“Why is Connor so young? I get he’s in perpetual boy status until he can suffer his way into adulthood, but why would they put that on a kid his age? Why convert him so early? Why convert him at all?”

“Something happened to force their hand,” Brody explains. “Well, something was going to happen.”

“Expand on that.”

“Which part?”

I stare blanks.

“We’re chosen. The Sentry is hand-picked based on advice from the Archives.”

“Chosen ones, huh?” I snort derisively. “They chose Connor?”

“They did.” He runs a hand through his unruly, surfer-boy hair. “I’m not sure how much of this I’m supposed to tell you.”

“Considering my whole goal in life is to not become something that can make more of you, I think your secret’s safe with me.”

“They’ll know if I tell you.” Concern replaces his generally easy expression. “They know everything we do.”

I dutifully ignore his concern. “The Sentry is picked by the Archives, and the Archives had to pick Connor early to save his life. They also know what you tell me and everything you do. Does that mean the Archives can read minds?”

He laughs. “No.”

“Phelan can read your mind?”

He shakes his head.

“So, how would anyone know who to pick? And, how would they know anything, let alone everything, you do?”

“Let me break it down.” He cracks his knuckles. “There are Writers, Readers, and Archives. The Writers write it down for the Readers to read. The Readers vocally relay it to the Archives, who store and share it with others. That’s where Phelan gets his information, from the Archives. He chooses what he relays.”

“Then Phelan isn’t hardwired into your head. He’s taking someone’s word for it.”

“No, he can’t read my mind. We’re connected like branches from the same tree. It’s felt. Not heard.”

“Are they people? Are they things? What role do they have in all this?”

“The Sinsear Tribunal is broken up into four factions, one for each element. The Sentry is powered by the earth element. I’m a Scout, which is a specialization. We’re feet on the street.”

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“The Writers, Readers, and Archives are Scholars belonging to the air element. Readers can read anything by touching it, including telling you about your power by touching you. Same way you can read emotions, only on a bigger scale.”

“Writers?”

“They write…our history.” He pauses. “Anyone ever tell you loose lips sink ships?”

I shrug. “I keep secrets very well.”

“I meant keeping them from you is tough.”

“Well, is Ryan aware of all this?”

“Yes.”

“Will I eventually be made aware?”

“Assuming you transition, yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He sighs. “You need a Scholar to explain it. It’s way less complicated that way. You won’t have any questions.”

“I doubt that’s possible.”

You always have questions, Superego supports me.

“The Archives will show you once you’ve transitioned…if you transition, I should say.” He tilts his head to the side, giving me a wary glance. “The Archives are a great big filing cabinet of stuff. Instead of telling you, they show you.”

“Handy.”

“Ugh,” he whines. “Why do you make it so easy to talk to you?”

Busted. No more manipulating the worry out of him. “Because I can turn off your inhibitions,” I muse.

He shoots me a dirty look. “You don’t fight fair.”

“I didn’t realize we were fighting.”

He flips me off.

“Okay, so the Sentry are feet on the street, and the Scholars are eyes in the sky. What about water?”

“It’s something you drink.”

“Hardy har har,” I fire back. “What does their faction do?”

“The Senate is basically human resources. There are two sides. One represents humans exclusively. The other represents elementals. Any formal laws flow through them.”

“And fire?”

Saved the best for last, did you? Superego tuts.

He grimaces. I glower at him until he concedes. “Fire Supreme handles…corrective action.”

“Law enforcement?”

“No, the Sentry handles the actual police work. The Supreme is more a judge deciding the sentence.”

My eyes widen. “Fire rules over the Tribunal? Over everything?”

“No, Air provides information, facts, and the like. Water makes the rules based on those facts. Earth enforces the rules. Fire decides the punishment for broken rules.”

“Shouldn’t that be the Senate’s job since they make the rules?”

“It’s a conflict of interest to have the people creating the rules doling out respective punishments for breaking them.”

“The Sentry hands out spankings, too,” I argue.

“By order of the Supreme.”

“Then who is the Supreme accountable to?”

He grunts. “No one.”

Even if the Supreme breaks the law, they can skip out on punishment. What incentive do they have to maintain a seat at the Tribunal table? The system is faulty. My spark has perked up with interest at the concept of control, and I try, unsuccessfully, to tamp it down as fire shoots through my veins. My curiosity is nowhere near sated, but my need outweighs my want. I have to run off this energy before it runs off from me.

I shuffle my restless feet. “Are you ready to head back?”

“Not really,” he admits, starting a slow pace back, anyway. “I might as well practice turning into a donkey. Phelan won’t appreciate our topic choices.”

I jump over a puddle. “What did he say I tasted like?”

He lets out a frustrated groan. “Like cinnamon! Don’t you ever listen?”

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

I pick up my pace and run at full capacity to the house. No way I can beat him. Nor do I want him to get beaten for what he told me. He can blame his talking on whatever he wants. I may have twisted his arm a bit, but not hard enough to force anything he didn’t care to share.

There’s a lot left I need to understand, and the more I understand about my history, the closer I’ll be to keeping it from repeating itself. In the meantime, I’ll try my best not to make Fire Daddy mad. That’s not a spanking I want to experience. Ever.