THE BRIDGE WAS OLD.  The bridge's light brown, centuries old wood looked like it could crumble to dust in an instant. Not even the glorious sunrise and blue waters below could make the bridge look more inviting.

It wasn't wide enough for cars, and walking along the bridge felt dangerous. Elliot could hear the warning bells. He imagined the wood snapping, an empress tripping, and three sort-of friends falling to their death.

What a great start to the day, Elliot thought.

He leaned against the front of the black car. Elliot's mind raced with memories of that awful dream. He stood in a ballroom and watched Valencia dance with the man who almost killed her, but Elliot couldn't move to help. And then it was Valencia who was sinking, disappearing from his grasp.

And the kiss.

It felt so real he was embarrassed to look Valencia in the eye. Elliot's dream self made a dangerous decision that he can't take back. But maybe Elliot, in his most truest form, wanted that kiss. Wanted that electric, magnetic energy. But the fact that even Valencia remembered it made him red.

Damn that north forest.

Elliot's mind raced as he anticipated the dream's next big event: his own murder. Was this dream a sign? He didn't fear death, he couldn't, but seeing the man Valencia killed, kill him was strange. Elliot felt every last bit of it, from the dread to the horror to the stabbing pain.

What this dream meant, he did not know. But if crossing that bridge meant finding Auden and getting answers about Homer, Elliot was damn well going to go.

Elliot was done with Caspian and his family's nonsense. Done with their conniving ways, stolen magic, and murderous past. It felt like Caspian didn't even care enough about Elliot's help to tell him everything about the Reprisal's plan. Elliot distrusted the Reprisal now. Valencia's plan for her empire felt real and true and goddamn honest.

And since Valencia was so honest to him, how could he tell her the truth about him? He knew she would be angry. Maybe even hate him forever.

The least Elliot could do was get her across the bridge and find Auden Oberlin.

After what felt like forever, the bridgemaster made his way to the trio. The older man, with black hair speckled with grey, looked a couple inches taller than Elliot and had a permanent scowl on his face.

I'd be angry too if I worked here, Elliot thought.

The bridgemaster walked like a king. Confident strides placed him right at the base of the black car, facing Elliot. Ophelia walked up to them. Elliot was thankful that Valencia stayed in the car.

"No passing," the bridgemaster said, eyeing them both.

"What — what do you mean?" Elliot asked.

With no further explanation, the bridgemaster walked back to his tiny home that also functioned as his workplace. Ophelia scoffed and stalked after him, leaving Elliot to trail behind them.

"Hello!" Ophelia said, "We need to cross now!"

The bridgemaster didn't even turn around. He slammed his front door shut right in Ophelia's face. Eyes wide, fuming and stunned, the detective knocked on the splintered door. Elliot thought she was about to knock it down.

"Why do we even need his permission?" Elliot wondered out loud, "Let's just move the damn thing in our way."

Ophelia whipped around and took in the wood that blocked them from crossing the bridge. She walked over to it with Elliot, and they tried to lift it away. Then they pulled. Pushed. Dragged. It wouldn't budge. Not even Valencia's guards could do anything. The morning sun shone bright and hot on them. Now it was Elliot who was frustrated.

He banged on the bridgemaster's front door with Ophelia, yelling at the man to come outside and let them cross the bridge. Finally, they forced the door open with all their body strength. They find the bridgemaster sitting on a chair, sipping coffee, it's roasted smell wafting through the room.

The bridgemaster looked at them. "You are not gentle men."

"I am not gentle or a man," Ophelia said, sounding greatly offended. "And I will have no remorse to force you out and have you move that wretched thing blocking the path!"

The bridgemaster peered out of the ajar door. He silently walked outside, and Elliot breathed a sigh of relief.

Standing steps away from the front door, the bridgemaster asked, "Who are you people?"

He was looking at the guards. Oh, god.

Elliot knew he couldn't see Valencia through the car's tinted windows, but it was obvious that these men and women were her guards.

Ophelia sprung to action. "Empress Valencia Lenard tasked us with bringing supplies to the North Isle. We're here to seek passage across your bridge and prepare a supply station there for when the trucks come through."

The bridgemaster peered at the detective, taking in the determined look on her face. Her brown skin looked ultra soft. The bridgemaster scoffed.

"You lie."

"No," Ophelia stated casually. "I—"

"You are the empress's detective," the bridgemaster said, "I heard your speech on the radio. I remember your voice. No passing."

Elliot thought back to Ophelia's speech at the lakes. Of course this man listened to the radio, he thought.

"I'd love to hear why the hell not."

Elliot whipped his head around to find the voice. He thought it was Ophelia at first, but the anger on her face made him realize it was Valencia who spoke.

The car door slammed shut behind her as she walked over to them. Her guards followed.

"Ah," the bridgemaster said, "You, detective, failed to mention your precious cargo."

Ophelia shook her head, silent. Perhaps Valencia felt the disappointment in the air, and yet it buzzed with electric passion.

"Open the gate."

The bridgemaster said no.

Valencia tried again. "I can arrest you for this!"

He laughed in her face. "I cannot let you pass because I do not have a way to open the gate. But I can find a way, ah, for a price."

Ophelia's hand clung to the blade at her hip. The woman could promise violence if she wanted to.

"What price?" Ophelia asked.

"Hmm," he looked at the empress, "Her."

Valencia's guards unsheathed their weapons. The empress turned to them and held her hand out as a way to tell them to wait.

"And what might I offer you?" she asked.

Elliot's eyes darted between Valencia and the bridgemaster, unsure why she was even entertaining his idea. Whatever this man wanted, it couldn't be good.

"You are to enter the woods, alone," the bridgemaster said, "They demand it."

"They? Who the hell is they?" Ophelia yelled.

"Their kindness only goes so far. You escaped the north forest, but they won't let you cross the bridge without paying the price."

"Who are they?" Ophelia repeated through gritted teeth.

"The witches," Valencia answered. "I will see them, alone, as they wish. I trust that Mira Audet is among them."

Something eery glinted in the bridgemaster's eyes. "Yes, she is, the one that the dead men fear."

"No."

Elliot was unsure what lead him to speak up like that. He didn't even think about it — he just spoke freely. Valencia looked at him, eyes soft, lips parted.

"I must go," she calmly said to him. "Wait for me. Mira is unkind but she will understand me."

I understand you, Elliot longed to say.

Valencia looked at Ophelia next. "I know what you think of me. That I am rash and stupid and insane. That Cyra would never be as impulsive as me. But I am not Cyra. I will never be, and that is what will make Lehua happier. I know you adored Cyra before, and perhaps she was loving to you then. But don't you see who Cyra really is now? Don't you see that the very things you criticize are what I must do for my country?"

She turned without getting a response from Ophelia, but the detective looked down and shuffled away, clearly thinking hard about Valencia's words. Elliot didn't know what transpired between the empress and her detective, but he figured that Valencia hated that Ophelia used to be loyal to Cyra Stone.

He watched Valencia walk into the woods with the bridgemaster. He knew she couldn't go alone. Whoever the unkind Mira Audet was, Elliot surely didn't trust her.

When they disappeared into the thick forest, Elliot cautiously followed behind.