Jeremiah awoke, which was a pleasant surprise. He shook off the heaviness of a drugged sleep and sat up.

　　He was in a dank prison cell, small enough that his outspread arms could reach across its width. Except his hands were bound by steel gauntlets, fixed into clenched fists and wrapped together by a chain. Mage`s manacles.

　　His cell contained a cot with a thin blanket and a bucket in the corner. The other cells of the prison stood empty. Jeremiah recalled Allison saying most crimes earned assignment to a wall cleaning crew, and decided this place must be for special prisoners. He called out from his cell and banged his manacles against the bars till his ears rung, but only his echo answered him. He resigned himself to a corner of his cot, flagellating himself with the memory of every action that brought him here, and the clarity that only hindsight could bring. Hours passed in total silence.

　　A door swung open and a squat dwarven guard entered. "Yer counselor`s here to see you."

　　Delilah entered, straight backed in fine formal robes, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun. Her immaculate appearance stood in stark contrast with the filth of the dungeon and the two guards who tailed her.

　　Jeremiah met her eyes, hoping for a sign of friendship, but saw only professionalism and weariness. "Jeremiah Thorn," she recited, "you are currently being tried by the highest court of Dramir. As your legal aide, I implore you to be forthright with me and not to answer questions posed to you by anyone else without my explicit permission. Anyone."

　　"What`s the charge?" Jeremiah asked.

　　Delilah sighed. "They`re drafting the law that you would be accused of violating. By stroke of luck, being a necromancer isn`t illegal. Yet. Right now, you`re being detained on counts of corpse tampering, but I expect the new law will get passed within the next few days so they can find you guilty of the practice of necromancy."

　　Jeremiah was stunned. "They`re creating new laws to prosecute me?"

　　"Yes," said Delilah. "These are unprecedented circumstances, to be sure. The last few days of your trial have been—"

　　"Wait, few days`? How long have I been out?"

　　"A few days," Delilah said matter-of-factly, "I`ve only recently been given permission to end your medical sedation."

　　"There`s a trial going on? Shouldn`t I be there? Shouldn`t I be&giving testimony, or something?"

　　Delilah glared at the ceiling. "Normally yes, but&it`s a mess up there. The prosecution is running rampant, and the judges are letting them get away with it. Suddenly everything is a matter of kingdom security. The entire charade is frankly disgraceful."

　　"So we`re all just killing time until I`m sentenced to death," Jeremiah said. It was the outcome he`d expected, but to drag it out like this was just cruel.

　　Delilah scowled. "Jay, I`m a damn fine legal counselor and I`m working my ass off to make sure that doesn`t happen." She turned to the guards. "I`d like some time alone with my client."

　　One of the guards grinned. "Make it worth our while, and maybe you`ll get it."

　　Delilah`s eyes turned stone cold. "I can make your lives very difficult for a very long time. Can you afford a good attorney? Because if I have to, I`ll make the two of you my pet project for years to come. If you want to avoid that, and I can assure you that you do, all you have to do is walk out the door." She didn`t even look at them as she spoke.

　　"C`mon," muttered the other guard. "Leave em to it." They left, and Delilah`s demeanor relaxed just a little.

　　"Dammit, Jay," she said, "why do you have to make things so difficult? Would it have been so hard for you to just walk away from that fire?"

　　"Sorry this is so inconvenient to you," Jeremiah spat.

　　Delilah glared. "I thought you`d try and be a little more grateful to the person trying to save you from the consequences of your own actions."

　　"My actions?" Jeremiah wanted to scream. "All I did was help people! Would I be here if I made it rain on the fire? If I teleported them outside? If I jumped through a window and carried them out with my bare hands? I`d be a hero. But I made skeletons drag them out, so here I am! Because even saving lives when no one else can isn`t enough for you people!"

　　"You people`? We`re on your side, Jay! Allison`s already taken the stand in your defense. Now everyone knows she conspires with necromancers. She could end up in jail herself! Meanwhile, I`m risking everything I`ve worked for since before you were even born, just to stick my neck out for you. The easiest solution for all of us would have been to let that mob do what mobs do best!"

　　Tiny flecks of spittle fell on his face as she shouted, and the tips of her pointed ears reddened. Jeremiah held her furious gaze for a beat after she`d finished, but his anger crumbled before hers. The news that Allison had publicly defended him shook him to his core. "Sorry," he mumbled.

　　Delilah closed her eyes and recomposed herself. "It`s fine. We`re all under a lot of stress right now. All I need you to do is be patient and don`t talk to anyone else. I might be able to get you a chance to testify, let you humanize yourself a little bit. Right now, the rumor mill is working overtime—people are swearing you started the fire with a fire-breathing zombie dragon."

　　Jeremiah sank onto his cot and rested his chin on his manacled fists. "Thanks for doing this, Delilah. Tell the others thanks too."

　　"I will. Right now, I need to get back to the archives to look for any historical precedent of positive outcomes for necromancers. Are you going to be okay?"

　　"I`ll be fine. Is Gus with you?"

　　Delilah`s face softened as she nodded. "Yes, Gus is staying with me right now. I can tell he`s worried, but he`s a great reading companion." She offered Jeremiah a weak smile. "I`ll be back as soon as I have news, okay? Just hang in there until then."

　　"Now what in the world is a straight laced townie like you doing here?"

　　Jeremiah bolted upright on his cot. A figure in the cell across from his was watching him through the bars. A dream of footfalls and clanging metal suddenly made more sense.

　　"I`m being—oh! Umm." His voice faltered. The woman was gorgeous. She had aristocratic features and shining metallic hair, like countless threads of copper, tossed casually over her shoulders. A scar cut across the right side of her mouth and the tip of one of her elven ears stopped short in a flat plateau, but these imperfections only enhanced her exoticness. Her dark eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and he felt terribly exposed.

　　Her mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

　　"I, uh, committed a crime." Jeremiah winced at his recovery.

　　"No, you didn`t."

　　"What?"

　　"No, you didn`t. You don`t think so anyways. But you didn`t say nothing,` so you still know you did something wrong. You`re wondering if it was worth it. Tell me what you did."

　　"I probably shouldn`t, my counselor said—"

　　"Tell me what you did."

　　Jeremiah snapped his mouth shut. He wondered what the consequences would be of telling her. Could she be a spy? Was she trying to pump him for a confession? He should lie back down and ignore her. Instead, he asked, "Why don`t you tell me about what you did first?"

　　"Theft, and we`re moving on. Tell me what you did."

　　He wanted to tell her. He had been over it in his mind a hundred times, and he ached to talk about it. Under the woman`s expectant gaze, he shoved Delilah`s disapproving face from his mind and told his story. He had intended to dance around the details of how he had participated in the rescue, but he found himself eager to reveal his secret to this stranger, to shake her unflappable demeanor. She didn`t even flinch at his admission.

　　By the time he finished, the intensity of her stare had grown even stronger. "Pretty stupid move, showing your hand like that."

　　"No, it wasn`t," he said firmly.

　　She bristled, leaning closer to the bars. "Obviously it was. You`re in jail now."

　　"That doesn`t make it stupid. Those people needed help, and I was the only one who could help them."

　　"By the time you`re on the headsman`s block, you`ll wish you let the whole city burn."

　　"No, I wont!" Jeremiah sprang to his feet. "I did the right thing! They can`t change that by killing me."

　　Those dark eyes bored into his. Jeremiah resisted the urge to look away, but it was like staring into the sun. When he glanced back, the corners of her lips had twisted up just a little, which did nothing to soften her gaze.

　　"Tell me your name," she said.

　　"No."

　　"I`m Vivica."

　　"Jeremiah Thorn." Why did he say that? He had just said he wouldn`t.

　　"You didn`t do anything wrong, Thorn. You`re a victim of a system obsessed with control. They didn`t own you, so they jailed you. A necromancer that saves lives? People in tall towers are working you into their schemes at this very moment. They won`t let you out until they can control you or kill you."

　　"Thanks, I think. You seem nice, too." Why the hell did I say that?

　　Vivica`s face fractured into a genuine laugh, the touch-and-go smile finally reaching her eyes. Jeremiah wanted very much for that to happen again. "I`m about as far from nice as it gets, but thanks. So, Thorn, how is it you became so eager to do the right thing that you`re willing to die for it?"

　　"I&don`t know? People usually want to do the right thing, don`t they?"

　　Vivica slammed her fist into the bars, making Jeremiah jump. The snap of bones could be heard over the ring of steel. "That`s na飗e bullshit!" She radiated with a fury that prickled his skin, glaring at him with something akin to hatred. Then it passed like a summer squall.

　　"I didn`t mean to scare you," she said, calm as ever. "I just don`t agree, that doesn`t fit my experience. Or yours, for that matter. Why would people trying to do the right thing put you in here?"

　　"I guess&it`s complicated. People make mistakes. They don`t understand what I do, so they`re afraid of me. I knew this was a possibility when I saved that family. I don`t blame anyone."

　　"Your forgiveness is irresponsible." She ran a hand through her hair and flicked it outward. It was longer than Jeremiah had thought. Little spots in her hair reflected torchlight like embers. "You think, deep down, they know the right thing to do, and yet you forgive them anyway. The people who will likely have you killed."

　　"I never said I forgave them. What they`re doing is horrible." But the words felt weak in his throat. Did he forgive them? No, he just understood them. But maybe that was close enough.

　　She ignored his objection. "Can you fight them? Can you kill them? They won`t permit you to be what you are. If you want to live, you need to hate them."

　　"It doesn`t make sense to hate them. I`m a necromancer, they`re afraid of me. But maybe I can show them—"

　　"They`ll never learn from mercy! You have the power to punish them, to protect others like you, but you refuse to hold them responsible. All you`ll get for your trouble is death."

　　"Vivica, I don`t want to punish anybody. I just want them to understand me, just like I understand them. Hating them will be a waste if I`ve got an opportunity to show them."

　　"You`re really serious," said Vivica in a tone somewhere between curiosity and awe. "I didn`t think people like you really existed."

　　Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably. "I`m not sure if you mean that as a compliment or not."A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

　　"Maybe I don`t know either. It was nice meeting you, Thorn." She slipped back onto her cot and turned her back towards Jeremiah.

　　"Wait, your hand is broken. You should wrap it or something."

　　"I`m fine. Go to sleep."

　　Jeremiah woke to the sound of fabric tearing. With nothing else to do, he was becoming an expert napper. Now, his stomach told him it was nearing dinner. He heard the tearing sound again. It was coming from Vivica`s cell.

　　"What are you doing?" He could just barely see her gnawing at the short edge of her blanket.

　　"Tearing up my sheets." She spoke around a mouthful of cloth as she managed to create a split in the threadbare fabric that passed for a blanket.

　　"Why?"

　　"For fun. Now don`t talk until I ask you to."

　　The rebuff stung, but he couldn`t find the strength to answer it. He sat in the dim light, listening to her work the fabric to some mysterious purpose. The lack of stimulation in the prison had sharpened his hearing. A soft wooden scrape from the room outside was particularly interesting, as it meant the guard was fetching dinner.

　　Meals were as monotonous as they were cheap—a bowl of water and a half loaf of bread that Jeremiah had to soak before his teeth could tear it apart. Eating without the use of his hands was complicated and devoid of dignity. His mouth watered in anticipation.

　　The lever on the prison door squeaked as the dwarven guard entered, balancing a pair of meager dinners atop splintery wooden planks.

　　"Get yer slop!" the dwarf said. As he approached Jeremiah`s cell, Vivica leaned against the bars of her cell.

　　"Jailer, we need better food," she said.

　　"Wha?" The guard set Jeremiah`s plank in front of his cell.

　　"We need something substantial. We can`t live on just bread and water. Get us some cheap cheese or some watered-down milk. Something to keep us above starving."

　　The guard whirled on her and stared like she had just thrown ice water in his face. He was an open sore of a dwarf, dirty, ugly, and rotten. His beard was matted and thick, with dreadlocked clumps of greasy hair. Whatever he eaten last always left traces.

　　"Cheese?! You spect me to get you cheese?!" He stamped toward her as he spoke. "Oh, I`d likey love me some cheese, Miss! A nice runny cheese for me, thank you! A lager as well! But I don`t gets no cheese, and I don`t gets no lager! So till I does, I`ll have no prisoner eatin` better than me!"

　　He picked up her ration of bread and bit off a large chunk. It sounded like a stone cracking apart. Then he dropped the loaf, which bounced away as he roughly set the bowl of water in front of Vivica`s cell, a few precious drops sloshing over the edge.

　　"Wantin cheese! Elf nonsense, prisoner cheese is. Spects a bunch of&of those little&round fruit things next she doe-HURK!"

　　The moment his back was turned, Vivica had flicked out a rope of woven blanket strips, wound together tight. It was now cinched shut at the guard`s neck. Vivica yanked him back against the bars and braced her feet against them, using his weight to hold herself up.

　　Jeremiah`s jaw dropped. The guard sputtered and clawed at the rope digging into his throat with one hand, while the other reach toward his boot. Seeing this, Vivica bent backwards almost completely in half, head to heels, maintaining the pressure at the guard`s throat. She snaked a hand between the bars, yanked up his pant leg, and snatched the boot knife hidden there.

　　The jailer`s eyelids were fluttering, his face turning purple. Vivica pressed the knife to his eye and allowed the rope to slacken just a little.

　　"This is mine now. Try to shout, and I strangle you. Try to move, and I take your eye. Tap your right hand against the bars if you understand."

　　The guard was laboring to breathe. He looked to Jeremiah with watering eyes as if the necromancer had some way to help. But he tapped his hand against the bars.

　　"Good. I`m going to give you a little more air for cooperating. If you disobey, I take your air away. Tap if you understand."

　　The rope slackened just a bit more and the jailer took a heaving gasp. He tapped the bars again.

　　"Good. You won`t let a prisoner eat better than yourself, is that what you said?"

　　The guard nodded carefully. His knees were shaking and he flinched with every tiny adjustment of the rope.

　　"Good. Thorn, I think the dwarf has a point. Prisoners shouldn`t eat better than their jailers, should they?" Her intense stare now burned a hole in Jeremiah. He glanced toward the door, waiting for another guard to investigate the commotion, but none came. "Thorn. I asked you a question."

　　"N-no." Jeremiah said. The dwarf`s pleading eyes told him that Jeremiah was as much a part of this now as Vivica was.

　　"No, I don`t think so either." In a flick of her wrist, she replaced the stolen knife with a golden coin. The gold danced over her fingers in front of the dwarf`s face. He trembled as his eyes followed its gleam.

　　"Maybe we need to make sure you eat better then, huh? That way we can eat better too. Would you like to eat better, Mr. Jailer? Would you like that runny cheese and lager? Maybe some nice roasted apples and cinnamon? Or a slug custard? Those are my favorite. Would you like those things, Mr. Jailer?"

　　The guard nodded.

　　"I thought you might! Sounds much better than being strangled, doesn`t it?" He nodded. "Sounds better than lying to me and having to explain what happened to your boss, too. Won`t make you look too good, getting jumped by a prisoner, will it?" He shook his head. "So why don`t we keep this our little secret. Thorn, can you keep a secret?"

　　"I won`t tell anyone. Sounds like they don`t pay their jailers enough."

　　"Clearly not, clearly not. Tell me your name, Mr. Jailer."

　　"Borstonnis," the guard choked out.

　　"Well, Borstonnis, I think we can be friends, can`t we? Friends that keep each other`s secrets?"

　　Borstonnis was getting the measure of things now. His trembling subsided and he watched the coin dance more eagerly. "Aye," he croaked. "Friends."

　　"Wonderful. So, you`ll go buy us some cheap cheese, cheap as it comes, and you can keep all the money that`s left over. Sound good?"

　　"Aye."

　　The rope released and Borstonnis fell forward. He huddled on his knees and drew in coughing, drooling breaths. He stood and turned toward her, his shoulders hunched and his gaze lowered. Vivica dropped the gold coin. It bounced with a metallic tink and settled on her side of the bars. Timid as a kitten, Borstonnis reached through the bars and picked it up. Then he retrieved Vivica`s bread and placed it carefully on her plank before hurrying from the prison.

　　An hour later Borstonnis returned. Jeremiah had sat in silence after eating his bread, unsure whether he was now culpable by association if the guard chose to seek revenge. But Borstonnis merely slunk to Jeremiah`s cell and placed a new plank holding hunk of pale yellow cheese. He set another before Vivica`s cell. Borstonnis sidled away as quickly as he had entered.

　　The cheese was indeed the cheapest of the cheap. It was too soft and was almost tasteless but for a sour tang, but Jeremiah relished it. When he finished, he gathered up his blanket and wadded it as best he could with his bound hands. Then he tossed it toward Vivica`s cell. "You might get cold with your blanket all torn up."

　　She grabbed the corner and hesitated, her fingers rubbing the fabric, then pulled it inside. "Thanks."

　　The next day passed slowly. Jeremiah`s hopes for Delilah`s return faded as the day wore on. His attempts to coax Vivica into conversation became shallow monologues, his questions going unanswered. Borstonnis brought them cheese at both meals, always nudging Vivica`s plate toward her cell like he were feeding a caged beast.

　　In the evening, Jeremiah`s thoughts turned dismal. What if Delilah had been forbidden from visiting him? Would he be woken the next morning by an executioner? Or maybe his sentence was being carried out at this very moment, and would continue to be until he went mad in isolation. Lost in dark imaginings of the cruel punishments that awaited him, Jeremiah started when Vivica spoke as if no time had passed at all.

　　"What good comes of your forgiveness?" she said. "You absolve them of their sins and free them of consequence."

　　"Huh?" asked Jeremiah.

　　"In a way, Thorn, I think you`re right." She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. "People do know what`s right and what`s just self-serving greed."

　　Jeremiah didn`t remember saying that last part, but his response was interrupted by the shriek of metal grinding on stone as Vivica rotated her cot away from the wall. She wedged it instead between the bars and the back wall, where it held fast.

　　"Well-educated people whose decisions create a systematic unending source of pain, depravity, and desperation," Vivica continued. She braced her feet against the bed and pressed her head against the bars.

　　"Vivica, what are you doing?"

　　"Since we`re dealing with people who know the right thing to do, yet choose to do the wrong thing time and time again, such people must be nothing short of monsters!"

　　"Vivica, stop!"

　　Vivica pressed her face against the bars. Then she pushed harder, her features deforming as her skin was squeezed between bar and bone. Her arms bulged with taut, powerful muscle. She began pushing with her legs, hissing with effort as tiny pops from her skull gave way to the crunch of bone breaking.

　　Jeremiah looked on in silent horror as the flesh on Vivica`s face tore. Her eyes bulged out obscenely as their sockets were squeezed and broken. She made no utterance of pain, even when her skull finally caved from the pressure against its sides. A moment later her head hung limp on the other side of the bars.

　　There was a groan of relief. Vivica raised her face to Jeremiah`s and smiled. Aside from the rivulets of blood dripping off her chin, she was completely intact.

　　Jeremiah retreated to the back of his cell, unable to look away. Vivica began pushing again, dislocating her shoulders with two audible pops. Her arms snapped back into position the moment her shoulders were through, and she pushed again. Her ribs broke one after the other, till she was stopped by her hips. She braced her hands against the bars and wrenched her lower body violently. Finally something in her pelvis gave way, and she was out.

　　Vivica climbed to her feet, apparently no worse for wear.

　　Jeremiah`s mouth opened and closed a few times. "Are you okay?" was all he could think to say.

　　"Never better."

　　"What just happened?" He had seen no magic, but what else could it be? Vivica just crushed her own skull and emerged totally unscathed.

　　"You should come with me," Vivica said.

　　"With you?"

　　"I can get you out the same way I did. Come with me, I have people up North. I can give you a better chance than the tyrants here ever will. A necromancer would be welcome with us."

　　"Through the bars&" Jeremiah couldn`t even imagine imitating what he had just witnessed.

　　She nodded sympathetically. "It hurts, but it`s over fast."

　　"I&can`t. Delilah needs me here. If I run, I`m a fugitive. I need to face this."

　　"Thorn, they`re going to kill you. Not right away, they`ll want to use you first, but eventually, when they`ve gotten what they want from you, they`ll kill you. You`re a necromancer."

　　"Maybe, but I think I can fight this. I think with my friends` help, I can be okay."

　　Vivica took a long look at him. "If you get out, I want you to come find us."

　　"Us?"

　　"My people and me. We`re headed this way. You`ll know us when you see us."

　　"Why are you here, really?" Jeremiah asked.

　　Vivica tried to give him a hard look, but it broke into a laugh. Despite everything, Jeremiah was happy to hear it. "I told you. Theft."

　　She motioned him closer to the bars. She had a wicked smile as he leaned towards her and he felt his pulse quicken. She touched his chin and for a thrilling, terrifying moment Jeremiah thought she was going to kiss him. But she turned his head and whispered in his ear, the warmth of her breath standing his hair on end.

　　"Keep what you saw a secret for me? Promise?"

　　"I promise," he said.

　　She walked toward the exit, glancing back at him once before stepping through the door like she was the warden.

　　Jeremiah waited for shouts of alarm or the sound of a scuffle, but none came. Hours passed in silence, and his fear of a tragic resolution to Vivica`s escape dwindled. He even dozed, waking to the arrival of the morning meal.

　　The guard who wasn`t Borstonnis bore two planks of wood with bread and cheese. He set Jeremiah`s food outside his cell, then turned and stared at the emptiness of Vivica`s cell. He glanced around the rest of the cells, then returned to Vivica`s as though staring hard enough would conjure a copper-haired elf, previously hidden by some trick of the light.

　　The guard turned to Jeremiah. "Oi, where`s the girl what was in there?"

　　"Don`t know. Woke up and she wasn`t there. Thought you took her."

　　The jailer yanked on the empty cell`s door and found it locked. He hunkered down to check that Vivica wasn`t clinging from the ceiling, waiting to ambush him. Jeremiah nibbled at his cheese and tried to act disinterested. The jailer set the spare meal on the ground and stepped outside, returning with Borstonnis, who approached the cell cautiously to help stare at it.

　　"She was there, right? Elf girl?" the first guard asked.

　　"Pretty sure she was," said Jeremiah.

　　The guards huddled together and whispered for a minute, then faced Jeremiah. Borstonnis picked up Vivica`s food and held it towards Jeremiah. "Ain`t no girl was in that cell. Not ever. Right?"

　　"What girl?" Jeremiah asked, turning his head like he might spot her.

　　"Good lad." Borstonnis set the plank beside the first and the prison door slammed shut.

　　The supply of cheap cheese continued even after Vivica`s departure. Jeremiah noticed Borstonnis glancing nervously around with each meal delivery, as though he expected the elf`s imminent return. Jeremiah himself awoke several times thinking he could hear her voice in the dark, a whisper at the edge of his hearing, but these were his imagination. Loneliness began to squeeze him as he lost days. Puzzling over his memories of Vivica anchored his mind, keeping him from straying into dark oceans of possibility.

　　Delilah returned late one evening, and Jeremiah nearly wept with relief. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but she exuded energy.

　　"I`ve got good news and bad news," Delilah said. "The bad news is you`ve been found guilty of performing necromancy."

　　"Found guilty?" Jeremiah`s heart sank. He realized he`d been harboring hope after all.

　　"There was no avoiding that one, unfortunately, as you did raise the dead in front of dozens of witnesses. However, we`ve got a chance to make something of this! I`ve convinced them to let us present testimony from circumstantial witnesses, including yourself."

　　"Circumstantial witnesses?"

　　"They can do things like vouch for your character or talk about the events surrounding the crime in general. This testimony won`t overturn a guilty verdict, but it can lessen your sentence."

　　"What kind of sentence are you expecting?" asked Jeremiah. He wondered if she would consider a less gruesome execution a victory at this point.

　　Delilah rubbed the back of her neck. "I really can`t say, there`s a lot going on here that`s without precedent. But Bruno has been pulling every string he has to find witnesses on your behalf, and this is your chance to take the stand and speak for yourself. The judges will listen."

　　Jeremiah took in her disheveled appearance, a far cry from the last time he saw her, and tried to imagine the tireless work she must have put in to achieve even this opportunity. He forced himself to smile. "Thanks Delilah. No matter what happens, thank you."

　　Delilah returned the smile. "The final trial is in two days. I`ll be right there with you. We`re going to get you through this, Jay."

　　Jeremiah looked into her eyes and wished he could believe her.

　　Nights in the prison were inky black stretches of the imagination. Once the torches were extinguished, the rats made their customary rounds, their clawed feet clicking softly across the stone floor. Close, and always seeming to draw nearer. Jeremiah shivered underneath his ragged blanket, just thin enough that he was still uncomfortable against the damp air. His hearing played tricks on him, his own thoughts echoing off the cell walls startling him awake. He scanned the dark for signs of life, unsure if he wanted to find them.

　　It was during one such search, wrenched from a shallow sleep on the night before his trial, that Jeremiah heard a voice in the dark.

　　"I`ve been thinking about what you`ve decided to do. I don`t understand it. You`re putting your neck in the noose. They`ve proven where they stand, what mystery are you trying to solve?"

　　Jeremiah froze, unsure if it was his own sleep sick mind that had spoken out of a dream. He waited, searching in vain for a shape among the shadows deeper than the rest.

　　"Hello? Is someone there?" he asked.

　　The voice had moved, closer now.

　　"They`ll burn you out. Lead you along with hope on a string till you can`t even crawl. Then they`ll profit from every last dying gasp they can whip from you."

　　Jeremiah knew that voice. "Vivica?" He crossed his cell, arms outstretched, until he felt the bars and tilted his head to listen. Was she back in her cell?

　　"You want to give them a chance, is that it? Yet another chance to do the right thing? You don`t owe them that."

　　"Wait, how did you get out before? Where are you going?" He had so many questions for her, but as they jostled for priority, he scattered them.

　　He leapt away from the bars as Vivica`s voice shouted at him from the dark. The bars of his cell rattled.

　　"They`ve already failed, Thorn! They`ve devoured a thousand people just like you, and they`re always hungry for more. How many more chances do we give them? How many more people do we throw in the grinder in the hopes that it will sate their appetite?"

　　"I don`t know! I can`t control what anyone else does, I just know what I have to do. And I trust my friends. They`re my best chance to get out of this."

　　"I don`t understand you, Thorn. But for your sake, I hope you`re right."

　　The prison door`s hinges screeched, admitting a dim ray of light. Jeremiah winced, anticipating the earsplitting slam of the heavy door. But the sound never came.