Syril panicked, turning towards his uncle, mentally preparing to find his uncle charred beyond recognition.

But his uncle was unharmed; his tweed suit as unwrinkled as it was when he arrived; he stared blankly at the guard, “You missed.”

Syril tried to push his uncle down the hallway and through the double door. He needed to get out of the school before that thing had enough time to charge up again; he was sure they wouldn’t get lucky again.

But a calm voice sang out from the classroom, “Jerard, you should know as well as anyone that guards don’t miss.”

the guard snapped to attention, holstering his weapon. And Syril, who was still on a very intense rollercoaster of emotions, half-thought – half expected to have imagined the voice, another stop on the crazy train of Syril.

But as he looked towards his uncle, whose gaze moments ago was enough to burn air, he was shocked to find him white with fear, his eyes wide and mouth open.

The voices origin stepped out from within the classroom; she was short but stocky, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black singlet covered by a golden chest plate ordained with the carvings of a burning tree. What skin was visible was covered in layers of old and whitened scars. Her brown hair was neatly tied into a bun, and a long scar ran from her right eyebrow to her lower lip.

She smiled at the duo, “How long has it been, sweetie?”

He turned toward his paralysed uncle, hoping for any explanation, but in a whisper only Syril could hear, his uncle croaked, “Vanessa.”

“Jerard.” She walked towards them; with each step echoing Syril felt his pulse quicken.

That distant voice screamed at him again.

“And is this the boy I’ve heard lots about?” the woman looked around, “Where’s the second one?”

His uncle’s mouth again opened and closed, “he’s um… well, he’s, you know-”

“He was sent to the Wigston mines; he’s in the scouting regiment,” Syril interjected, sure he now needed to rescue his uncle from whatever ailment now plagued him.

“Oh, he does speak! Well, how wonderful for me,” Vanessa’s eyes were wide with excitement; her malicious smile lined her face, “so why don’t you tell me what happened? Please spare no detail; we need to know what or who you saw.”

Her smile was unwavering; she reminded Syril of a predator moments before catching its prey, focused yet gleefully excited for the meal to come.

He shuddered.

“Why can’t you just check the cameras?” his uncle asked, awakening from his shock-induced stupor.

“We aren’t morons, Jerard, we checked that…” she paused, looking at the guard, “You did check that, right?”

Syril held his breath; he forgot about cameras.

“Yes, we did, ma’am, someone turned them off” the guard stared at Syril, his anger barely contained within a farce of civility.

“So, someone turned them off.”

He didn’t want to take the bait; she was goading him, trying to make him angry.

It was working.

Righteous fury rose like a kettle on the verge of boiling; they needed to apply any amount of common sense to this situation. He was a five-foot-eleven kid who hadn’t even reached selection age yet; Seabright was a godsdamn half-orc who’d fought in wars older than the city itself; how the hell could he even hurt him, let alone kill him?

He gripped the watch in his pocket; anger rushed through him like an uncontrollable river; the dam containing the white-hot fury was close to crumbling. 

Tik

Tok

Again, the rhythm exploded through his mind like a starved animal, its mechanical choir deafening the world around him. It had become a lightning rod for his anger. He squeezed it tighter and tighter, feeling the fear and anguish that had plagued him over the last few hours grow more potent.

His uncle stared; concern in his eyes, “Syril….”

But Syril wasn’t listening, his head was foggy again, and he felt the dam inside him bend with the force of his anger; the questions were swirling around him in a vortex of confusion. Why him, why did it happen to him? Why would his brother do this? All for a stupid watch?

“I didn’t kill him!” Syril’s eyes were stinging now, the sound of the watch pounded its thunderous metronome, “and it’s crazy you think I did! What because I passed out in front of the door? Wow, what a great murderer I must be; I kill a professor but can’t make it fifty feet from the door to make my escape?”

His voice was venomous as he held up his hands, “you should cuff me now before I kill again.”

Vanessa stared at him; the missing eye only exacerbated her ability to glower. Syril stared back, his chest burned with anger, his eyes wide and furious. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding within his chest.

He soon realised that Vanessa was not looking at his face but instead where his hands still lay suspended in front of him, the right of which was grasped tightly to the watch.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, Syril. You’ve had a long day.”

His uncle placed a hand on the small of his back, harshly guiding him back towards the exit, “it was a pleasure as always, Vanessa. We will be down to the station tomorrow to...”

Another guard stepped out from behind the door, blocking their exit.

“I think it’s better he comes with us, Jerard.” she was slowly walking towards the pair, her eyes fixated on the watch in Syril’s hand.

His uncle grasped tightly to the back of Syril’s jacket, pulling him closer to the wall and away from the larger guard in front of the door. Vanessa and the two guards were inching closer, drawing their weapons.

“Don’t do this, Vanessa”, his uncle pleaded.

“I don’t have a choice.” Vanessa was now staring at Syril, her face greedy.

She tapped her collar bone, and he watched as a series of runes on her body glowed a vibrant white one after the other, “we’ll take good care of him.”

“Like you took care of Seabright?”

Vanessa ignored the question. Instead, she drew a pair of black handcuffs from her belt; Syril noticed the glow of several more runes carved into the chain.

“This isn’t how we deal with these things, Vanessa; please listen to reason.”

They were pushed into the very corner of the hallway now, all hope of escape dashed.

Syril looked frantically around and felt his heart sink. At the end of the hallway, more guards were pushing through the wall that held back the crowd; shock sticks were drawn and pointed at the pair.

They were cornered in every sense of the word; it was his fault; if he’d just remained calm and not flown off the handle, they could have been walking out of here.

“Jerard I’m sorry.”

Syril felt bile rise in his throat. No, this couldn’t be happening.

“You always did suck, Vanessa.”

She smiled.

Syril closed his eyes as the hallway exploded into blindingly blue light.