Max Smith. Abigail Newman. Olivia Richmond. Three people, three tragic stories, three cases that aren’t going to work. Max’s family were desperately poor, often missing meals because they couldn’t afford food. Abigail was in an accident as a child which left her with ugly scars, and her schoolmates relentlessly bullied her for it. Olivia lost her home and her parents to a violent summer storm and spent a month living on the streets.

  Max hid his magic out of fear for how he would be treated, and used it to steal food for his family. When he was caught in the act by a shopkeeper, he destroyed the entire shop in a Malaina episode. He confessed everything and showed remorse after, but the thefts and the shopkeeper’s death and the hiding of his power counted against him. He wasn’t given a chance at redemption.

  I don’t think he deserved to die. He was just a desperate boy, doing what he could to help his family, who lost control for a single crucial moment. But I don’t know if that argument would stand up in court, not against the death of someone who had done nothing wrong.

  Abigail, I have to admit, had to die. She murdered two classmates in her initial episode, and then escaped custody and went back to kill three more before she was stopped. There’s some debate about whether she was already mala sia. What Electra once called class one: Malaina who embrace their power and its full destructive potential, let themselves lose control. It’s a sobering reminder that some Malaina really do become monsters. That however oppressive the laws may be, they are there for a reason.

  As for Olivia, her case is rejected as soon as I see the name of her killer on the first page of the file. Electra James.

  I knew already. She as good as admitted it to me. But something about seeing it written down makes it seem more real.

  Electra killed this girl. Because she thought there was no other choice, that she would inevitably become mala sia. I trust her judgement in that, if I trust anyone’s. Reading any more of the file than I have would be a waste of time.

  I turn the page anyway.

  Electra’s account is very different from any of the others I’ve read. Instead of simply recounting the facts of the case, she speculates on why events unfolded as they did. How Olivia’s month spent on the streets changed her, taught her a way of surviving that was very different to the way to live in normal society. Adapting to life in the Academy after that would be hard for anyone, Malaina or not.

  Olivia was angry. She resented the authorities for how they’d done nothing to help her in the immediate aftermath of the storm, and saw Electra and the other teachers as part of the system that had allowed that. And she struggled to make friends with the other students, not being used to the dynamics of teenage friendship. So she was isolated.

  One of the most reliable trends I have observed over my years working with Malaina, Electra writes, is that this isolation is rarely a good sign. But her attempts to fix this met with repeated failure and passive episodes of ever-increasing frequency. Olivia became more and more of a social outcast as her condition worsened.

  Bullying Malaina is the height of foolishness. As anyone has ever worked with teenagers could tell you, that does not prevent certain people from doing that. And as a teacher, preventing bullying is far from easy. Most of the time you can do little more than eliminate the more overt forms. The tragic results were inevitable; I was fortunate to be able to prevent casualties.

  Unlike with me, no-one filed charges against Olivia for the incident. But Electra still made the decision to isolate Olivia from the rest of the student body, the same way I was isolated. Maybe she stayed in the same room I did. The thought is chilling: we were at the same point once, Olivia and I. Except I recovered and regained my freedom, while she…

  She did not take to it well. In her mind, she had done nothing wrong. Just struck back at the people who’d been hurting her for weeks. I’m not sure she was even wrong about that. But she was furious with Electra for imprisoning her as she did.

  None of my arguments to the contrary had any impact on her. I suppose she found it difficult to believe I intended to help her; I can hardly blame her for that. But she had three active episodes over one week while I was present. I could tell she was slipping further into the grasp of Malaina, and there was nothing I could do to prevent that.

  With regret I acknowledged that only two conclusions remained to her story, and that while both were tragic one would at least prevent her being an agent of tragedy for others.

  Electra’s words paint a vivid picture of her. She considered this a personal failure. Perhaps to some extent it was. She blamed herself for Olivia’s death, but not for the act of killing itself. For letting things get to the point where she had no alternative.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I feel the need to talk to her about it. To understand the details that weren’t put on paper, to understand how she’s capable of making that kind of decision.

  To understand if she thinks of me in the same way she thought of Olivia. If she ever contemplated killing me. If she still would, if she deemed it necessary.

  I know the answer to that last question, really.

  “Tallulah?”

  For a moment I think the woman’s voice belongs to Electra. It would be just like her to watch me reading that file without letting me know she was there. But of course she’s not here. I drag my gaze away from Electra’s closing words with an effort and look up to see Tara standing in the doorframe. She looks as if she’s posing for a portrait; it would be a beautiful portrait.

  “Yes?” I say.

  “We’re having a mid-morning break. There’s tea brewing, and I found some biscuits for everyone to share. Would you like to join us?”

  My thoughts are still caught up in what I’ve been reading. It takes me a few seconds to process Tara’s offer and that I’m expected to respond to it. “Yes,” I say once I’ve done that. Because I could use a break right now. There’s only so much of reading these files that I can take at once.

  It’ll be awkward, though. But I can cope with awkward. I stack the papers neatly on the desk in front of me and get to my feet.

  We gather in my dad’s office. Jamie is still manning the reception desk (though Tara delivers him a mug of tea and a few biscuits regardless) which makes things a lot easier. Being in a room with someone who doesn’t want you there is never pleasant, even when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.

  Conversation is focused on work, as I expected. Simon has been in meetings for two hours. He explains without stating openly that he’s frustrated with a particular client who’s insisting on pursuing a case they’re sure to lose. My dad and Tara seem to agree with the sentiment.

  After Tara caught him up on what he missed yesterday, they worked together on preparing for a hearing this afternoon, which they’ve nearly finished doing.

  “Just in time,” Simon says. “Glad you’re working together so efficiently.” Am I imagining the knowing look in his eyes as he says that? I hope I am.

  Updates done, they plan for the afternoon. I feel out of place with nothing to contribute, so focus on nibbling my biscuit and not distracting them. My dad is going to the hearing, which begins at two after noon and will probably last two or three hours.

  There’s a debate about whether it’s worth Tara accompanying him. She’s neutral; my dad is against it, but Simon suggests it may be a good idea because two minds are better than one. I realise from the slight edge to my dad’s tone as he replies that his stated reason might not be his actual reason. If I’m reading things correctly, Simon is worried that my dad is distracted by personal matters and his work is suffering as a result. I hope he’s wrong, because if his work is suffering then it's my fault.

  “If you’re sure you’ll manage just as well alone, then,” Simon concedes after a minute or two. “And Tara, if that works for you?”

  “I’m always happy to have another few hours to deal with some of the endless paperwork,” Tara replies, smiling as ever. “I’m afraid that means I’ll be needing my office back for the rest of the day, Tallulah. But we can both work there together, if you’d be okay with that?”

  “Tallulah’s staying here while I’m away, is she?” my dad asks.

  “Sorry,” says Tara, realising her misstep. “I just assumed she’d be sticking around for the whole day.”

  My dad shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Tallulah, it’s up to you whether you want to stay here or go back to the apartment. You do know your way back on your own?”

  “Yes.” Maybe. The streets of Crelt are less of a maze than those of Ryk, and I know the general direction, so I’m reasonably sure I could make it back without too much difficulty. “I’d prefer to stay here, though – if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, Tara?”

  “Of course. I like company while I’m working.”

  I just can’t face going back to an empty apartment and sitting there alone reading through these case files. And I’m still hoping that I will find the case I need today and I’ll be able to present it to Simon. My dad is probably hoping that doesn’t happen, actually, which would explain… I fight to avoid grimacing at the thought.

  “That’s settled, then,” says Simon briskly. “Any of you see the papers this morning?”

  My dad shakes his head, but Tara nods. I haven’t seen the papers either. Until a couple of days ago they were a part of my breakfast routine with Edward, but now they’re not. I feel a familiar stab of worry: is there something about me? Or Edward?

  “The King and the Prime Minister are appointing new ministers for when the new government takes office after Holy Days,” Tara explains. “Mostly things are staying the same, but a couple of notable new faces. Most relevantly to us, Edwin Foster as Minister for Justice.” She’s still smiling, but there’s a tightness to it that suggests she is not a fan of Edwin Foster.

  I can see why. He’s an arch-traditionalist with a reputation as a controversial figure. Deliberately so, some argue. Many of his statements seem designed more to provoke outrage than anything else.

  “Any new policy announcements from the Ministry?” my dad asks, an edge to his voice.

  “Not yet, thankfully,” says Simon. “But we’ll have to keep an eye on that.”

  I want to ask how he became a minister in the first place, but it’s obvious after a few seconds’ thought: his party is in coalition now, they must have demanded ministries as a price of that arrangement.

  Silence follows, filled only with the noise of biscuits being crunched somewhat louder than necessary. I wonder if I should say something, but I’m not quite sure what to say, and conscious once more of how out of place I am here. Why did I agree to this break again?

  Right. I need a distraction from thinking about Olivia, and Electra. Plus the tea is excellent, and the biscuits are pretty nice as well.

  My dad drains the last of his tea and sighs. “Back to work, I suppose?”

  “Back to work,” Simon agrees. “Do we want a slightly early lunch so you have time to get to the courthouse?”

  “If everyone else is okay with that, it would be good. Shall we say twelve after noon?”

  That proposal is agreed to, and with that back to work we go.