After barraging me with confusing questions concerning my power and Will's exorcism—all while attempting to portray my difficulty in articulating the experience as a sign of incompetence—the Court finally closed their inquiry, satiated by my flustered responses.

Stupid Fat Cats.

They really thought they had my trial in the bag, and I couldn't wait to humble those cracked, conceited faces. 

Hopefully, I'd survive long enough to do so.

I downed an entire glass of water in thirty seconds, parched and exhausted. Insulting weeds was my natural instinct, surely, but confronting these buffoons with a level head demanded more energy than I'd anticipated.

Kudos to Will on unlocking his maturity before me—I'd been one irritating comment away from inciting the elders' stage 4 dementia.

When our break ended, Beckett waltzed up to the witness stand for my cross-examination, and Valerie shot me an eager thumbs-up from the gallery. I couldn't tell if she was wishing me luck or congratulating me on not smudging my makeup, but I appreciated the support regardless.

Honestly, I would not have been able to do this without any of my friends. Back in Belgate, I used to hate the idea that connections carried more weight than proficiency, but the importance of a widespread network had become painfully obvious the day I'd stumbled into Tom's base camp.  I could have been the most talented soldier in the world, and the army still would have kicked me and my x chromosomes to the curb without my brother's involvement.

Jaden had depended on her friends to start her pub outside the curtain, and even Siren—the most chronically independent woman I'd ever met—would have been put to death without Tom and Victor's scheming. She relied on her army, just as her army relied on her.

No history-makers had achieved anything on their own. We were all interconnected, like the silky, massive spiderweb blanketing the meadows of Primm, and it had taken me a handful of near-death experiences to acknowledge that only the strongest webs survived the harshest storms.

Beckett waited a few moments for the chamber to settle down, eyeing the bench like a backgammon opponent, exuding the confidence of a world-renowned champion.

"You know, Alex, you were right earlier today," he began, stuffing his hands in his pockets, as if this were a casual conversation, not a matter of life and death.  "The High Court has cast a spotlight on your failures, but we've yet to celebrate your successes." He tilted his head at the gallery. "The countless lives you've changed."

My friends and comrades beamed at me, a few of them grunting or whistling in accord. Victor whooped loudly, startling a few women in the pews behind him.

I shook my head, unable to stifle the amused grin bubbling to the surface. Hooligans.

Among the justices, only Aimes found the soldiers' behavior comical, almost like he'd never been exposed to such madness, and he thoroughly enjoyed this glimpse of a world beyond the walls.

"Alex," my pseudo-attorney said, addressing me directly. "In Belgate's annual Tournament, you placed among the top 25 contestants. You even received special recognition from the spokesperson for your comradery and resourcefulness, is that correct?"

"I...yes," I admitted, struggling to claim my own achievements. I thought back to how ridiculous I must've looked fighting in the Deadlock like a headless chicken. Gilmore had probably displaced a rib trying to hold his laughter in. "I think I even surprised myself a little," I added.

Mason rolled his eyes, no doubt recalling my cannon ball loophole and mischievous rule bending. To this day, he still refused to admit defeat in the obstacle course, and I suspected the competition would always remain a touchy subject for us. 

After all, the moment Gilmore declared our team victorious, Will and I had obliterated Mason's life goal to place in the Tournament and impress his father. Then the demons attacked, and the poor kid lost his chance to redeem himself. From that point forward, he'd been cursed to earn a dead man's approval, and I wasn't sure what it would take for him to recognize himself as a hero. I wasn't even sure Mason could identify that threshold.

"And when Belgate fell, you and your male peers trekked fifty miles through spirit-infested terrain to find the Command. You even defeated a search party of Pans, all without essential knowledge regarding the paranormal enemies you faced."

I smiled feebly at the impressed looks his statement garnered. "...It was a team effort."

A soft chuckle tumbled from his mouth. "She's humble," he told the crowd. "Alex also assisted in the portal's destruction in Holly, permitting our forces to advance and retake the city. And when the Command hunkered down in HQ while demons slaughtered our citizens, she helped save the officers from a burning building, killing over 40 demons at once."

My grin faltered. While true, that moment was not something I reflected on very fondly. To me, the feat was just another forty tally marks on the wall. Another necessary bloodstain.

Sideburns cleaned his glasses as he spoke, as if that would spare him from recognizing the anecdotal evidence presented before him. "The Court acknowledges Miss Kingsley's performance this fall. However, her accomplishments do not negate her tempestuous behavior."

Beckett nodded like a parent indulging his stubborn toddler. "Thank you, Justice Carter. I'm glad you recognize the defendant's merit." He grinned playfully at the panel's matching scowls. "But you see, the issue I have with your statement is the assumption that emotional bandwidth is inappropriate for a military setting." He lifted his brow. "As someone who's fought your war for two decades, I'd argue the opposite." 

I peeked at the jurors, worried they might perceive Beckett's approach as disrespectful or pretentious, but they all appeared charmed by the mad man's humor and intellect, captivated by his ancient, gravelly voice.

"Every single one of Alex's emotionally driven responses spurred positive outcomes," Beckett continued.  "For instance, if she hadn't run into the mine to buy us more time, several officers, including Sergeant Grismond, would have died in the blast.  If she hadn't loved her brother so dearly, she may never have rendered an entire battalion of Pans unconscious and allowed our company to escape Yellow Valley. If she hadn't seen past her prejudices and befriended a Rhean, Siren may have denied us aid, and Holly would have perished. And if she'd chosen not to go after William this winter, we might never have halted the northern invasion so soon, recognized the new threat on the throne, destroyed multiple bridges across the Gorge, or discovered new details regarding the nature of the portal and her ability to exorcise the possessed."

He stroked the dark whiskers of his chin, and I arched an eyebrow at the number of people in the audience who mirrored his body language. All of them contemplative, retrospective.

Gritz. Was this man a hypnotist?

"Alex learned more about her power in one week than over two months of training, all with minimal casualties. In my eyes, and the eyes of the Interior Company, her impulsiveness was well worth the risk."

The federates in the gallery nodded in solidarity, and Iver and Burroughs grimaced at the insubordination. They'd been betrayed by their own pawns—time and time again—and I wondered when they'd realize they'd run out of pieces to deliver a checkmate.

"As someone who's served this nation for many years, and as a man who's now fought beside a handful of wonderful women, I can confidently say that our ranks not only benefited from, but required, a female mindset," Beckett decided. "Siren's leadership has reaped remarkable results, and I could speak to her influence for hours. But Alex, as young as she is and as little time as she's spent with us, has also left her mark." He gestured to me in wonder and amazement, and my face warmed. I wasn't sure anyone had ever looked at me so proudly.  "She's challenged our rules and beliefs and tactics with empathy at the forefront of her mind, and because of that, we saved 2,000 innocents from slaughter. That's 2,000 men and women on top of our cavalry and the population of Havenbrooke." He dropped his hand and peered at the jury, one individual at a time. "That task almost took her life, but when presented with the opportunity to protect her people, Alex didn't hesitate. Because her heart bleeds for the outcasts and the tortured souls of this world, regardless of nationality, class, or circumstance." His words grew soft, poignant. "If we punish her for that, what example are we setting for our children?  What kind of message does that send to our youth?"

My heart throbbed at the sentiment.

How lucky I was to have met this brilliant man all those months ago. I could have sat next to any soldier at the bar that night, but I'd happened to meet a philosopher in a cloak three sizes too big, hunched over his whiskey, complaining about his comrade's flirting.  A man who saw the world for what it could be—and what it should be—just like me.

"Are you saying you'd want your children looking to this felon as a role model?" Bittercress responded, his tongue dripping with disdain. "Have them believe young women should rebel against our institutions without consequence? Defy their elders and harm them when they disagree? Is that the message you'd prefer?"

Something painful flashed in Beckett's eyes, and he slowly turned to glare at the panel. "...If my daughter were still alive today, I'd want her to know that empathy is more powerful a tool than hatred, and power does not favor one gender." He blinked a few times, stifling flames of anger. "That is the message I'd pass on to the next generation."

Bittercress shut his trap, properly chastened, but I couldn't tear my gaze from Beckett's stoic face, reeling from the news.

He'd had a daughter once.

He'd lost her.

He'd lost his child.

A thousand questions filled my head, and they were all too invasive to ever utter aloud. When did that happen? How did she die? Did his wife have more children?

Was that the origin of his alcohol issues?

Was he...okay?

The jury and the attendees appeared moved by Beckett's speech, and I could see the heartache in Siren and Rover's gazes. Clearly, they'd both known Beckett's history. Judging by the reactions of the other soldiers, though, it wasn't a detail the man offered up to anyone.

"Do you have any further questions, Beckett?" Sideburns asked, exasperated by the man's lengthy monologue.

The wizard of words and wisdom switched up his tone in the blink of an eye—his sadness gone, his vulnerability erased—and the swiftness of that transition made me question everything I'd ever known about the man.

"I could have Alex testify today and answer a hundred questions about her heroism and the nature of her power," he said. "But I think it would be better to show you."

Confusion creased the politicians' brows.

Beckett glanced at the constable with an impish smile. "Bring him in."

"Behold, a Paranormal Entity, Type A."

Sol entered the room in the same ragged army attire he'd worn at Yellow Valley, recognizable only by the wing tattoo on the back of his head and the cross dangling from his neck. His teeth were stained, his pink gums blackened by demon blood. Blisters and cracks marred his beautiful brown skin, and white fog had swallowed warm, earthy irises.

He was decaying before our very eyes, and he smelled like it too—much like a corpse left to rot in a leaky basement for thirty days.

And predictably, the moment he entered the chamber, the crowd lost it.

Men and women stood from the pews, backing away or stumbling for the doors, aghast and apprehensive. The civilians in the jury gripped tight to their notebooks and the armrests of their chairs, terror in their eyes, shock locking up their joints. Even the Court was taken aback by the demon's presence. Gaines in particular looked outright appalled by our decision to shine a light on the monsters under the bed.

Rover had done well to keep our plan under the wraps; clearly, no one had expected a stunt like this.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Bittercress demanded, trembling in his seat. Normally the sight of an old man quivering in fear would cripple my heart. But not this man.

Certainly not this man. 

"He's restrained," Beckett assured him, motioning for the jittery audience members to calm themselves. He dragged one of the wooden chairs from the defense table to the center of the room, entirely unbothered by the Pan's presence. "The sentinels are equipped with vanadium weapons. If the demon tries anything, he's a pile of ash. He cannot hurt anyone in this state."

That seemed to mollify a few people, but they still couldn't believe their eyes. And understandably so. Very few of them had witnessed the horrors beyond the walls. The rest of us had been well-acquainted with the creatures, be it a military exchange or a civilian one.

In fact, the other soldiers in the room looked relatively unfazed, albeit uncomfortable. Most of them had never engaged with a Pan outside the battlefield, the Rim, or the leaky dungeon beneath our feet. They'd never seen this pathetic version of a demon, standing in the middle of a well-lit room, stripped of his weapon and bound in multiple chains and ropes. 

Awkwardly, Button-Up escorted the demon to the chair and glared at him until he sat down. Someone had stuffed a gag in Sol's mouth, but after listening to Demon-Will's taunting for days on end, I really didn't blame them.

"This is Solomon Argur, a soldier who once bore the title of Second Lieutenant of the Interior Company," Beckett said. "A well-respected cadet and a dear friend."

I spared a glance at Rover and Claus, both of whom were  holding back tears. The sight left a contusion deep inside my ribcage.

"Sol was turned the night of Yellow Valley, and we assumed we'd lost him in battle until he showed his face at the walls of Havenbrooke," Beckett explained. "He's been imprisoned in the Ground ever since."

Gaines sputtered in disgust. "And what—why have you brought this vile...thing...into a public space?"

Beckett shrugged. "To prove a point."

It was at that moment when Justice Aimes caught onto our plan. "...You want her to perform an exorcism?" he breathed.

Bittercress snapped his head around. "What? Here? With civilians present?"

"Yes," Beckett replied simply.

Speechless, they all looked to Sideburns for help, but the chief justice merely frowned at the Pan, then at me. I could see the ancient gears at work, the invisible checkers in his hand.

What will he do?

"Kingsley has demonstrated her restraint and precision multiple times now, even if I haven't been conscious to witness it." He nodded to himself. "At this point, everyone here is aware of the Pans' existence, and this is a chance for the defendant to prove her claims. I'll allow the experiment to proceed."

I failed to contain my gasp.

Did...did Old Man Sideburns just give me the green light?

I'd planned on bringing Sol back no matter what the panel decided, but now I could do so without planting my own butt back in the Ground. This was big.

Beckett motioned for me to approach the chair, so I straightened my spine and did just that. As I walked across the room, my eyes slid to Will, latching onto his concerned but supportive gaze, and my chest swelled with self-assurance.

Tooms, Will, Asa, Liam...whichever name he claimed, the prince of Rhea had always believed in me, ever since I first proposed my plan to defeat the lions in the Tournament.

Rover, on the other hand, was an anxious disaster. One hand covered his mouth, as if he were holding in a scream—or vomit, maybe—and the other hand clenched tight around Siren's kneecap, desperate for the warrior's support.

Thankfully, the mother-to-be only looked mildly annoyed.

When I reached Sol's chair, I opened my palms to Beckett, and he unzipped the fabric of my gloves, exposing the crescent-shaped scars in my flesh. We knew I could perform this task fully clothed, but skin contact was ideal for something as technical as this.

With a nod of approval from Sideburns, I gazed down at Sol, searching those pale eyes for the man I'd met in the garage that day. He stared back at me with a mixture of fear and fascination, fully aware of my abilities.

This Pan had met his fate.

I swallowed, trying to calm my nerves. I just had to replicate what I did for Will with Sol: ingest his memories, then regurgitate them for his soul to reabsorb. Of course, if I failed, I'd likely end up killing him right here in front of Rover and his comrades, and I'd have to live with that guilt forever.

No.

Failure's not an option today, Kingsley.

You've got the handle on this now; show them.

"Let's bring you home, Sol," I whispered to the Pan, and I could spot the evil, obnoxious smile in the twisted corners of his mouth.

I dare you, the expression said. And suddenly, I didn't feel so timid anymore.

Leaning forward, I placed my frigid palms against his shoulders and closed my eyes, yielding to ferocious white light.

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I hope this trial was a good series recap for you all! Things are going to get wild here soon XD.