I don't know how I end up in the headmaster's office, but somehow, I do.

I can't remember...

I can't remember much of anything.

There's still blood on my hands and I clasp them together, palm to palm so I don't have to look at the stains.

I want to ask to wash my hands but I can't seem to make my mouth move, that and I don't have the strength to stand.

All I want is to sit completely still.

I feel out of place in his office as I look around, seeing but not feeling like I'm really here. A wall of windows, though hidden by heavy draperies, lines the small alcove where his walnut, claw-footed desk rests and he sits behind it in a leather, high-backed chair that is a delicate shade of reddish brown. A computer screen sits perched not too far away, a small, carved stag figurine caught in a mid-step pose standing on the desk with its head turned in my direction.

There's a clock on the fireplace that is ticking, the noise drilling into my brain as I sit in the seat across from the headmaster. A Persian rug sprawls across the dark, hardwood floor, the pattern immaculate and bright and feeling all too wrong beneath my dirty sneakers. The walls have a dark shade of russet wood-paneling covering them and I feel stifled in a room that is too dark, even with several lamps turned on.

It's only after a few minutes of sitting here that I realize that the headmaster is talking to me and I blink and focus on his face.

"Kara, I know that what you witnessed must be traumatizing nonetheless, but there are some people who need to speak with you," he says and it's the first time that I've really looked at him.

He looks so much like Astrid and Eleanora, the same high cheekbones and sculpted, petite nose that is perfectly centered in his more masculine face. He has the same flawless skin though his is slightly unsettling with the way it gleams, like he's been crafted from wax. A set of blue eyes that are lighter than Astrid's watch me, waiting for a reply as he steeples his fingers in front of his mouth like he's deep in thought.

"O...okay," I murmur, finding my voice and realizing at the same time that my throat feels raw, though I don't remember screaming.

He smiles and his nearly silver-blonde eyebrows rise with relief, "I do apologize for the promptness, but it is imperative that you tell them everything that you witnessed, you never know what could help with this investigation."

There is a short silence and, while he doesn't move, the door to his office suddenly opens. His eyes flick past me and he stands, though I don't know if I can do the same as I have the sudden sense to sink into the chair beneath me and wither away.

But I don't, instead, there's a feminine-sounding throat clearing behind me and it finally piques my attention into looking in its direction.

A woman in a police uniform stands in the center of the office, which consists of book cases and a fireplace along one wall while a couch and two chairs are sat in the center of the room. The woman is tall and her pale cheekbones are razor sharp, giving her a bird-like appearance as she stands with her hands clasped behind her back. She's pretty and built much like a dancer is and her eyes are a light blue as pale lips draw back into a smile when I make eye contact with her.

It's too easy of a smile and that's how I know that it's fake. A boy has just been murdered and here's a police officer smiling at me.

Maybe it's meant to soothe.

Maybe she's expecting one back, but I don't return it, instead, I get to my feet and stand waiting across from her.

"Officer Marshall, but you can call me Diana," the woman says as she offers her hand and I note then that she's probably not too much older than Indigo.

I eye her once more, looking for a reason not to trust her but her face is too kind at the moment and I can't get a solid read. She looks innocent with her dark hair tied back in a neat bun, which is held in place at the nape of her neck.

In that moment, I want to scream.

To yell.

Anything at all to let out the horrors that I've just witnessed.

You don't understand.

You don't understand, we're supposed to be safe on this campus.

It's what Greenwood is for.

But I can't.

And I don't.

I don't take her hand, there's still blood on them and the last thing I want to do is touch anything with my hands until they're clean. Officer Marshall must see something in my gaze because her eyes flicker down to my hands. Her lips press into a thin line and it's the first crack in her friendly demeanor.

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I am a witness.

But bloodstained hands don't help my case.

She doesn't take my hand to shake it as she inclines her head toward the door and clasps her hands.

"If you'll follow me, we'll just head down to the station so I can file an official report," she says in a clipped, professional tone.

I wonder then how much she knows since she's human and we're on Greenwood property and humans shouldn't know such things.

She glances back at me and smiles like she's read my mind and for a moment, my tired mind is afraid that she has.

"Don't worry, you can tell me everything, I'm aware that Greenwood is meant for witches," she tells me and looks past me to Headmaster Hallewell.

I nod and obediently follow her out of the office and down the quiet, dim hallways that are only lit up from the moon that is spilling silver light through the windows that line one side of the hall. Doors for classrooms and offices line the other side, every door shut as we pass them by in the eerie silence.

Officer Marshall's boots tap a solemn rhythm on the polished floors as she leads the way before we descend the staircase to the ground floor. She opens the door for me and gestures for me to walk out in front of her as I start down the sidewalk. I can see the faint silhouette of several vehicles parked in the circle drive, their lights off as she strides ahead of me and opens the passenger door on a police car.

I don't know what to say during the drive over, so I say nothing at all and look out the window as I watch the dark cityscape pass me by. Officer Marshall seems all too happy to not say anything either until we pull up to the police station. I get out when she shuts off the car and I trail behind her as we walk up the sidewalk and she opens the door for me.

There's a sleepy-eyed, older man at the front desk and he nods without looking at us as Officer Marshall ushers me down a hallway that splits off from the lobby and heads to a gray door that she opens.

"I'll be right back," she says as I eye the tiled room on the other side, which only has a metal table and two chairs.

I nod as the door falls shut before I glance to the side to see that one wall has an enormous mirror mounted on it. Two-way glass, I think as I stare at the reflection looking back at me. I look out of place and seeing myself reflected back at me is strangely surreal as gooseflesh prickles along my arms. I sit down in the chair that is facing the mirror, remembering how interrogations are usually performed in the cop shows that I watched with my family on Saturdays.

My throat tightens and I wonder if Indigo knows where I am or if she's been told about what's happened. I wish that she was here with me as my chest aches, but the door to the room opens and Officer Marshall steps inside with a few sheets of paper in her hands.

"Alright Kara, your last name is Zen, correct?"

"Yes," I murmur as she sits in the seat across from me.

She writes something down with an ink pen that she brought with her before she sits up and folds her hands on the table in front of her.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions in a moment, okay?"

I don't say anything as I look down at my hands, which are still stained with blood, "Can I...can I wash my hands first?"

My stomach heaves against my will but I keep myself in check as I swallow a few times.

She shakes her head, "No, we're going to have to get a sample of it first, you can wash them as soon as they're done collecting."

She inclines her head slightly and the door to the room opens as a pale-faced man in business casual enters.

He has a cotton swab and a clear, plastic vial held in his blue gloved hand as he gives me a hesitant smile that reminds me of my father with the way he does it.

"Hello," he says in a low, casual voice, like swabbing my hand for blood is a normal thing for him to do.

And maybe it is.

I splay my hands and tilt them toward him, only to notice that they're shaking as I hold them upright. He swabs one of my palms, the dried blood smearing because of a clear, cold liquid that is on the swab as it stains the cotton pink before he drops it into the vial and twists a plastic cap on it. He pulls out another vial and swabs my other palm before he drops the swab into the vial and caps it.

He nods to Officer Marshall before he backs out of the room and shuts the door.

"The bathroom is just down the hall, second door on the left," she informs me.

"Okay," I say as my lips feel numb, like they're floating off of my face and I'm no longer in control as the full force of the situation begins to hit me.

I get up, the chair squawking awkwardly against the floor tiles as Officer Marshall opens the door for me. I start down the hall, relieved to see that the door for the bathroom is a push door. I shove a shoulder against the door and rush over to the sink. The faucet is automatic and the surprise of hot water splashing against my palms brings me back to the present. I start scrubbing until my skin is red and claw tracks mar my flesh.

You are safe.

For now.

But what of it when I go back?

What about Indi? Tessa?

I want to throw up then, the bile rising too far in my throat.

I spin away from the sink and vomit into the trash can for the paper towels. I keep my retching as quiet as I can, not wanting to alert anyone who may be lingering at the station. I wash up, a few sips of water from the faucet as I swish it around and spit it out in the sink. I try not to look at myself in the mirror, as seeing myself will only make all of this real.

It's not real, just a nightmare.

I head back to the room and settle into the cold, uncomfortable chair across from Officer Marshall.

"I understand that there's a curfew in place, why were you out after curfew?" Officer Marshall asks me, her blue eyes watching me curiously.

"I was invited to join the Coven of Midnight," I tell her as I pull out Eleanora's locket and pass it to her.

Officer Marshall takes it from me and opens it. She reads the slip of paper before she nods to herself and writes down a note on her paper.

"And what did you do at this meeting?" she inquires.

"I summoned my familiar and pledged myself to be an ally of the Coven of Midnight," the words stick in my throat as I think about my pledge, not even an hour old one and I had been unable to protect a fellow witch.

"And what was the pledge?"

"To protect fellow witches," I whisper and a rush of shame consumes me.

"I see, and how did you find Finn Delacroix?" she asks as her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

"I had come out of the gym after pledging and I...I," I swallow at the bitter memory of his scream, "I heard a scream and I followed it and...he was already gone when I found him, he was lying on the sidewalk."

"Did you know Finn very well?"

"No, I only knew him because he had competed to become a member of the Draconic legion," I answer her honestly, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Do you know anyone who had issues with Finn?" Officer Marshall asks as she leans forward and lifts a questioning eyebrow.

"No," I shake my head, "I didn't really know him."

"Did you have issues with him?"

I pause then, the unease hitting me in the gut.

"No."

I realize then that I'm not just a witness to her.

I'm a suspect.