They brought her some clothes her mother had sent over. Hailey knew they must be restricting all visitors besides her lawyer, because there was no earthly way her mother would have settled without trying at least six different outfits for the most professional, neutral outfit to wear in front of the court.

  Dressed in a simple pencil skirt, blouse and cardigan, Hailey barely felt like herself in the mirror. She was always more of a jeans-and-jacket girl, but she knew this was all about appearances. An outfit like this spoke professionalism and calm—and Hailey was trying to convince them she wasn't the unhinged timebomb the opposition painted her as.

  The guard returned, and once again, Hailey was cuffed and escorted, this time out of the building entirely. They walked out of the gates, down to a surprisingly comfortable car, and were whisked away to the court building. To her surprise, there wasn't a single protestor on the route.

  Guess they managed to keep it secret I was getting my hearing today.

  As they pulled up to the court, though, Hailey saw her folly—they were waiting for her.

  It looked like a Hollywood premiere. Ropelines with police officers at regular intervals made a pseudo-red carpet up the court steps. Protestors filled each side, once again in equal numbers loving or hating her. Hailey didn't want either group. She just wanted to go back, but the guard prodded her forward. Hailey started the long walk, as her ears were full of incomprehensible shouting.

  Why did I ever want this? People screaming at me from every direction. I liked being in the center, but not… not like this.

  As soon as they got inside, Hailey breathed a sigh of relief.

  "You and me both," muttered the guard. She took the cuffs off Hailey, now that they were out of sight of the cameras. "Straight through that door," she added, nodding toward a side door near the main court. "Lawyer's waitin' in there."

  "Thank you," said Hailey, trying to smile. The guard nodded, then took a seat on a bench near the door and grabbed a nearby newspaper.

  Hailey hurried in to the room, where Jefferson waited, now with a proper briefcase instead of the simple paper folders he was allowed to bring into the prison. He glanced at his watch and smiled.

  "Right on time, for once."

  "Huh?"

  "Oh, not you, Miss Winscombe." He smiled. "Whenever I've had the police escort someone to the court, they are always late. It actually works to my advantage sometimes." He glanced toward the side door, leading into the proper courtroom. "Are you ready?"

  "...Yes," said Hailey, after a moment of deep breathing.

  Jefferson led her into the courtroom. It was huge, with a full balcony level above the main gallery, and it was packed. Reporters lined the upper floor in every direction. Hailey breathed a sigh of relief that they weren't allowed cameras or recording devices—she'd had enough of being on camera all the time for a while. As her eyes fell down to the main level, she felt another huge wave of emotion crash through her.

  Her mother sat right in the front row, her father next to her. Rupert and Weston both sat one seat down. Hailey hadn't seen any of them since…

  She choked up again. She nearly broke into a run, but managed to restrain herself as soon as she spotted the court officers lining the room. Walking past the sea of faces she didn't recognize, Hailey beelined for her mother.

  Stephanie had no such reservations. She practically leapt out of the bench and ran to meet Hailey, burying her in a hug.

  "Hi, Mom," said Hailey, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu.

  "Oh, honey…" Stephanie whispered into her hair. "Are you okay? Are they treating you well?"

  "Yes." She hugged her back. "I gotta go, Mom. I love you."

  Hailey stepped away, very conscious of how long she'd been simply standing in the aisle. They only had so long before the judge arrived, and she needed to be in position first. She waved to the rest of her family on the row, before following Jefferson through the little gate and into the front of the courtroom—right on time, as the judge arrived through the chamber doors.

  "All rise!" called the bailiff. "The Honorable Judge Holden Whitney presiding!" They all stood up as the robed man walked in.

  "Okay," said Judge Whitney, settling down in his seat on the bench, and the rest of the room mirrored him. He glanced at the bailiff. "Are we all ready?"

  The jury box was empty, of course, since they weren't in a real trial yet, but Hailey did get her first look at the federal prosecution—and despite everything she could do, she felt intimidated. The prosecutor was a sharp-dressed, charismatic-looking man who practically exuded confidence and strength. More importantly, he seemed hostile to her from the moment she walked in, and Agent Aderholt sat next to him with an equally unfriendly expression.

  "Criminal action 18-196, the United States of America versus Hailey Winscombe. Will counsel please rise and identify themselves for the record?"

  The prosecutor stood first, as had been outlined in Hailey's etiquette guide. "Good afternoon, Your Honor. Anthony Goldstein of the Department of Justice representing the United States. With me is FBI Special Agent Michael Aderholt."

  "Good afternoon to you both," said the judge.

  Jefferson stood up and straightened his tie slightly. "Good afternoon, Your Honor. Jefferson Baux on behalf of Miss Winscombe."

  "Good afternoon," said the judge. He glanced down at his notes, before looking up at the defense table—directly at Hailey. "Would the defendant please rise and identify herself to the court?"

  Hailey got to her feet, suddenly feeling unsteady and off-balance. She flexed her wings, barely brushing the back of Jefferson's head, and cleared her throat. "Good afternoon, your honor. Hailey Aurora Elizabeth Winscombe."

  "Thank you, Miss Winscombe." Whitney smiled down at her, and managed to make it feel friendly without being condescending. He looked sympathetic, in fact. "It's all right. This is all just procedure."

  "Thank you, sir." Hailey took a seat again while the judge returned to his notes.

  "As I understand it, both parties have prepared evidence for their arguments regarding release, including documentation, video recordings, and witness testimony. Is this correct?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," said Goldstein, and Jefferson echoed him a moment later.

  Hailey frowned. Who'd they be calling to testify against me getting released? Aderholt? Brian Hendricks?

  Judge Whitney matched her own frown as he glanced over the list of documentation. "I'd like to remind both parties that this is not yet a criminal trial, and all arguments made today should be solely concerned with Miss Winscombe's potential as a flight risk or otherwise avoiding the responsibilities of the court."

  She felt a sinking feeling as the judge spoke. Jefferson had warned her of the possibility that a great deal of their assembled support might be thrown out, since it was made by those who couldn't properly speak to either of those traits—and in fact, they'd taken a few out themselves, since Hailey had failed to stick around for emergency personnel and fled the scene.

  "With that in mind, Mr. Goldstein," said the judge, turning to the prosecution, "please open the state's position."

  "Thank you, Your Honor," said the prosecutor. He got to his feet. "Miss Winscombe was a model citizen. Perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect record. However, something changed this year. By now, we're all aware what took place in Rallsburg and the new discoveries made there. We're also aware of the 'awakening' process, and how it changes an individual forever."

  "Objection, relevance," said Jefferson.

  "Overruled." To Hailey's surprise, nobody seemed particularly upset by this sudden interjection. The judge seemed to have expected it, and Jefferson likewise had barely reacted to his objection being thrown out.

  "Awakening is a permanent and irreversible process by which an individual gains access to magic, and changes them physically and mentally in ways we don't yet understand. Since awakening, the defendant's life has shifted in every aspect."

  No kidding.

  "With this in mind, the prosecution motions that, given the clear segmentation of the defendant's life around this single event and the significant change which may have permanently altered her mental state, all evidence and testimony prior to her awakening is irrelevant to determining her release eligibility and should be barred."

  Wait… what?

  "Objection, hearsay," said Jefferson, a little more urgently this time.

  The judge didn't react immediately this time. He straightened his glasses, looking down at the prosecution. "Is this the purpose of your first exhibit, Mr. Goldstein?"

  "Yes, Your Honor. May we approach the bench?"

  Jefferson got to his feet, and the two lawyers hurried up to the judge's side. Hailey forced herself not to fidget, since the judge was still occasionally glancing over at her during their conversation. She was tempted to listen in using magic, but thought better of it.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Follow the rules, Hailey. That's the whole point of being here.

  Judge Whitney was flipping through some pages on his desk, and Goldstein was pointing and talking rapidly. Jefferson didn't look happy.

  Hailey felt anxiety rising in her chest. She glanced over her shoulder at her mother, but Stephanie nodded back to the front pointedly. Hailey turned back around just as Jefferson was leaving the bench again—and he looked even worse than before.

  "After reviewing the expert witness testimony, I'm inclined to agree with the prosecution," said Judge Whitney. "All witnesses and evidence prior to the defendant's stated awakening date of January twenty eighteen is not permitted in this hearing. You may re-submit this testimony at the arraignment, Mr. Baux."

  "I'd like to enter my strong objection for hearsay into the record, Your Honor," said Jefferson. "The expert testimony is from the employee of an individual with significant cause to hate the defendant."

  "Overruled, Mr. Baux. I sympathize, but the argument is compelling and immediately relevant, and comes from a respected member of the scientific community." The judge glanced back at the prosecutor. "You may continue."

  Hailey's heart sank. Her mother, Weston, and any other support she'd pulled together from old friends and teachers was useless. Apparently, awakening was being treated like some disease, making her unstable. She wondered who the expert witness was, and why he'd have reason to hate her. Jefferson had the information, but he must not have expected it to be taken seriously, and hadn't highlighted it to her for review.

  She dug through the papers on their desk while the prosecutor outlined Hailey's crimes to the judge, giving a blow-by-blow recounting for everything she'd been accused of. In Jefferson's neatly outlined case notes, she found it—a new paper about magic's effects on the brain, written by Dr. Wilson Kleiner. Hailey had never heard of him, but Jefferson had helpfully notated the important piece for her: Dr. Kleiner was an employee of Culver-Malton Group.

  Hailey suppressed a sigh. Of course Malton wasn't going to let her get off easy. He was in plenty of hot water on the other side of the Atlantic, but rich people were always petty, and they'd expected some kind of interference. This was probably just the start.

  "...indirectly responsible for the death of Jessica Silverdale."

  Her face shot up to look at the prosecutor. She didn't disagree, but she hadn't expected them to bring it up.

  "Is the state prepared to call its first witness?" asked the judge.

  "Yes, Your Honor." Goldstein cleared his throat. "The state calls Beth Silverdale to the stand."

  Hailey's heart froze. She'd seen the Silverdales' names on the long, long list of potential witnesses, but she and Jefferson agreed it was incredibly unlikely either Silverdale would make an appearance—and if they did, it would have been in her favor. Yet… here Beth was, walking down the aisle to the front of the courtroom, called by the opposition.

  "Please state your name for the record," said the bailiff.

  "Bethany Silverdale," said Beth, her eyes never straying near Hailey at the defense table.

  "Do you solemnly affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under the pains and penalties of perjury?"

  "I do."

  "You may be seated."

  "Miss Silverdale, I'd like to remind you that this hearing is solely concerned with the assessment of flight risk for the defendant, and as previously stated, all testimony prior to January of this year is non-admissible. This goes for everyone in the court," he added, glancing at the two lawyers. "Keep it on point, gentlemen. We aren't on trial yet." He nodded at Goldstein. "Go ahead, Mr. Goldstein."

  "Miss Silverdale," said the prosecutor, walking out into the middle of the court, "would you please state for the court your place of residence?"

  "I don't have one," she replied—and Hailey could hear the undercurrent of rage in every syllable, of sheer hatred suppressed to tiny inflections on every word she spoke.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm homeless. I currently live somewhere provided to me."

  "And why are you homeless?"

  "Objection," said Jefferson, though both he and Hailey knew it was pointless. "Relevance."

  "Overruled," said Judge Whitney, sounding bored.

  "Because my home burned down," said Beth.

  "Where did you previously live?" asked the prosecutor.

  "Rallsburg."

  "And it burned down?"

  "On May fifteenth of this year, all because of her friends."

  "Objection, hearsay," said Jefferson.

  "Sustained," said Judge Whitney. "Miss Silverdale, can you confirm firsthand that the defendant or anyone she directly associates with was responsible for your home being destroyed?"

  "No, Your Honor."

  "Please keep your testimony strictly to that which you personally witnessed and can confirm." Whitney turned back to the prosecutor. "Mr. Goldstein?"

  "After your home was destroyed, where did you live?"

  "A house in Tacoma, provided to us by a rich friend."

  "And who lived there?"

  "Me, my husband Malcolm, my daughter Jessica and her best friend, Hailey."

  "By Hailey, are you referring to the defendant?"

  "Yes." Beth raised a hand and pointed at her, though her eyes still didn't quite reach Hailey's. If they actually looked at one another, Haily wasn't sure how she'd react. Beth… what are you doing? Do you hate me that much? "That's her."

  "Let the record show Miss Silverdale has identified the defendant Hailey Winscombe."

  "So noted," said the judge.

  "How long did you live with the defendant?"

  "From May 16th until Thursday, November 22nd."

  "The 22nd is the same day Hailey flew across the ocean and illegally entered London, correct?"

  "Objection," said Jefferson. "Leading the witness."

  "Sustained," said Judge Whitney. He glanced at Goldstein and straightened his glasses. "Mr. Goldstein, please rephrase the question."

  "Miss Silverdale, what happened on the 22nd that you stopped living with the defendant?"

  "We had a funeral for my daughter," said Beth, and now there was real venom in her voice. "Hailey flew out of the funeral and by the next day, she was in London. She hasn't returned since."

  "So you lived with her for over six months?"

  "Yes."

  "And would you say she acted responsibly in that time?"

  "It depends on what you mean." Beth shrugged. "She left and came home at insane hours of the night, she dragged my crippled daughter across the state through mid-air, and she put them in more physical danger than most people witness in their lives."

  "Objection, hearsay," said Jefferson quickly.

  "Overruled," said Judge Whitney.

  Goldstein already looked satisfied, but he knew he had the room on the edge of its seat. Every single person in the audience was dead silent listening to Beth speak. Hailey clutched the edges of her chair, her fingers digging into the fabric unconsciously, terrified of every word.

  And this is just the bail hearing!

  "Miss Silverdale, are you aware of the typical conditions for a pre-trial release?"

  "No."

  "Well, the first major concern is the defendant's criminal history and presence of violent crimes in particular. Given the previously outlined charges, I won't go over this again. Second, the nature and circumstances of these crimes—whether or not they have relevance to being a flight risk."

  "Objection, relevance," said Jefferson. "This has nothing to do with the witness."

  "...Overruled," said Judge Whitney, a bit less certain than usual. "Continue, Mr. Goldstein, but make sure you're still on target here."

  "Yes, Your Honor. Miss Silverdale," said Goldstein, turning to her again, "one of the defendant's accused crimes, which you mentioned earlier, is her illegal entry into London. How did she accomplish that?"

  "Objection," said Jefferson.

  "Sustained," said Judge Whitney, before Jefferson could even explain his reasoning. "Mr. Goldstein, unless you're suggesting the witness also managed the same unprecedented feat, she most certainly could not have been present for the accused crime. Rephrase your question."

  "Miss Silverdale," said Goldstein again, "could you please tell us the story of Hailey's departure on November the twenty-second?"

  "We were at my daughter's funeral," said Beth—and again, the sheer pain in those three words struck Hailey's core like snapping a taut cord. "Hailey was late, everybody else had already arrived. We found out she was up on the roof. She finally came in after we'd been waiting probably thirty minutes, and we started the service. Except Hailey, after only six minutes or so, decided she couldn't stay. Using magic, she made every single window and door in the church slam open, then flew out of the building. As far as I know, she flew straight from there to London."

  "Thank you, Miss Silverdale." The prosecutor turned to the judge. "Late to important functions, leaving in fits of rage, and ignoring world boundaries and procedures, while holding extreme physical power and the ability to transport herself across countries and oceans without any assistance. The defendant poses an extreme flight risk."

  "And she killed my daughter," Beth snapped.

  A gasp rolled through the whole audience.

  "Objec—" Jefferson started, but the judge cut him off.

  "Miss Silverdale, you will restrain yourself to only answering the questions asked by the prosecutor or the defense. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, your honor," said Beth—but then she turned to look Hailey in the eye, and as the judge looked away, her mouth twitched into a vindictive smile, eyes burning with sheer hatred for the girl sitting across the courtroom.

  Hailey leapt to her feet before she could stop herself.

  "Take that back," she growled.

  "Miss Winscombe!" said the judge sternly. "You will be seated."

  "Hailey," hissed Jefferson, gently grasping her arm.

  Hailey allowed herself to be lowered back to her chair, though her eyes hadn't left Beth's for a moment. Only a strand of blue hair, which had fallen just far enough to be in front of her eyes, held Hailey back from flying across the room and shoving Beth up against a wall.

  I'm sorry. I let her get into that situation, and I wasn't fast enough to save her. But I didn't kill her. Never that.

  "My client would like to apologize for the outburst," said Jefferson politely.

  "Is that true?" asked the judge, looking pointedly at Hailey.

  Don't let her get to you. Remember Jessica. Remember your promise.

  Hailey tore her eyes away from Beth and looked up at the judge. "Yes, your honor. I apologize for speaking out of turn."

  "Thank you." The judge glanced at the bailiff. "Miss Silverdale, any other comments like that and you will be removed from this courtroom. I will not allow you to provoke the defendant." He turned to Goldstein. "Proceed."

  "No further questions, Your Honor," said Goldstein, a touch smug, but still with the typical courtroom professionalism.

  Judge Whitney nodded. "Your witness, Mr. Baux."

  "A moment, your Honor?" asked Jefferson.

  The judge nodded.

  Jefferson leaned in to Hailey, covering up the microphone on their table, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Hailey, I'm sorry."

  "For what?" asked Hailey, and realized a half-second later he'd called her by her first name again.

  "You're not getting bail."

  "But—"

  "We can't win here. He's going to line up every condition in order, and you can't beat a single one. You have a huge list of criminal charges, you can fly, you have no permanent residence, no job, you're not in school, and you have a history of impulsive actions they can back up."

  "...So what do I do?" asked Hailey, her stomach sinking more with every single word.

  "We skip the rest of this. The judge is already annoyed with Goldstein, while we've played by the rules. If we keep going, we're just dragging out the inevitable, and we've got a whole trial that hasn't even started yet. I think we should start appealing to the judge and getting him on our side, and one way to do that is cooperating with the basic procedures."

  "I accept jail without any more protest, he likes me more because I didn't waste his day?"

  "Yes."

  Hailey winced. "That's…"

  "I know." Jefferson shrugged. "That's how it works. It's my best advice for you."

  She glanced briefly at her mother, doing her best not to start crying again. After a few seconds, Hailey finally nodded. "Okay."

  Jefferson turned to the judge. "Your Honor, the defense rests."

  To Hailey's satisfaction, they seemed to have caught Goldstein off guard—and Judge Whitney as well. Beth was dismissed from the stand and hurried out of the room by the bailiff.

  "Mr. Goldstein, you may call—"

  "Your Honor," interrupted Jefferson. "My apologies, but may we approach the bench?"

  "...Approach," said Judge Whitney, now visibly curious.

  Hailey sat back in her chair, while Jefferson negotiated accepting continued imprisonment for her. She closed her eyes and tried to memorize every single bit of what she felt in that moment—the air, the clothes, the chair, the feeling of the place. It would be the last time she'd have that sort of freedom for a long, long time, if she understood anything about how trials worked.

  Just like that, it was over. The judge briefly explained that he'd decided Hailey was, indeed, a flight risk, and could not be released to anyone's custody, least of all her own. After all, nobody could possibly ensure she would visit court, since she could not be restrained. He went over every condition Jefferson had mentioned again, but Hailey was already tuning him out.

  The cuffs went back on. Hailey gave her mother one last look, trying to smile confidently, but it was all for nothing. Stephanie was crying, her father was hugging her mother, Weston and Rupert looked like they'd been struck dumb.

  Hailey walked from the courtroom, back into the sea of cameras, back into the prison van, back into her captivity.