The Scrys leader beckons Talia to follow him outside, back into the cool night air. The other Scrys, she notices, have moved away from the hut and into the rippling fields on the other side of the worn dirt road. They stand in a wide circle like dark sentinels amidst the silver-tinged grass. From each of their palms small flames hover, flickering in the wind—the same power June displayed earlier.

It feels eerie and strange. Once again something out of a dream.

Talia forces her feet to move, swallowing down her fear and apprehension as she is directed to the center of the circle. She can barely make out the faces of the robed men around her, and she clenches her hands into fists at her sides, reminding herself that she cannot fight them all.

Polo taught her to pick her battles wisely.

“Whenever you are ready, Keeper,” the Scrys leader says.

Talia wants him to stop calling her that. She wants to run. She wants to wake up on that street back home and find Polo waiting for her.

Instead, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. They want to see her “elemental abilities,” which must mean the earth that moved with her earlier and the wind that she summoned in the hut.

But … she has no idea how to conjure them. Both of those times she’d been desperate, disorientated, reaching for something instinctive that she doesn’t have a name for.

She tries to find it again: that ancient thing sleeping somewhere in her ribcage. She can feel a hint of a spark, a rumble of power, a whisper of her name.

She raises her hands like she did when she first arrived in this mysterious village, plants her feet, and wills the earth to shift. Talia opens her eyes.

Nothing.

The Scrys leader frowns at her. “Again,” he insists.

Forcing back her frustration, Talia shifts her stance and focuses on the wind instead. She can hear it rustling through the grass, tugging on the ends of her clothes. Once again she tries to grasp on to it—direct it on a different path. She feels her hair ruffle and opens her eyes

Once again nothing—just a passing breeze

Okay. Time to try something else.

She reaches inside of herself for that strange spark, for that presence beyond herself that is somehow beneath her skin. She pictures fanning it into a flame, attempting to recreate whatever she did when she forced the healers away from her.

But there is no fire, no roar, and no elemental powers manifest.

Know when it’s time to accept defeat and learn from it , Polo’s voice murmurs in her head and Talia opens her eyes and breathes a sharp sigh.

“I can’t,” she grits out. “I don’t know how.”

The Scrys around her exchange clearly disappointed, apprehensive glances before the leader clears his throat and steps forward, out of their strange circle.

“That’s alright,” he assures her—his tone much warmer than it was in the tent. “With proper training and guidance, I am sure we will be able to unlock your abilities. You will be as powerful as all the Keepers who have come before you.”

Keepers before me? Talia shakes her head, backing up a step. “I just want to go home.”

Back to Earth, back to where things make sense and she’s just Talia—not some long-lost Chosen One in a real-life fantasy story.

“This is your home,” the Scrys leader insists. “This is where you belong.”

“You’re wrong,” Talia fires back. She eyes the circle of Scrys still surrounding them and the woods beyond, wondering if she can make a break for it. “I’m not your Keeper, I’m not from this world. There’s been some kind of mistake.”

“You have the amulet,” another Scry chimes in, “that is no mistake.”

This was just a birthday gift, Talia wants to say. Polo gave it to me.

But then she remembers the fear in the healer’s eyes at the mention of Polo’s name. She remembers Polo herself on the stoop of her apartment with shadows on her face—all the things that went unsaid.

All this time, did she know that Talia was from a different world? Had some sort of grand destiny? Then why wouldn’t she have—

Talia closes the door on that train of thought, afraid of where it might lead. Polo is still the only one she can trust right now.

The Scrys leader is still regarding her with a imperious gaze. “You will come with us back to headquarters,” he says. “We will sort everything out there. Your past and your future and exactly how you came to be here.”

Talia doesn’t want to go anywhere with them, but they clearly outnumber her. Once again, she doesn’t seem to have a choice. She fights down the urge to search for June amidst the shadowed faces around her. Just because he’s apparently Polo’s son doesn’t mean he’s going to be an ally. She’s on her own.

And that’s never stopped her before.

“Fine,” she relents, speaking as though she is granting a request and not caving to a demand. “Let’s go.”

The Scrys lead the way back to the road—still illuminating the path using the flames blooming from their palms—and she watches as one of them stops to thank the healers.

“This way,” June says, materializing next to her. He gestures to what looks like a carriage, pulled by … are those giant birds?

As they get closer, Talia is able to confirm that yes, they are giant black birds with sharp beaks and brilliantly colored tails. They look like a strange cross between a peacock, an ostrich, and a raven, and Talia decides that she’s too overwhelmed to process it right now.

Giant birds, why not?

She climbs into the carriage, huddling against the side as June takes a seat next to her. “Where are we going?” she asks. The Scrys leader mentioned “headquarters” but she has no idea what that actually means.

“Back to the capitol,” June explains. “However, it’s too far to travel in a night, so we’ll be stopping at an outpost in a few hours.” He fixes her with what she thinks is meant to be a reassuring look, but is too severe to pass for one. “I suggest you get some rest if you can. It’ll be a big day tomorrow.”

As if it wasn’t a big day today.

Talia opens her mouth to ask what exactly June means by that, but before she can there is a shout from somewhere outside and the carriage lurches into motion, carrying them off into the night. The birds don’t fly, which is honestly a relief, but they still move at surprising speed. Talia stares out at the dark blur of trees and fields, dotted with occasional lights that must be towns or villages. The glow of the moon is too golden, not the silver she’s used to, and she tries hard to brace herself for what might be waiting on the road ahead.