mage recipe," he told me. "You can find the recipe in any cookbook. And Macaila usually has some in the fridge here."

"You can even change out the bottom layer," Macaila piped in as she diverted her attention to squatting down and opening her backpack. "My favorite is white chocolate." I stared at the orangish-tan bottom layer of the bar. Its butterscotch flavor still lingered in my mouth, and I couldn't imagine the flavor being switched over to white chocolate, or how it could be Macaila's favorite when the butterscotch was already delicious. The top layer was a chocolaty-chunky-peanut-butter mixture. The entire thing had a fudge consistency. Macaila found what she was looking for: a magazine. She tucked it inside of her arm and led us up the next flight of stairs. Cassiah and I followed her up to the roof of her home, where a couple of lawn chairs had been set around a table. Delicate faery lights were strung up overhead. I ventured to the half wall that surrounded the roof.

The breeze cooled the lingering summer air. I almost melted into the breeze, especially when it caressed my neck. The roof was high enough that I could see parts of the remaining nine sectors and then the beginnings of the shoreline. The bridge that connected Astraera to the mortal world was illuminated for the night. From its white paint and lighting, it almost looked ethereal against the night's darkness. "This is amazing," I told Macaila. "If I lived here, I'd be up here every single night!"

"You love it that much, eh?" Macaila laughed. She brought her knees up towards her chest and propped her magazine on them.

"Yes," I exclaimed.

"It's fine, I guess." She shrugged.

"Just fine?" Her lack of enthusiasm ushered me away from the wall and back towards my friends. I sat on the edge of the chair next to Macaila.

Macaila sighed and looked up from her magazine. "I just remember our old house up in five. Now, that was a house you would have loved."

"Why did you move?" I straightened with interest. There was a story here, and one I had already meant to ask her about after dinner. Fortunately, Macaila obliged.

Macaila's shoulders slumped as she stared at the ground near her feet. "We were allowed to live there back when my dad was working for the senators. He was living the high life as a single guy. He then fell in love with my mother, who, as you know now, is completely mortal. When my magic disappeared, and when Meaghan was born without any, it was right around the time when people started to freak out about magic disappearing from our bloodlines. More and more children were being born without affinities. Immediately, the fingers pointed at the relationships that involved mortal blood. Immediately, divisions formed, and no one wanted any association with those families who had birthed magicless children. My dad hung onto his job and status while I was growing up. His hard work spoke volumes to his employers. However, when I was thirteen, the senators wanted nothing to do with our family. They stripped my father of everything they could: his job, his status, our home. We were banished. We were fortunate enough to land in the ninth only because my dad doesn't open his wallet very often and had decent savings to rescue us from the trenches."

As Macaila spoke, she became more bitter. This was a rare side she was revealing to me. I could now see motivation behind the Amhersts joining the Resistance, if they were even a part of it. There was nothing during dinner or throughout their house that blatantly screamed of the rebellion. I was beginning to second guess the assignment Sebastien had tasked me with. The Amhersts wouldn't lead me to the Resistance and the weapon at the Gates to the Heavenly Skies because they weren't a part of it. They had every right to be dissatisfied with what had happened to them, with the sudden discrimination that had outcasted them.

"Did you have a similar situation?" I asked Cassiah.

"No, Cassiah never fell from grace."

Smiling tersely, Cassiah said, "No, I've always lived in the seventeenth. My family has a small two-bedroom apartment housing three generations. It can get busy and cramped sometimes, so I try to stay out of there as much as I can." Unlike Macaila, there wasn't any bitterness in Cassiah's tone. Even though I felt a swell of pity for him in my gut—especially after seeing the sordid conditions of the seventeenth circle—Cassiah had accepted his fate a long time ago.

I was not surprised. Compared to Macaila, Cassiah had always seemed underprivileged. His clothing was secondhand and loose-fitting. Cassiah didn't speak about his family very often, and all I had gotten from him was that he was an only child. While his mother had wished for another child, it hadn’t been feasible to feed another mouth. This had made Cassiah extremely humble and introverted in loud crowds. However, around us, he could get a bit excitable on the rare occasion.

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"I don't know why you would bring up politics at dinner," Macaila stated. She sat further back in her chair and stretched her legs out on the table.

I examined her. She didn't appear to be too furious. "I was only curious about Zane Konstantinos and my mother," I admitted. "I was trying to get more information from a neutral source."

"Who happened to be my parents?" Macaila confronted.

I bit my bottom lip. I kicked my legs up so that they were side by side with hers. "Yes."

The glance Macaila and Cassiah exchanged was quick. If I hadn't been paying attention, I would have missed it.

"I'm curious about him, too," Cassiah agreed. "We could go to the library sometime this week and see if we can find something in the old newspapers. They keep them all bound up."

"Oh goody, a library trip!" Macaila exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically with a sarcastic clap. "You can count me out. I have a lot of orders to catch up on, anyway." Her attention turned to the magazine still on her lap as she flipped it to a random page. There was enough porch lighting in the darkness for her to study the magazine's pages.

"What's that?" I inquired, jerking my head at the magazine.

Without looking up, Macaila said, "Just a dress catalogue."

"You got some hot date coming up?" I teased.

Cassiah snorted. "Do you even know her? Catching her on a date will happen as soon as the next supernova in the sky does."

That got Macaila to look up from the magazine to send a dangerous glare towards Cass. It was accompanied by her middle finger. "There are reasons for that. Who wants to date those prissy-ass girls at the Academia?" Turning a cold shoulder to Cass, she twisted to make our conversation a bit more private. "The masquerade is next month, and I wanted to get a jump on trying to find my dress." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassiah lean back into his own chair and stare up at the sky, like he had no further comment—or as if he was suppressing what he truly wanted to say.

Intrigued, I pressed, "The masquerade?"

Macaila nodded as she folded her legs underneath her. "This is only my second year that I've been eligible to attend. It's on the longest night of the year, December 21st, and it's my favorite day of the year. I used to dream of dressing up in the elaborate costumes when I was a little girl and going. Meaghan and I used to prance around the house in my mother's old dresses."

"That's my birthday," I realized.

"Do you know if you're going?" Macaila leaned forward, more excited than I've ever seen her.

I shrugged. "Sebastien hasn't told me anything, so probably not."

Macaila flicked her eyes upward and shook her head. "Obviously, you're going! It's still a month away, and I'm sure he'll start bringing in seamstresses for you to consider, probably even Ashlyn Jio. She's the one the wealthy try to commission. There's a theme every year. Last year, it was your lame ‘ice and fire’. This year, they announced it was going to be flashback. Attendees are supposed to base their costumes off some historical figure." Macaila, always full of energy, scooted closer to me so that she could share the magazine spread. Our thighs pressed together.

Together, we reviewed the different options the magazine offered from the different designers. The costumes were rather elaborate. There were some with full skirts and corseted tops. One paid homage to the bohemian culture with its colorful patchwork material. While it was strapless, the wearer could wear the puffy sleeves that accompanied it if they wanted to. There were the mermaid and swing dresses thrown into the mix. Macaila fell in love with one where the corseted bodice was a rich crimson silk. The material descended into plentiful, crimson-colored skirts. Cassiah joked no one would be able to get close enough to her to ask her to dance because of the skirts. Personally, I thought the dress accentuated her personality. In turn, my favorite was more whimsical. The material gave off an evanescent vibe, and the sleeves were divided, adding to that whimsical feel.

We were discussing the food options at the masquerade when the first firework erupted behind Cassiah's head off in the distance. It was followed by several more explosions of color and light. The occurrence was unexpected enough that it redirected our attention. Pursing her lips together, Macaila stated, "That's weird. Why would there be fireworks going off right now?"

"Is it some major holiday?" I suggested, even though I knew it wasn't. I would have known if it had been from staying at the castle.

Cassiah stood up and walked over to the retaining wall. "Can't see very much from here, but it doesn't look like anything is going on. I can't see any crowds. It seems like the fireworks are coming from the shore by the bridge."

"Want to go and see what's up?" Macaila stood up, tossing the dress catalogue onto the table. Although her statement came out as a suggestion, we were following her down the home's staircase and out of the front door—with Cassiah grabbing us two more pieces of the butterscotch mash. Macaila's family had retreated to their personal spaces for the night, and no one was there to intercept our curiosity. Cassiah knew the quickest way to get to the fireworks site. He dodged into alleyways to cross over to a new street and took bridges I had never taken before to cross over the canals. It helped that the fireworks continued to provide a show and guided us to the exact location of their launch: just inshore of the bridge.

When we arrived on scene, the perpetrator had faded into the shadows. There was evidence of the launch site. A depression had been dug into the sand. Various cardboard containers were scattered around the hole, discarded and abandoned.

"The last one went up seconds ago; he has to be around here," Cassiah mumbled. Our eyes searched the wide street in front of us, eyeing the perpendicular streets branching off the main avenue. The street hosted a variety of shops catering to the beach. There was a kayak rental place, and another place that offered large umbrellas and towels so people could enjoy an afternoon on the sand. Here and there, cafes filled in the remaining gaps, advertising iced coffee and fresh wraps. The street was dead, closed because of the time of the night.

Turning around, I gazed at the staircase connecting the bridge to Astraera. My eyes traveled up the steps until my body jolted in reaction to seeing a human shadow bouncing up from the last step and onto the main portion of the bridge. "There!" I cried, pointing. I was already running by the time my friends had spun around. As I raced for the steps, the sand grabbed at my feet and slowed my advance. Grunting, I pushed harder. I soon found myself pounding up the staircase.

"Bria!" Macaila's loud voice echoed against the night. I ignored it.

There were about a hundred steps to the bridge. Barely breathing, I charged up it. My heart was pounding against my chest and my lungs desperately needed air by the time I had reached the top. It was not all for nothing. In the distance, towards the middle apex of the bridge, I saw the fleeing man. He was too far away for me to make out any distinguishing details. All I could tell was that he was wearing all black and had short brown hair. I charged forward, attempting to catch up with him.

"Bria!" Macaila called, her voice cracking from being out of breath. They had reached the staircase's apex. I didn't dare to slow down or take my eyes off the man. My mind was scrambled as I tried to recall which mortal land the bridge was connected to presently and wondering whether the man was fleeing there. Was he some mortal who had prior knowledge about this place? What if he was a part of Xavier's crew of witch hunters?

I got my answer sooner than I thought.

The stranger halted suddenly upon the middle apex of the bridge. He turned to the bridge's railing, hoisted himself up on it, and dived into the water. Astonished, I increased my speed, my footsteps pounding over the stones. I skidded to a stop as soon as I arrived at the spot he had launched himself over. Frantically, I searched the sea for any sign of the man. There was nothing. The water was undisturbed underneath the moonlight. Whatever disturbance he had caused by diving in had disappeared before I had arrived at the spot. Panting from the exertion, I rested my hands on top of the railing for support and stared at the deep, ripple-free water. I was more perplexed than anything.

Macaila and Cassiah stumbled up seconds later. Both were struggling to breathe. Macaila was holding onto the railing for assistance while trying to brush her frizzy hair out of the way of obstructing her vision.

"He dived into the water," I exclaimed. My shock came across in my tone.

"What? Why would he do that?" Cassiah objected.

I peered into the water. A sense of calmness rushed over me. "The old castle is down there."

Macaila and Cassiah refused to let me dive right in after the stranger. Macaila even scoffed at the idea that someone could live in the old castle, as it was underwater and even hali mages could still drown. She rolled her eyes when I mentioned the possibility of air pockets. Still, I couldn't ignore my instincts, especially after we checked underneath the bridge and around the shoreline, where we didn't find any fresh footprints. Cassiah just shrugged and pointed out I could have lost him in the perpetual fog surrounding the bridge's apex. He shrugged again when I pointed out we had been nowhere near the part of the bridge where the fog hovered.

In the end, we were left with nothing else to do but to return to our respective homes for the night.