Page 47

A sob. "I can't move."

My hand reaches instinctively toward the dagger normally strapped against my thigh. Nothing. No weapons. Of course.

"Tell me your name."

Silence. Then— "Please."

Not an answer. The marker's lettering brightens. A reminder. An order.

I think of Professor Vale asking what happens when someone beside us makes the wrong choice. I think of the Headmaster asking who we become under uncertainty. If the cry is real and I continue walking, I will have chosen a rule over a person. If it is not real, leaving the path may be exactly what the Trial wants.

The girl whimpers. Decision made. I step into the trees.

The path disappears after six steps. I turn. Nothing. No white stones. No marker. No opening between the trunks. Mist closes around everything.

"Of course."

The scream comes again from deeper in the forest. I move toward it. Branches catch at my sleeves despite hanging far above me. Roots rise from the earth where there were none a moment before. The forest does not attack. It resists. Every step becomes less certain than the last.

"Keep talking," I call. No answer. "Where are you?"

Something moves ahead. A small figure between the pale trunks. I increase my pace. The mist parts.

A girl sits with her back against a tree, knees drawn to her chest. Dark hair conceals her face.

"Are you injured?" She does not move. I approach more slowly.

"Can you hear me?" Her shoulders shake. I crouch several feet away.

"What happened?"

The girl lifts her head. She has no face. Not a blank face. No face at all. Only smooth skin where eyes, nose and mouth should be.

My body reacts before thought does. I throw myself backward. The figure unfolds. Too tall. Limbs lengthening as it rises. Its featureless head turns toward me. Then the entire illusion collapses into mist. Gone. The forest becomes silent again. No injured student. No screams. No path. Only me.

I stare at the empty space where the figure had been. My pulse hammers. Not from fear alone. Anger. At the Trial. At myself. At the fact that part of me would make the exact same choice again.

The bracelet pulses. A line of silver light appears across its surface. DEVIATION RECORDED.

"That feels judgmental." The bracelet does not answer.

I stand. The Academy has learned something about me. I am not certain I like what.

Finding the path takes almost an hour. At least, I think it does. The light above the trees never changes enough to measure time reliably. I try retracing my steps. The forest rearranges itself. I mark one trunk with a sharp stone. Ten minutes later, the same mark appears on three different trees. I stop trusting the trees. Then the ground. Then my sense of direction. Eventually, I close my eyes. Not because I have a plan. Because every visible option has become useless. What remains? The air is cooler against my left cheek. Wind. Barely. But present. I turn toward it. Walk. The mist gradually thins. White stones emerge beneath my boots. The path. I step onto it.

The bracelet warms. ROUTE RECOVERED. No praise. No reprimand. Only observation. The Academy is not telling me whether I made the correct decision. Perhaps that is the point.

I continue more carefully. Not more obediently. There is a difference. When I hear a child crying farther ahead, I do not leave the path immediately. I call questions. The voice repeats the same three answers regardless of what I ask. Illusion.

When I hear someone running behind me, I move aside rather than turn. Nothing passes.

When my father's voice tells me I have already failed, I stop walking. That one is more effective. It comes from somewhere beyond the mist. Calm. Disappointed. Exactly as I remember.

"You were given one instruction." I close my eyes. Not real.

"You abandoned it immediately." My hands curl. Not real.

"Predictable." The voice draws closer.