I extend my arms, and he binds them, the same cool feel of leather from his gloves against my skin. I wonder if he wore them so he doesn’t have to touch me. Once my wrists are tightly bound, he leans to pick up whatever he’d tossed onto the cot, and I realize it’s a cloak when he drapes it over my shoulders. The heavy wool scratches my neck and smells musty. Old. He closes the clasp at my throat, then pulls the hood over my head.

My heart races. I’m on full alert as he takes my arm and leads me toward the door. I’m slow, though, too slow for him.

“Come.”

“My feet,” I start as I climb the stone steps and then walk out onto damp grass.

“A small price to pay,” he replies before I can say more.

He leads me with an iron grip, and I have to trust he’s not going to steer me into a wall, but soon, the grassy floor gives way to gravel. Small stones. And I hear the sound of a car engine start. A door is opened.

“In.”

Climbing into the car, I smell the leather of the seats and feel the dry, comforting warmth of the heater. He gets in beside me and closes the door. A moment later, I feel the car shift as someone else climbs in—the driver, I guess—and we’re off.

We’re headed to IVI’s headquarters. At least I'm pretty sure that’s where The Tribunal sits. I know what it is. I think I knew when he first told me, too. The Society’s version of a court where members who break the rules are questioned, tried, and sentenced. It wouldn’t stand up in any court of law in the world, and I’m sure it’s illegal, even, but those sort of things don’t seem to hinder any IVI activities. The Society is a self-governing organization independent of the law, almost like a country in and of itself.

It’s where Hazel will be sent if she’s ever found. She’ll have to stand before The Tribunal, where three probably hundred-year-old men will determine how she’ll be punished. No trial for her. Just sentencing. It’s how it works. Our father won’t even be there to protect her, and there’s not a chance Abel would help her.

Is that what’s going to happen to me? But why? Why would I stand before a tribunal? What have I done?

A chill runs through me, and I turn my head to look in my captor’s direction.

“What do you think I did?” I ask, my voice small. Because I am being punished. Or I will be. By keeping me in that cell, he’s holding me until…I pause. Until things go one way or the other with Santiago, I guess.