Mia had not been lying. Thanks to Remy's mother, the police wanted to speak to Remy not twenty-four hours after her return to Calderdale, and she soon found herself in a dingy old interrogation room that looked more like a prison cell, biting her nails and sitting face to face with a middle-aged, balding policeman. Next to him sat a younger woman—Constable Rowley, she had called herself upon emerging from her office—who had been sending Remy sympathetic glances ever since she had arrived. Remy tried to ignore her now, knowing that she did not deserve, nor need, any kind of pity.

If sitting in a plastic chair behind a desk covered in paperwork confirmed anything to Remy, it was that her disappearance had been taken more seriously than she had imagined. She envisioned, with guilt twisting her stomach, how her mother must have sat in this same chair dozens of times, pleading with the police to continue their search or give her some sort of hope. Mia had even told her that she had been on the news more than a few times. It was difficult to believe that whilst Remy was in Astracia, appreciating the magic and wonder and falling in love, her family was here, unable to know whether she was even still alive. It made her sick, and she wished that her mother would stop looking at her with an overly loving expression from where she waited behind the glass pane that separated this room and the corridor. She wished her mother would stop looking at her altogether, for perhaps then she would stop feeling the desperate urge to shrink into herself.

The policewoman, misreading Remy's glance towards her mother, sighed. "We're very sorry to drag you away from your family, Miss Morgan. We'll try to take up as little of your time as we can, though we really must be thorough in our investigation."

Remy raised an eyebrow, fiddling with a loose strand on her jacket—though she didn't really need to wear one today. Somehow, while she had been away, winter had turned to mid-summer, and it was an unusually humid day. She thought this might have been the universe playing a cruel joke on her, reminding her of the heat in Astracia and how it always felt as though her clothes were sticking to her when she was outside. On her way to the police station, she had pretended for a few moments that she was still there, but it was difficult to keep up the charade when the sky was so grey. Besides, it did not take long until her thoughts returned to Maksim, and then she would have to endure the heart-wrenching ache that jolted through her body, just as strong and painful as the moment he had left her. Then, she would have to pretend that she was not thinking of Astracia or him, even though, impossibly, everything served as a reminder.

Finally, Remy found her voice, though it sounded weak and hollow to her own ears. "Is it really an investigation if I'm back?"

"You were missing for three and a half months," the officer responded. He had not introduced himself properly before, but his name tag read Officer Smith, which did not surprise Remy, for his appearance was just as boring as his title. "It's our job to find out why." 

"Can't you just accept that I'm back now and put it to rest?" It was a stupid question, she knew, but as she still could not find an excuse good enough to have put her family through so much, she was desperate for the interrogation to end. It did not help that the room was stuffy and had a strange smell to it that reminded Remy of an underground sewage system—and dark magic, but she tried not to think of that. 

The answer seemed to displease Officer Smith, and he dropped his pen to the table, leaning forward in his chair so that the metal legs scraped against the floor. Remy winced. Ever since her return, she had felt overly sensitive and overly withdrawn from the world, as though everything about her was white noise, and every so often something broke through that, pulling her back to reality in a harsh and unforgiving way.

"With respect, Miss Morgan, do you have any idea what your disappearance did to your family? Don't you think that perhaps even if we are not owed an explanation, they are?" 

"Smith," the woman scolded. Despite her seemingly gentle nature, Remy suspected she was in charge. She was not dressed in a uniform like her colleague, but in a grey pantsuit that made her look formal and important. Her eyes turned back to Remy and softened. "Look, we know this must be very hard for you, Remy, but you must be able to tell us something. Your mother said you barely said a word about it last night. Are you in trouble of some sort? Are you afraid, or have you been hurt? If you tell us what it is, we can help you."

"It's not like that." Remy shook her head, though she supposed they weren't unreasonable questions to ask a young girl who had disappeared for months without a word. She had seen the news, knew what people would think had happened, and in some ways, they were not wrong; she had been in trouble, only it wasn't the sort of trouble one could explain very easily. "I wasn't hurt. I just ... had to go away."

Officer Smith immediately began to jot something down on one of the forms in front of him, and Remy shuffled uncomfortably. She could say the wrong thing so easily, and then what would happen? They would think she was mentally unstable, delusional, if she told them what she had seen, and they wouldn't be the only ones. After spending a night in Calderdale, she almost couldn't believe it had happened herself. She did not like feeling how she felt now, as though every word was being pulled apart and scrutinised.

"Without telling anybody, or booking time off work?"

Remy focused her gaze on the mirror behind them, where a very pale, very fragile looking version of herself sat under pale yellow lights that highlighted every tiny bruise and dark circle she had acquired over her time in Astracia. There was not much evidence of Ackmard's attack on her face, thankfully, and she had tried to cover any marks that remained with makeup, but there were still bruises and cuts that anybody could see if they looked closely enough. She hoped that they would not be noticed by the officers in front of her.

"I wish I could give you an explanation," she said finally, lowering her eyes. She could still feel her mother watching her, and the strangers in front of her analysing every little thing she did. She had never felt so uneasy. "I'm sorry."

"Remy, we monitored you, or tried to. We made regular checks to see if you had used your phone or took cash out of an ATM. We found no trace of you, and your mother told us you hadn't been saving anything outside of your main bank account, that you couldn't afford another phone. How on earth did you manage without money or even a phone call in those three months?" Rowley's voice was still soft, but there was something in it now, a sharpness to it that could not be concealed. Perhaps she was just desperate to solve the case, or perhaps she didn't believe Remy and was beginning to grow irritated with her vague answers. She didn't know, and she couldn't care, for she had faced a Principle Warlock in much the same manner, and that was far scarier. She had coped then, and she could cope now.

"I don't know. I was lucky, I suppose." She shrugged, slouching in her chair. The longer they kept her trapped in this room, the more anxious she felt and the more the heat pressed into her skin. Her feet were tingling, begging her to run, but she knew she couldn't.

"Were you alone? Perhaps you had a friend or a partner with you, or perhaps there was someone else ..." There it was again, that insinuation that nobody chose to acknowledge. Only Remy couldn't ignore it anymore.

"I wasn't abused or attacked, alright? I was never in danger. In fact, I was happier there. I was tired of being stuck in this boring little town, and I found a way out. Can you blame me for taking it?" 

Smith frowned as he scribbled something down, and she knew she had said too much. She just hoped the walls were soundproof, for the last thing she needed was her mother to hear her.

"Remy, we can't help you unless you tell us the truth." 

"The truth is that I shouldn't have come back!" She stood up with a jerk, her whole body pulsing with an anger that she had never expected to feel, one that tore through her and blurred her vision and made her hair stand on end. "I'm sorry that I left my family. I am. But I can't tell you where I went because I barely know myself, and it doesn't matter now anyway because I'm back. I'm sorry for wasting your time, but none of this is necessary."

The constable rose, too, and Remy was surprised to find that she was only a few inches taller than her. "Remy, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. Please, take a seat again. We only have a few more questions."

She obeyed hesitantly, scowling at her trembling hands and cursing herself for being so weak, so emotional. The only thing calming her was that her daze was returning, the world around her becoming muffled and distant again. It was the only way to escape.

"You said that you didn't know where you were," Rowley continued in a steady, trained voice that must have taken years to perfect. "I must ask you, Remy, if you were using drugs at all during the time in which you were gone, or perhaps before that."

"No," she said through gritted teeth, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't taking drugs." 

"Were you alone during this time?"

"I ..." she had avoided the question last time, but how could she now? Rowley had clearly perfected the art of asking clear, concise questions so that Remy could no longer select and ignore the parts she wanted to. No, she wanted to reply. No, I wasn't alone. In fact, I had never been less alone. "I made a few friends, and then Sarah found me," she said instead.

"And aside from Sarah Miller, was there anybody you were close with? Anybody who had a particular impact on your life while you were away?" Of course, that was not what she really wanted to ask. Remy wondered if she would understand if she told her. With her pinched expression and the way her bun was scraped back without so much of a wisp escaping from her bobble, she supposed not.

"Maybe I fell in love with a boy," she whispered anyway, and blushed instantly. She hadn't wanted to say that word for the first time in the middle of a rotting interrogation room where the subject was not even present, but there seemed no other way to stop the questions, no other way to give them what they wanted—and it was true. Of course it was true. "It doesn't matter, though. I'm back, now. It's over. And before you ask, no, he never hurt me. Not intentionally, anyway. Not like that."

Rowley nodded, and Remy thought that maybe she had been wrong; maybe she did understand. Or maybe she was just pretending for the sake of solving a missing persons case. "Was there a reason why it ended? It must have been very hard for you. Breakups are always difficult."

"We were never together." Her response was flat, empty. The numbness that she had felt before was closing in on her again as she tried her best not to think of auburn hair and silver-flecked eyes. "It ended because I had to come back. That's all there is to it."

"Okay. There is just one last question, for now at least. Do you have any history of mental illness, Miss Morgan? Have you experienced any self-destructive thoughts, behaviours, habits at all? Psychotic episodes, extreme mood swings, anything that might have contributed to you leaving Calderdale the way you did?"

"No," she retorted calmly, "but that could very easily change by the time I leave this room." 

Surprisingly, Smith looked as though he wanted to laugh at that, and it was Constable Rowley who cleared her throat with pursed lips. It reminded her of all the times she had joked around with Maksim, how he had tried not to laugh, or how he had rolled his eyes even though his sarcasm was very much like hers and she knew he found it amusing, even if he chose not to admit it.

"Very well, then. I'll let you go, as long as you think you've told us everything you can."

"That's it? You're not going to ask me anything else; my bra size, for instance, or how often I shower?"

"That won't be necessary, Miss Morgan." Rowley stood in front of the door, holding what Remy assumed was her own file close to her body. "I just ask that if you can't give us an explanation, at least give your mother one. It's every mother's worst fear to lose their child, but even when there seemed no sign of hope at finding you, she never gave up on you. Not once. She deserves to hear something real, something that's worth all of the pain and fear your disappearance put her through. Do you understand?" 

Remy nodded blankly, though she knew the constable was right. She just didn't know how she could give her mother what she wanted without telling her about a world of magic, and warlocks, and witches. "Are you done prying, Constable?"

Rowley slid away from the door and flashed Remy a false smile. The other officer had barely looked up at all. "As I said, if there's anything else you can tell us, or you're in need of some sort of help, please don't hesitate to call us."

"Oh, I won't." 

Remy pulled the door open before she could be trapped again and found her mother waiting on the other side. She gave her a small smile, the constable's words sticking in the back of her mind.

She never gave up on you. Not once.

She opened her mouth, wanting to apologise or say something that would make up for it all, but what was there to say? Nothing could make this right. Instead, she followed Bianca silently through the corridors, only stopping when she brushed past a familiar face.

"Sarah," she whispered. Sarah didn't stop, but not because she was being escorted by an officer and her mother; Remy could tell it was because she simply didn't want to. "Sarah, can we talk later? Please?"

Sarah's mother was scowling at her as though Remy was a rodent she had accidentally tread on, but she paid her no heed, keeping her eyes locked on Sarah's brown ones as she turned to look back. She noticed that she was wearing her glasses again—another way in which nothing seemed to have changed.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Remy," Sarah muttered, still walking. She looked down at her shoes to avoid Remy's gaze, but it was still easy enough to see the spite flashing across her face. Then, she had rounded the corner and was gone.

"Has something happened between you and Sarah?" Bianca asked as though it was not obvious by the interaction they had just had. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she looked much more drawn in the badly lit foyer of the station.

Remy made her way to the reception, where she signed out and smiled politely at the woman standing behind the desk, knowing very well that she was being stared at by more than a few people. She had seen the posters of herself on the way here, knew pictures of her and Sarah had been scattered all over, but it did not occur to her until now that people knew of her. Perhaps that would be the only evidence she had ever escaped the town in the first place.

"She's mad at me. I wasn't a very good friend to her."

"Well, I'm sure she'll forgive you for that," Bianca said in a soft voice—a voice she had not used on her eldest daughter in years. For some reason, it sparked more frustration in Remy. "You two have been friends for years, after all. Besides, I'm sure she knows you didn't mean to upset her."

"Can you please stop making excuses for me?" Remy snapped, drawing the attention of those who hadn't already noticed her in the foyer. She pretended as though she hadn't realised. "I'm not a good person, Mum. Please stop pretending I am."

"Remy." Bianca's grey eyes welled with tears, and she half-reached out for her daughter before her arm fell back to her side. There must have been something in Remy's expression that warned her not to touch her.

"I need some air,"Remy muttered, walking away and pushing the glass door open with a little too much force on her way out. She had already planned to go to the beach—it was the only place she could imagine feeling calm in the state she was in—but as she strode down the steps, she came face to face with someone she hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity and had to pause before she stumbled over her own feet.

He looked different, she saw immediately, with clearer skin and a shorter hair cut that made him look less disheveled and perhaps even a little older. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he looked tense as he paced the gravel of the carpark. He only stopped when he noticed that he was being stared at, and a wave of shock contorted his face. His eyes widened, his mouth half-open as he froze.

"Hello, stranger," he said with a small smile, one soft enough for her to know he was glad to see her but weak enough for her to know he was also upset with her.

She inhaled shakily and took her last step until she was face to face with him. "Adam."