Although Storm wanted to bring Hal to the hospital and get him checked out, he begged off. It was somehow more important to him to go and see Art in prison, as Storm planned to do. She tried to get him to stay behind, but if Hal was anything, he was immensely stubborn. In the end, she agreed, and the two prepared to take Art's van to the jail.

It was as Hal was sitting in the passenger seat that a familiar girl came running out. "Hal! Storm!" Diana yelled, grabbing Hal's door and keeping him from closing it. "Where are you going? What's happened?"

For some weird reason, Storm looked uncomfortable. "It's alright," she attempted. "Nothing's wrong, nothing's happened."

Diana scowled. "Storm, I can read minds. Why is Art in jail? What's he done?"

"He punched Guardian in the face," Storm mumbled. "Nobody knows the specifics."

Diana put her hand over her mouth, turning a light shade of green. "I have to go with you," she insisted, climbing into the back. "It's my fault."

Hal's eyebrows shot up. "How is what Art's fist did your fault?"

"Last night," was the only thing Diana would say. On that cryptic note, Storm started the van and drove off. Hal was lulled both by Storm's much-calmer approach to driving and his lack of sleep the previous night, and dropped off. His dreams were confused and frightening, and he wasn't upset when Storm shook him awake.

"We're here," Storm told him, indicating the metal prison in front of them. It seemed to have copied all the old jails—bars on the windows, short, squatty. Hal rubbed his eyes, yawning, trying to banish his dreams from his mind. Art had been chasing him, trying to punch him in the face. Golly, my dreams are messed up.

He silently followed Storm and Diana into the front room of the jail. A bored-looking woman sat there, rolling a pencil back and forth along the metal desk. Two halls branched off behind her—one was the women's side of the jail, the other, the men's. The dimly-lit building was empty of both furnishings and other people, aside from the desk and the brown-haired woman.

Storm marched up to the desk and slammed her palm into the bell. She was so enthusiastic that the "ring bell for service" sign flew off the desk. The woman looked up with a frown. "Yes?" she said irritably.

Storm crossed her arms. "I want to see my husband."

"Please specify," the woman said.

If Hal had been the woman at the desk, he wouldn't have pushed Storm. However, Storm gave a deep breath and let it out in a huff, probably to inform the woman that she most certainly wasn't pleased. When she spoke, though, her voice was calm enough. "Arthur Brendan, code-named Eagle."

The woman made a show of typing on her computer for what felt like hours. Hal's palms felt itchy while he waited in growing annoyance, but he didn't think anything of it until Diana nudged his mind with hers. "Cool it, Hal!" he clearly heard in his head.

He glanced down and saw flames licking at his fingertips. Fighting down panic, he forced the fire to be doused and shifted uncertainly. Hopefully they would teach him to control it soon.

Finally, the woman seemed to get tired of her mind games. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Brendan, but Eagle is currently in solitary confinement."

"W-what?" Storm clenched her fists behind the desk. "You can't be serious. You can't be serious at all."

"I'm afraid I am. Guardian has ordered him to be locked in solitary confinement until further notice. If you have an issue with it, than you should take it up with him." The woman tapped a key on her computer, evidently closing the window. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Brendan."

Although Storm's face was bright red, she restrained herself and said nothing else. Instead, she turned sharply on her heel and marched out of the jail furiously, leaving Diana and Hal to trail along behind her. He could tell how bad a mood she was in when she slammed the door shut with the force of some kind of a behemoth.

Hal scrambled into the front seat, concerned that she would leave them behind in her fury. Diana was seconds behind him, sitting in the back. "Storm—"

"That conceited, arrogant idiot!" she snapped, interrupting Diana. "How could he ... what was he thinking?"

Hal wasn't quite sure who she was talking about. "Erm ... Guardian or Art?" he asked tentatively.

"Both," Storm snapped, trying to jam the key into the ignition and missing. She nearly snapped it in half. "Art has served Guardian faithfully for years. But I can't understand what Guardian could've said to him that would make him punch him in the face!"

Diana shifted awkwardly behind them, and Hal looked at her quizzically. She made a negative gesture with her hand and timidly touched Storm's shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be figured it out soon," she said. "Guardian won't let Art rot in solitary confinement for too long."

"You think so, hm?" Storm snapped. "Art spent his first four months in Haven bouncing in and out of jail. I don't want a repeat of that situation." She finally got the key into the ignition and turned it, starting the van.

"Where are we going? To talk to Guardian?" Hal kind of wanted to see a Guardian-Storm confrontation.

However, the super's words dashed that hope. "Of course not. If I go now, chances are that I'll sock him too," she said. "I'm bringing the two of you back to the School and going to my house to cool off. After that ... I don't know."

Hal sighed, slouching back against the seat. "Solitary confinement seems a little extreme," he said. "Particularly considering that he's been Guardian's favorite for a while. Hasn't he been?"

"It doesn't make sense, unless ..." Storm trailed off, her hands gripping the wheel, though they hadn't started moving yet. "Never mind."

"Unless Guardian doesn't want Art to spill some kind of a secret," Diana put in.

Storm sent Diana a scowl. "Don't get any ideas, Diana. This is between me, Art, and Guardian. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

The younger girl pulled back, though she looked furious. Hal decided it would be in his best interest to not mess with either of them at the moment. Both looked ready to spit fire, and he'd had quite enough of that in the past few days. He sat back in his seat as Storm roared off, driving as crazily as Art. Just before they veered around the corner, Hal looked back at the jail, hoping that Art would be out of jail soon.

. . . . . . . . . .

The door to Ivy's cell swung open, and she glanced up, expecting Art. What she was not expecting was Guardian, his eye blackened, to slam the door shut behind him. "You," he seethed, glaring at her.

Ivy cocked her head, maintaining an expression of disinterest as she looked at him. "Hello, Guardian," she said at last. "Can I help you?"

The man looked furious. He raised his hand, as if considering slapping her, but lowered it slowly. "You spoke to Eagle, didn't you."

Ivy shrugged. "I did."

The noncommittal answer didn't seem to satisfy Guardian. "What did you say to him?"

Ivy smirked. "Do you really expect me to remember every single thing we said?" she questioned. "I don't have perfect memory. You know what does? Security cameras. Why don't you consult them?"

"I prefer to hear things straight from the source," Guardian said calmly. "I would advise you to start remembering."

Ivy shrugged again, her chains clanking. "No."

Guardian's face darkened. "Why do you resist? I have the power to save your life."

"But you won't," Ivy replied. "Because I know too much, don't I? The deals you've made ... the people you've let in here ... your world is created around a lie. And you can't let me out, can't let me live to tell anyone that. So I may as well defy you before I go."

Guardian slammed his fist into her face. Ivy fell backwards, feeling her nose snap beneath the force of his blow. She coughed wetly, lying flat on her back. Guardian kicked her in the side. "That pain will be nothing compared to the crushing water surrounding you, the feeling of your lungs collapsing," he whispered, standing over her. "The realization that you will never breathe again. The sun being so close, and yet ... so far."

Ivy forced herself to sit up, cupping one hand over her broken nose. Blood seeped through her fingers, dripping down her face. "What will you do with Eagle?" she demanded, feigning indifference to her own fate.

"Either erase his memories ... or arrange an accident."

Ivy glared at him from behind her hand. "Blast you," she snapped.

He grabbed her around the throat, lifting her up off the ground. "I will not allow anything to threaten the peace and safety of Haven," he snarled at her.

"Even ... if it's ... a lie?" she gasped out.

Guardian dropped her, and she landed awkwardly on her ankle. "Even then," he answered. He went to the door but stopped, turning back slightly to look at her. "By the way, Ivy, you'll be glad to know that your time of waiting is nearly over. Your execution has been boosted up to two days from now, and you'll be able to spend your last days of life in solitary, thinking about what you've done and begging for forgiveness." He marched out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

It was only when Ivy was sure that he was gone that she let her tears fall. She covered her face with her hands, the salty tears mingling with the sweet-smelling blood on her face.