He slept restlessly. At three, he heard voices outside and someone messing with his door. Was it…? His stomach clenched, and he reached for the hat on his nightstand and pulled it over his head just as the door burst open. Three enforcers rushed through the door and surrounded him, yanking him from his bed and throwing him on the floor. He could only think one thing: just keep the damn hat on.

“You lied about going to a chronicle study. What else did you lie about?” Dorcas’s father entered the room.

“I didn’t lie!” Illius protested, clutching his head, well aware his hands were shaking. “I just got a headache, so I didn’t end up going.”

“Mark!” the enforcer bellowed, and another one came in, holding an odd instrument that looked like a complicated spyglass. They measured magical aptitude—he had avoided them his entire life, terrified of what they might find.

The man looked through it. “He definitely has it.”

“Has what?” Illius huffed, struggling to breathe while the enforcer knelt on his back.

“Congrats, kid,” Dorcas’ father said. “Looks like the Allfather has chosen you to fight in his holy army.” He turned to the other enforcers. “Get him over to the facility on 45th Street. This’ll be a nice little bag for us.”

“Wait!” Illius protested. “You can’t do this! I have a job, and—”

“We’ll let your employer know,” Dorcas’ father assured him. “He’ll be compensated.”

“But you can’t just take me against my will—”

“It’s the Allfather’s will.” The other man looked down his nose at him.

“It’s your interpretation of his will!” Illius struggled. He couldn’t let them take him. If they found out, they’d kill him.

“Are you questioning me, boy?” the enforcer shouted.

What was worse? Getting taken to the institution or dying right here and now? “No.” He lowered his head. “I trust the Allfather.” He didn’t. This would kill him in the long run—he just knew it.

The enforcers handcuffed him and hauled him down three flights of stairs to throw him in the back of an enforcer wagon. He landed on his elbow and winced, the cold wooden surface scraping open his skin.

The wagon drove a while, and his teeth clattered as he felt every rickety bump on the road. A few minutes passed—the wagon went still. Then they hauled him out. He stared at the facility before him. Floodlights lit up a massive wrought iron fence lined with guards who stood perfectly square, devoid of any emotion. These weren’t enforcers—this was the military. Enforcers wore vests and often couldn’t use magic without runes. Military personnel seldom carried physical weapons, able to materialize magical ones with a thought. Beyond the entrance, monolithic brick buildings loomed around a foggy courtyard. The cold red bricks must have been shipped in specially for this compound, which stood in stark contrast to the warm timbers of Debendorf.

“Come on.” An enforcer shoved him past the guards and into the facility. The door clanged shut behind them, and every hope of escape faded.