“Hands up, girl!” The woman who speaks has long blond hair and narrow eyes and is flanked by her companions. The badge on her uniform reads Officer Davina Tash.

Trembling, I raise my hands to ear level.

“Name?” asks Officer Tash.

I open my mouth, but it’s as though my voice box has vanished. What should I say? Do they suspect who I am? That I’m an outsider? But… how? Did that bartender tip them off?

“Well?” barks the woman.

“I, um, I’m Riley.”

Officer Tash looks at one of her companions, who sighs and pulls a notepad from his pocket.

“Surname?” he asks, sounding bored.

“Uh… Hook.” It’s worth a try, right?

The officer merely scribbles down the information. Huh. So they don’t know who I am. If that’s the case, then how did they know I was here in the first place?

“Miss Hook, are you aware that you’re trespassing on private property?” asks Officer Tash.

“Um, no—”

“Oh really?” She crosses her arms. “Do you live here?”

A pause. Technically, I own it. “Not really.”

“Then indeed, that is what we call trespassing,” says Officer Tash dryly.

“But it’s abandoned,” I point out.

“That’s of no consequence,” she says, with a nasty smile. “We’ve had quite enough of you kids trying to break into this place.”

“Should we check the house for vandalism?” asks the third officer.

“Are you daft?” says Officer Tash. “No one has been able to enter this house in over a decade. Honestly.”

I frown. What? The front door wasn’t even locked.

The man’s cheeks tinge pink. “I forgot, all right?”

“Now,” says Officer Tash, turning back to me. “Trespassing will not be tolerated. You’re coming with us.”

“Is that really necessary?” drawls the second officer. “Why not let her off with a warning?”

That would be great, thanks.

But Officer Tash silences his proposal with a fierce glare. This officer is clearly on a power trip. “We will file a formal violation report at the town hall.” Her gaze returns to me. “Now then, hand out.”

I blink, then hold out a hand uncertainly. There’s a flash of bright purple, and a thin black band appears around my wrist. My eyes widen.

“Only a precaution,” says the second officer gently as he takes in my expression, apparently mistaking my shock for distress. “To keep you from using magic against us.”

Well, they needn’t have bothered.

I trail after the group, unable to believe my day. First, I was nearly killed by a vampire, then, I was assaulted by a giant hook, and after that, I was chased by who knows what in my family manor. Now, I’m being arrested.

As we approach the gates, faint laughter, delicate and airy, almost like wind chimes, registers in my ears, carrying on the wind. I glance around, gaze landing once more on the willow tree, but still, I see nothing there.

Outside the gates, Officer Tash pulls out a glossy silver object about the size of a lighter. She clicks it open, and a long thread of black vapor rises from the top. I watch curiously as it billows before us like a dark cloud, swirling and shifting in the air, a pocket of night devouring the daylight… until, to my absolute horror, it takes the shape of a towering shadowy wraith. Two impossibly long, cloaked arms branch out, enveloping us in its dark embrace. And then… everything disappears.

Including my body.

Once again, I’m nothing more than a ghost being pulled through endless dark space, devoid of gravity, those wispy tendrils of silver spotting the distant blackness. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t see the others.

Moments later, my feet hit solid ground and I’m reunited with my body. My eyes pop open, and I find myself staring at the town hall building from earlier.

As we pass through the tall, wrought iron gates, the snarling cheetah-esque gargoyles prowl alongside us, sniffing at our ankles. I shudder. The heavy doors open as we approach, revealing a large atrium with a high vaulted ceiling.

We walk toward a desk at the far wall. Sitting on a bench nearby is a bored-looking teenage boy clad in a collared shirt and polished loafers. As we draw nearer, he looks up with sapphire blue eyes that remind me vaguely of my own. He takes in my damp, mud-stained clothing, his brows rising.

“Good morning,” says Officer Tash, speaking to a slouching woman behind the desk, its surface littered with papers, wrappers, and dirty mugs.

The woman jumps, straightening herself. “Morning, Officer Tash,” she says, flashing a strained smile.

“We caught this one trespassing at the James Estate,” says Officer Tash, handing her the citation. “We need to file a report.”

“Ah. Just a moment.” The woman leans over and pulls open a drawer. “Now where is it…” she mutters, shuffling through the contents. She gives a disgruntled shake of her head and moves to the drawer beneath it, then the next.

Officer Tash taps her finger against the surface of the desk in a methodical manner, watching the woman with a stiff expression.

At last, after rummaging through six drawers, the woman emerges triumphant. “Found it!” she announces, holding up a thick brown ledger for everyone to see. “Now then, offense—trespassing,” she says, scribbling in the ledger. “Penalty?”

“She’s a minor,” says Officer Tash. “Order a fine of fifty scales and notify her parents. They’ll need to pick her up here.”

My heart lurches. Oh no.

Officer Tash steps forward. With a second flash of purple, the black band around my wrist disappears.

“What is your name, dear?” asks the woman.

“Riley Hook,” I say, willing my voice to remain steady, confident. I sense movement nearby. The boy on the bench is watching me.

“And who are your parents?”

“Oliver and Ruby Hook,” I say. They’re the only adults I know the names of in Aurelia. If they were friends of my parents, maybe they’ll cover for me. Still, there is the small matter of them potentially wanting me dead…. In which case, they’ll probably arrive with a friend of Clem’s. But one problem at a time.

“And which village do you live in?”

“Um. Here. This one.”

“All righty,” says the woman in a singsong voice as she writes down this final detail. “Why don’t you wait over there while I…” Her voice trails off as she observes me more closely. Takes in my muddy, scraped clothing, and, no doubt, overall disheveled appearance. “Oh dear, what happened? Why are your clothes so dirty?”

My cheeks swell. “I, um… fell into a mud puddle.” After getting chased by countless monsters through my family’s manor.

The boy on the bench snorts. Everyone looks at him.

He shrugs. “Serves her right for trespassing.” His lips tug up in a malicious smirk, and I’m strongly reminded of Mitzy Pendleton. “And lying.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Mikhail,” says the woman coldly, not hiding her clear dislike of this boy. “I asked you to sit quietly while you wait for your dad to finish his meeting.”

“Well, when he arrives, perhaps I should tell him you’re not doing your job,” he says, a smug expression on his face. He flicks his head in my direction. “She’s obviously lying.” I blanch. “My father—the governor of Skeleton Grove, mind you—knows everyone here. If you care to look in that oversized roster of yours, I think you’ll find that the Hooks don’t have a daughter.”

My tongue goes dry as all eyes turn on me.

“Is that true?” Officer Tash turns that fierce gaze on me, sending a chill skittering down my spine.

“No,” I say, but I know my denial will do me no good. The woman is already thumbing through the pages of the roster.

A moment later, she looks up at me. “Oliver and Ruby Hook are listed here… But you’re not.”

Officer Tash rounds on me. “What is your name then?”

I shoot a glare at the boy, whose smirk stretches wider. He is clearly enjoying the confusion he’s created.

“Well?” asks Officer Tash, her tone clipped. “If you’re not going to cooperate, we will have to take extreme measures.”

I gulp. What constitutes “extreme measures” in this hellish place?

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Very well,” says Officer Tash. “I’ll bring her to the Birth Registry Department to verify her identity.” She gives me another unpleasant smile.

Nausea roils in my gut. The Birth Registry. For the briefest of moments, I consider making a break for the exit. But even if I made it, I have a feeling those snarling gargoyles outside aren’t just for show.

“Follow me,” says Officer Tash. “We have a private teleportation hub.”

I sigh. My plan probably would have failed anyway, even without the horrible boy’s interference.

The officer opens a heavy steel door, revealing a large, cold room that smells strongly of rotting wood and smoke and reminds me vaguely of a cellar. A strange tall structure made of blackened wood looms in the center of the room. Hexagonal in shape with a tapered head and base, it looks a bit like an oversized coffin. Thick white vapor seeps through its cracks.

Officer Tash presses her badge against a gray plate in the spot where I imagine a doorknob should be. The door creaks open, and white vapor billows out like heavy smoke, tickling my skin as it hits me.

Through the haze, the officer motions me inside, and it’s like stepping into a dense cloud. As though all the fog from Echo Forest has been condensed into a single cramped space.

The officer follows me in and shuts the door. “Aurelian Services Agency, Polaris,” she says.

All at once, the mist clears and the walls vanish into space, wrapping us in a blanket of pitch blackness. For a moment, everything is eerily still, my quickening breath the only sound as panic rips through me. What if this thing doesn’t work on outsiders?

I have to come clean. “Wait, I—”

Before I can finish my sentence, I’m torn from my body and carried off, becoming one with the dark, endless space. Only now, I can see that it isn’t actually space. Those strange pockets of silver aren’t stars. They’re closer than before. Hundreds of writhing silvery strands slipping through the blackness. No, they’re something else entirely. But what?

A disjointed hum of faint whispers and muffled moans gathers in my ears. And then, one of the silver strands drifts close by, right past me, almost through me—

It shifts then, its form twisting in the air, and looks right at me, staring through two deep, hollow pits. Unblinking.

If I could, I would scream. No. This isn’t space—it isn’t even our world. It’s some sort of spirit dimension.

The air finds its way back to my lungs as my feet hit the ground. Trembling, I throw out a hand to steady myself, and the surrounding walls become solid once more.

I release a series of heaving breaths, utterly traumatized.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I look up to find Officer Tash, who seems remarkably unfazed by the ordeal, eyeing me with a detached confusion.

I open my mouth to answer her, but nothing comes out.

“Reconnection sickness?” she asks.

“Something like that,” I manage.

“You should have said something,” she says, voice annoyed as she steps away from me, clearly worried I’m going to hurl all over her. “We have a tonic for that.”

I follow the officer into an atrium. It’s similar to the town hall’s, only twice as large and packed with people. We take a lift to the eighth floor before proceeding down several narrow corridors, eventually stopping outside a door with a gold plate that reads Birth Registry Department.

Officer Tash opens the door and beckons me into a paneled room. While she goes to speak with the secretary, I’m directed to a small waiting area. Alone with my thoughts, I bite my nails, imagining the worst. I’m minutes away from discovering if my name is in the Aurelian Birth Registry. If it isn’t—and it probably isn’t—they would wipe my memory and deport me. Then I’ll never learn what happened to my parents. After today, I won’t even remember their names.

The secretary ushers Officer Tash to the door and bids her farewell. Then he turns to me. “One moment, miss,” he says, then disappears down a hallway.

My gaze flicks to the exit. How long will the man be gone? Should I make a break for it?

Before I can decide, the secretary reemerges, a colleague in tow. “This is the chief registrar,” he says, gesturing to a woman beside him. “She and her colleague, Euston, have some questions for you.”

The woman has a lined, stern face and tousled, tight gray curls that drop down to her shoulders. I catch a glimpse of the badge on her gray dress: Agnes Stiehl.

Patrick’s aunt Agnes. It must be.

Euston is a hunched, balding man with large, owlish glasses and a dull expression.

“I will question her in the Archives Library,” says Agnes.

“Erm… Agnes,” says the secretary. “Waldon Lewis is here—you know, from the High Council. He needed to use the Archives Library. Perhaps you might find another—"

“I won’t bother him,” says Agnes, though her eyes flash. She beckons me with a single finger. “This way, child.”

“I’m not a child,” I say, before I can stop myself.

The woman smiles at me unpleasantly. Without another word, she turns and strides down the hall, seeming confident that I will follow.

As I trail her, Agnes ignores me and grumbles under her breath. “High councilors, always waltzing in here like they own the place. Perhaps you might find another room—” she mimics, while I stare, lips sucking themselves inward. “Not on my watch—this is my domain.”

Euston makes no indication that he is listening.

Agnes throws open the door with the vigor of a wartime general preparing for battle.

We enter a large room with several armchairs and a heavy polished table. Sturdy shelves line every inch of wall space, packed tight with books. A broad-shouldered man with a square jaw is seated in a quilted leather armchair sorting through papers. He looks up.

“Waldon,” says Agnes, with a curt nod. “Terribly sorry, but I will need this room for an interrogation.”

The man’s gaze comes to rest on me. I stand awkwardly, wishing I could somehow disappear through the wall behind me.

“By all means,” he says, waving a hand toward the empty table.

Agnes stares expectantly at him, clearly waiting for him to leave. When he doesn’t move, she gives an irritated sigh and walks around the table.

“Take a seat, child.”

I shrug off my rucksack and slump into a chair opposite her. In the center of the table, a black candle flickers inside a holder shaped like a severed hand. I grimace.

Agnes clears her throat. I pull my gaze from the disturbing decoration.

“So,” she begins. “I hear you’ve been causing some trouble in Skeleton Grove?”

I give a half shrug.

“What is your name, child?”

“Riley. And I’m fifteen.”

“Good for you,” says Agnes, tone patronizing. “Surname?”

I sigh heavily. There are no lies I can tell that she will believe. No aliases that won’t be promptly uncovered, just as the first was. Eventually, she’s going to realize I’m an outsider. And when she does, I will be kicked out of Aurelia.

Well, might as well make it as difficult for her as possible before the inevitable happens. “I can’t tell you that.”

Euston, who had been gazing vaguely out a half-moon window, looks around then, suddenly interested. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the reading man look over.

“You’re only making matters worse for yourself,” says Agnes, leaning forward, forearms bracing on the table. A vein throbs in her temple.

“I doubt that.”

“Let’s come back to that one,” says Euston, looking at the reddening face of his colleague as though it were a ticking timebomb. “Who are your parents?”

“My parents are dead.”

“In that case, who is your legal guardian?”

“I don’t have one.”

Euston raises a thin eyebrow.

“Enough of these games,” says Agnes, slamming a fist on the wooden table like a toddler. “Get the book, Euston.”

Euston presses his lips into a thin line, but nevertheless waves a hand; as he does so, a ring on the man’s hand glints. It has the same stone as my own ring. A spark of bright purple momentarily dazzles me, and I almost don’t duck in time as the largest book I’ve ever seen comes flying over my head before landing with a loud thump on the table.

Even upside down, I make out the golden letters at once. The Birth Registry.

“Let’s see, first name Riley,” says Agnes, shoving open the book and flicking aggressively through its pages.

I can do nothing but sit in silence, wiping my sweating palms against my jeans under the table.

Finally, Agnes looks up. “There are nine ‘Riley’s’ in Aurelia. Five are under the age of eight; three are men. Clearly none of those are you. The other is a harpy, which judging by the lack of wings—” I blink “—is not you. There is no sixteen-year-old Riley in the Registry.”

Agnes clucks her tongue. “What—is—your—name?”

“Let’s have a look in her bag.” Euston holds out his hand expectantly. When I don’t comply, he waves a hand, and my rucksack vanishes…and reappears the next moment in his grasp.

“That’s mine!”

He ignores my outburst and opens the bag, then turns it upside down so the contents spill out. The torch. The chest. The sealed black book that brought me here. A bit of crumpled paper. A heap of squashed Reese’s—the result of the numerous times I broke curfew to sneak into the kitchens. I found those yielded the best outcomes for bribes and trades with my peers at the community home.

Immediately Agnes’s gaze drifts to the bound black book. She snatches it up and turns it over in her hands. “I know this.” She holds the book up, fixing me with an accusatory gaze. “These are illegal. How did you get one?”

The man in the armchair tips his head in our direction. The document in his hands is upside down.

I gulp. “It was given to me.”

Eyes flashing, Agnes opens her mouth again—

“What’s this?” Euston reaches for the crinkled batch of stapled paper. He flattens it out. My failed history exam. The large F stands out in red ink and, beside it, my teacher’s scribbled comment: You can do better. But then—

I pale.

Agnes, who had popped over his shoulder, points at the top corner. “Up there! What’s that say?”

Euston adjusts his large glasses. “Riley James.”

The blood seems to vanish from my veins. My parents’ letter warned me to hide my identity. Emphasized with resounding clarity that I might be in danger if I don’t. Why was I so careless?

The man in the armchair stills, no longer even bothering to pretend sorting through papers.

“We have a name!” says Agnes triumphantly, flipping open the Birth Registry again with renewed vigor. She settles on a page and scrolls down the text with her finger.

I hold my breath. This is it. Not long from now, I will be back in Scotland with no memory of the last twenty-four hours. No one at the community home knows who I am anymore. I would be starting somewhere from scratch.

Making matters worse, my existence won’t be a secret anymore. What if someone from Aurelia tries to kill me again? I won’t even know to be on guard.

“James. Right here!” Agnes jabs a spot on the page so hard that I might have thought she was trying to kill a bug.

“There are several listed—most deceased. There’s Alistair James—he has a son, but no daughter.” Her finger slides down. “If you’re fifteen, the only other couple who could have had you are Arthur and Wendy James. But they died on the ninth of October, fifteen years ago…”

Cold ripples through me. My parents’ letter was right. Our family was in danger. Critical danger, by the sound of it, for they died just eight days after abandoning me. Nine days after my birthday.

“She did say earlier that her parents had died.” Euston glances at me, though I’m barely listening anymore.

“Yes, but there is no name listed,” says Agnes. “They had no children.”

Euston knits his brows. “So... that means—"

“—she isn’t from Aurelia,” finishes Agnes, with the tone of someone who has just solved the world’s most complicated game of Clue. “Are you?”

I feel all their eyes on me, including the man in the armchair. I try to swallow but my throat has long since dried up.

I say nothing.

She slams the book. “I said, are you?”

There is sudden movement to my left. The man in the armchair stands up, clearing his throat. “Agnes. Euston. I’m going to handle this from here.” His expression is impassive, but his voice rings with authority.

Euston nods, then starts toward the door.

“Stay here, Euston,” she snaps, and Euston halts. Agnes jumps to her feet, arms akimbo and face flushed. She reminds me rather of a cartoon character. She clears her throat. “Waldon. This is clearly a matter for the Registry Department. It does not concern the High Council. I will deal with it, per our policy, thank you very much.”

I’m mildly impressed to see Agnes talk back to the intimidating man.

Waldon raises himself higher. “Quite the contrary, Agnes. You forget your station within the government.” Agnes sputters something incoherent, but he speaks over her. “As a member of both the High Council and the NIA, I believe this situation poses a potential national security breach.”

Bile threatens to surge up my throat. National security breach? Oh god. What’s going to happen to me now? A disturbingly vivid image of being chained up in a dark dungeon, forced to eat eyeballs and dodge monsters all day, surfaces in my mind.

Waldon crosses to the door and opens it wide. “Please excuse us.”

Euston glances from Agnes—whose face is now so red and eyes so wild, that she looks rather mad—up to the towering Waldon, who stands a good two feet over them all, composed but resolute. Then he pushes his oversized glasses back up his nose and ducks quietly from the room without a word.

Agnes doesn’t move. “I direct this department, Waldon, how dare—”

“Agnes, this is not an argument you are going to win, as you very well know,” he says, before giving the door a small shake. “Please leave us before I call for security and have you removed from your own department.”

For a moment, Agnes doesn’t react. Then she rips the door from Waldon’s grasp, stomps through, and slams it behind her.

Unfazed as ever, Waldon walks to the table and sits in the seat that Agnes occupied moments before. My heart hammers against my rib cage as he picks up my failed history exam and stares at the top corner, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Riley James,” he repeats quietly. He sets the paper down, finally looking at me.

I hold my breath.

“Incredible. I had no idea that Arthur and Wendy had their baby.”