Really? What happened to him?

What happened to who?

Omen had liked being special. It had been a good feeling. A warm feeling. He’d mattered. He wasn’t alone. He could see now why brave people did the things they did. Brave things, selfless things … they connected you. They plugged you into the world. He wasn’t plugged in any more. He was adrift.

Byron Grace passed, walking quickly like he had somewhere to be. A few seconds later, Lapse and Gall stalked by, going in the same direction. Heading for the stairs.

Omen stood up from the bench. He tucked in his shirt and watched Colleen Stint, clutching her golden mask, dart through the crowd after them. A meeting. The Arcanum’s Scholars had called a meeting without Mr Lilt.

Omen’s feet were moving. He was walking – no, running – for his locker. His mind caught up to the decision the rest of him had made, and he took the gold mask and stuck it under his blazer, then ran back, taking the long way to the fifth-floor library. He arrived out of breath, his heart thudding, as Perpetua Darling joined the rest of the Arcanum’s Scholars in their usual spot, lounging about on the chairs. Omen spotted the librarian struggling to restock the higher shelves on the other side of the library.

Omen did his best to get his breathing under control, then sneaked behind a fern and crouched down, watching. The Scholars chatted among themselves for a bit, nobody making anything more than small talk. Jenan had his usual seat, just an everyday chair that he managed to make look like a throne.

“What are we even doing here?” asked Isidora Splendour, one of Colleen Stint’s best friends. “Mr Lilt’s been arrested. They’ve probably killed him by now.”

“They don’t kill people they’ve arrested,” said Gall.

“Shows how much you know,” Isidora responded. “They killed the American Grand Mage, didn’t they? Shot him in his cell.”

“That was different.”

“How? Exactly how was it different? Cypher plotted against the Sanctuary and they arrested him and murdered him.”

“It’s different because they killed him after he’d told them everything,” said Gall, sounding annoyed that he was being asked to explain himself. “Lilt won’t have told them a thing.”

“They’ve got Sensitives, idiot.”

“And Lilt’s got psychic defences, moron.”

Isidora’s voice rose. “What did you call me?”

“I called you a moron.”

“You take that back!” she screeched. “You take that right back!”

Gall frowned. “You called me an idiot.”

“Take it back, Gall,” said Colleen, glaring at him while she comforted her friend.

“She called me an idiot first,” said Gall.

“You don’t call girls morons!” Isidora wailed. Actually wailed. With tears.

“Jesus Christ,” Gall said.

Jenan sighed. “Say you’re sorry.”

Gall’s face was a mask of confusion. “But she called me—”