Elliot Fletcher, like his father, did not forget debts, big or small, and I owed him for saving me during the first Sentinel trial. Sure enough, he called in the debt after we’d been at Vandagriff Academy for a couple months. He wanted to go on a date that Saturday, like old times, but as friends. The quicker I resolved the debt, the better, so I agreed. We planned to meet at Fed Square in the afternoon, so we could walk to the newly-restored Fitzroy Gardens.

Before the date, I had to read through a stack of dossiers. I had the dossiers on my bed after a call to my parents, during which I’d made the mistake of complaining about the sycophant classmates, and then I made the bigger mistake of telling my parents their names. Soon after, a couple cardboard boxes showed up, the kind police used for evidence. Inside: Dossiers on all the names I’d recited.

My parents wanted me to read through the dossiers and order the “candidates” according to viability for a future alliance with our family. I had to balance backgrounds, physical conditions, mental states, magic aspirations, and my own personal assessment. What a joke. My personal assessment? Leeches, all of them, none who could benefit our family business other than if we decided having money was a terrible burden.

Fretting over dossiers and connections didn’t help my school work, but my grades never dropped. The teachers and hierophants made sure of that. Rather than feeling safe, I grew apathetic. Why bother studying if my grades didn’t change? I began to wonder why I’d been so obsessed with the idea of going to Vandagriff in the first place. If my only objective was to get Fornax-class magic, shouldn’t I have stayed at home and asked for tutors in history and literature?

Connections. That’s why my siblings and I went to Vandagriff. But I didn’t have Octavia’s severity, so I couldn’t command people’s respect. Attempts at warmth and friendliness, like Samara, made people confused and, I suspected, vaguely nauseated. Even my brother, Dust, did a good job of befriending the crude, edgy guys in his cohort.

My other older brother, Nix, didn’t go to Vandagriff. He didn’t stay in Melbourne, either. Last we’d heard, he was up in a town near Brisbane playing songs on weekends for a lonesome pub’s meagre crowd.

Forget the dossiers. I tossed them aside and picked an outfit for the date. Not exactly a date. A friend date. A friends-hanging-out event.

I selected a striped, navy blue polo shirt, white jeans, and a knitted scarf. I wore my amethyst pendant, too, though the moments I didn’t wear it would be more noteworthy.

I called our family’s driver. He arrived at Vandagriff punctually. We had to take a slightly longer route to Fed Square, due to a library festival occupying the usual route. Neither of us spoke, as usual. But, as we neared the destination, the driver said the strangest thing:

‘Perhaps…you should rest a moment, Miss Victoria.’ He glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Moments between are as important as moments beyond.’

I could have said a lot of things. ‘What business is that of yours?’ is what I chose, a tone and tautness of snapping condescension. He apologised, but I had already stepped from the car. The driver pulled away from the curb. I looked after him and mentally composed an apology to deliver later, though I knew I’d roll the apology around my skull for hours before ultimately not voicing it.

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It may have been the first time I really heard him say my name. He’d driven for my family for at least a decade. There weren’t many cars on the roads, and not many well-trained drivers. Yet, my first exchange with him had been concern and harsh dismissal. Worse, he was right. I felt terrible. I wanted to rest, but outside the car, I couldn’t relax. It didn’t matter if there was one or a hundred people in the vicinity; I held myself like I thought a Fornax should, comfort be damned.

Elliot moved toward me, lifted his sunglasses, and went to kiss my cheek. I jerked sideways and…offered a high five. ‘Let’s be off, shall we?’

We walked to Fitzroy Gardens and enjoyed the new areas. Broad walkways and lush arrangements of vegetation. The afternoon sun felt a bit warm, so I loosened my scarf. Elliot offered to carry it, and our fingers touched as he took it.

Around the middle of the gardens was a ringed pool, which went from ankle- to waist-depth. A crowd gathered in the deepest area. Elliot and I stopped a short distance away, while a grey-robed priest of the Neo-Revival Orthodoxy (N-RO, pronounced almost like end row) baptised the crowd in a single dunk. I’d read that pre-Dusk baptism was a much slower, individual affair, but current society leaned toward efficiency.

‘It must’ve been easier to relax before the Dusk,’ I remarked.

‘Entities do tend to be anxiety-inducing.’

‘I mean in regular life. People used to have so much, so they could probably stop and really, really feel like they were relaxed, whereas now it’s go-go-go all the time.’

‘They didn’t have magic. Well, they had phony tricks. Speaking of which…’ Elliot gestured up the path, to a couple rows of orange-robed Buddhist monks. They sat on the grass, palms up in their laps, eyes closed. ‘Waiting for enlightenment, eh?’ Elliot stepped mimicked their seated posture.

‘Elliot,’ I whispered, hoping they wouldn’t see.

‘I can’t reach enlightenment if you distract me.’

‘Don’t be mean.’

‘I’m being understanding. Behold…’ He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and shot to his feet. ‘I have reached enlightenment,’ he declared, arms wide. ‘Know what I discovered? Sitting around waiting for enlightenment is stupid.’

I could’ve sworn one of the monks glanced at us, his impassive face somehow worse than a glare. I smiled at Elliot, hoping it’d placate him, but the smile came out strangely, lips pulled tight and at the wrong angles. ‘You alright, Vic?’ he asked.

‘We’ve done a good lap of the gardens, don’t you think? Wanna go and—’

‘Hey!’ Elliot waved to a few people, before jogging away. He called their names; I recognised them from our cohort – and some of my dossiers. Classmates, and Elliot’s friends.

You know what, it’s enough I was forced to live through the details. No need to rehash them. Here’s the summary: Elliot and I joined with six classmates, we walked the gardens again, and then we got pizza from a place inspired by the 90s, filled with abstract shapes, bold colours, and vintage pop music. I didn’t recognise the music. O’Connor? Twain? Spice Girls? Not my style, but a guy in our group, Theo, said it was way better than what we had in current days. The others all nodded in agreement, so I did the same.

We caught a train back to the Academy. At one point, I thought Nix, my brother, sat in the adjacent carriage. I liked him, but I got the sense he didn’t reciprocate. Before he’d left Melbourne, I would often catch myself saying things I didn’t believe, hoping he’d approve of it. The less interest he showed, the more I felt the need to prove something.

But, it probably wasn’t Nix. There wasn’t a reason for him to be in Melbourne, unless he’d finally made progress on his music career.

We reached the Academy, but I couldn’t relax in my room. There was a seminar being held by Wira Kusuma, and students needed to apply for limited spots. I needed inspiration, and I’d heard Kusuma had a tough life before becoming the Erudite of Flight, so I lined up to apply. Tired, frustrated, I wanted nothing but to be left alone while I signed up for the seminar. The stars-of-fate had other plans.