The next time Anara came, she didn't bring a clipboard.
She leaned against the wall of Opal's cell, arms crossed, golden eyes scanning the floor like she was looking for words she didn't usually say.
"You've been quiet," Anara finally said.
Opal didn't reply.
Anara sighed and pushed off the wall. "I'm not here to interrogate you. Actually, I thought you might want company that doesn't growl or glow."
Opal gave a tired laugh. "You glow."
"Only when I'm mad," Anara smirked. Then, more quietly: "You're not the first girl I've seen end up in this cell, you know."
Opal looked up. "So what happens to them?"
Anara didn't answer right away. Instead, she sat beside her on the cold cot, letting the silence stretch.
"I want you to know something," she said finally. "I'm not one of them. Not a vampire. Not a werewolf. Not even a witch."
Opal frowned. "Then what are you?"
"Human. Just like you."
The answer stunned her. "But… you work for them."
Anara nodded, eyes distant. "Yeah. I've got no claws, no mind-reading powers, no dark blood magic. All I've got is years of training, scars, and a sharp aim. And the only reason I'm still breathing is because I do what I'm told."
"Why?" Opal asked.
Anara gave a bitter smile. "Because they pay me. Because they protect me from the things they don't protect other people from. Because I thought if I stuck around long enough, maybe I'd matter in some way that counted."
She paused, brushing a hand through her dark hair.
"But lately… I don't know. I've seen horrible things. Heard worse. Sometimes I wish I'd walked away when I had the chance."
Opal's voice was barely a whisper. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I don't think you're a monster, Opal," Anara said gently. "I think you're scared. Broken in places that still bleed. But that doesn't make you evil."
Opal's throat tightened.
"You ready?" Anara asked after a moment, standing. "It's time."
As the steel door opened, Anara didn't step through first. She waited for Opal, then walked beside her.
The hallway was long and narrow, lit by low red lights that buzzed like insect wings. They took a turn, then a ramp downward.
Then they entered the holding wing.
Immediately, the air changed—thicker, fouler, heavy with the scent of wet earth, blood, and rot. Thick bars lined either side of the corridor behind them…
Opal's stomach flipped.
Crocottas—werewolf-like beasts with human voices, murmuring twisted versions of things she'd once said in her childhood voice.
Sirens—chained, their eyes black as oil, mouths sewn shut.
Familiars—witch-bonded creatures—watched silently, their skin stretched too tight, eyes too wide.
And vampires.
Some hissed. Others were utterly still, their mouths stained and empty.
Opal pressed closer to Anara.
"They're used as attack or guard dogs," Anara said softly. "Sometimes they're sent out to stalk targets, collect intel. Sometimes… just to kill. Or to kidnap."
Opal's voice shook. "How do they control them?"
Anara didn't answer for a long moment.
"No one knows. Not even me. Only the Jury. But they always come back. Always do what they're told. That's the kind of power these people have."
As they walked, one of the vampires reached through the bars, fingertips brushing Opal's arm.
She jerked away.
Anara grabbed her shoulder, firmly. "Don't let them touch you. Or smell you too long. If they catch your scent, they'll remember it. And they don't forget."
They kept walking.
More cages. More inhuman stares. More things she didn't have a name for.
Anara leaned close. "Whatever you do in there, Opal—don't stop walking. Don't freeze. Don't flinch. And don't let them see your fear."
Then they reached the iron doors at the end of the corridor.
Beyond them was the chamber of the Jury.
Anara turned to her one last time. "When you step through these doors, you're not a mother. You're not a student. You're not even human to them. You're the accused. Walk like you know who you are, even if you're terrified."
Opal swallowed hard.
She nodded.
The doors groaned open—and the trial began.