Glynda Goodwitch stared at the files in her hands and strewn all over her bed. If it were anything, it was exasperating. She had no idea why Oz was trying to have her make sense of all of these strange sightings, but she did it anyways. So far as she could tell, the only common thread was the appearance of the runaway that likely held responsibility for attacking Emmett, Tai, and Qrow. Yet it was a thin thread for them to focus on at best. Runaway or not, the girl was a master of evasion and Glynda was almost certain that she was occasionally letting herself be seen to leave a false trail. Sighing heavily, Glynda temporarily pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She had far more questions than answers when it came to any of this, and she already knew that Oz, regardless of whatever he might or might not have access to, wouldn't have an answer, let alone a satisfying one. It annoyed her every time something this serious came up. While she held great respect for Oz and trusted that he knew what he was doing, there were more and more times where she wished he would be more forthright. Nicole Sleet even thought so, something that had initially surprised Glynda given that she had always thought that Nicole, as Ozpin's wife, would have the privilege of knowing everything.

"Everything alright?"

Glynda looked up in surprise upon hearing her husband step into their room but, when she glanced at the time on her scroll, her surprise quickly abated to reveal her true exhaustion.

"I'm at a loss with the Edmund case," Glynda tiredly admitted. "Oz wants more information but there's nothing new. The only thing about this that seems even remotely of interest is the possibility that her semblance is highly unusual hence why people seem to think she uses magic."

James considered that. "Are we sure it's really her semblance?"

Glynda teased her fingers through her hair, silent for a moment in thought. Ozpin had been clear that he had never shared blood with her. So far as any of them knew, that was the only way for a person to gain magic. Unless he were lying, and it seemed unlikely he was, there was no other logical conclusion than the power — strange and dangerous as it was — she wielded stemming directly from her semblance, even if they had no clue what it could possibly be.

"I don't think there's another explanation this time around," She finally said. "Unless Oz is lying — and he doesn't really have a reason to — there's nothing else it could be."

"Then we're absolutely —" James cut himself off upon their eight year old daughter entering the room, tiredly rubbing her eyes. He and Glynda both knew the second they saw her that they'd woken her up. "Caity?" He said gently. "It's okay. Mommy and I are just working. Go back to bed."

She blinked and yawned. "But it's too loud…" The little girl pouted. "Momma…"

Glynda slid off the bed and came over to their daughter, kneeling down to tightly embrace her. It was clear their little girl was overtired and anxious. Every time her routine was messed up, it upset her.

"Come on, baby," Glynda said, taking her daughter's hand. "I'll tuck you back in, okay? Does that sound good?"

She nodded softly, obviously groggy. "Okay, mommy."

Glynda smiled and walked her across the hall. She then lifted her up into bed and pulled the covers and her daughter's weighted blanket over her. James lingered in the doorway, his thoughts still running around the case.

"Everything is okay," Glynda murmured, ruffling her little girl's hair. "Alright, goosie? You have nothing to worry about. We love you, Zoey loves you, Jacin loves you. I promise...it's all going to be okay."

Glynda didn't think she was lying, but even she knew things were far more dire than they could ever let on, especially to their children. They were just too young.

"She agreed. I wore her down."

Willow felt her eyes widen in shock, hearing her husband speaking with her mother in his study. Due to overcrowding, Lillian had been temporarily released into house arrest. Lillian resented the aura cuff attached to her wrist and the ankle bracelet that kept her from leaving the premises but she knew she had to play the game. It was a game, after all, that was about to win her freedom. She would no longer be burdened by the ridiculous accusations that people had brought against her in the aftermath of her husband's rather untimely death. She wouldn't be constantly berated for whatever hand she supposedly had played in the death of her first son. Hell, she wouldn't even be scrutinised for her emotional disengagement following what happened to Angelica. Privately, Lillian believed that it was a cruel trick to be played on her family, that being the loss of half her children. Whether or not she liked them, they had been her own and Lillian had her own construed views about loyalty. Her children had only ever been required to do one thing: marry rich and at least meet if not exceed her expectations for them. She was glad, at least, that one of her surviving children was married to someone suitable, someone with finesse.

Willow was crouched against the door, her ear pressed against the ornate wood. It was not hard to hear them. Both Jacques and Lillian had voices that carried through walls, it seemed. This was far more satisfying than watching them through her cameras, which Willow only used on occasion, and it made her heart race. It had been a long time since she had truly felt adrenaline coursing through her veins. Regardless, Willow slowly stood up and started back down the halls few minutes later. She had heard more than enough. There was a new anger bubbling under the surface towards her mother, one that Willow hadn't felt in a long time. She supposed it was, in this case, somewhat hypocritical, given that it felt almost like righteous anger on Emmett's behalf. Willow was well aware that she and her brother had been on poor terms for about a month now, but neither of them had made any move to repair things either. Willow knew they were both just too damn prideful to do it. Coupled with the hostility she was sure a difficult apology would incur from Emmeline, Willow decided to let things be. There was little to be done. After all, what could she really say? She had been harsh, and, while she kept telling herself it was in an attempt to snap sense into Emmett, she knew it was too bad.

"Willow? I've been looking for you."

She narrowed her eyes at her mother in the mirror. Lillian would have been a few minutes at least behind her, but it was painfully apparent that her mother still knew all of her best hiding places. Willow had never quite realised it before, but she hated her mother more than she hated anyone else she had ever met. The cold look in Lillian's eyes as well as her seemingly smug satisfaction proved it to her. What made things worse, however, was that Lillian could only be waiting for her for one thing: a leg up back into what she considered proper society.

"What do you want?" Willow knew she sounded unusually coarse but, for once, she didn't care.

Lillian glared. "I came to tell you that I'm about to receive my freedom. Your husband is quite resourceful. I'm glad Nicholas saw his potential."

Willow frowned. "Don't bring dad into this."

Lillian pursed her lips. "Excuse me?"

"Don't try to speak for the dead," Willow said, reaching for her hairbrush. "Enough people have died for you. Why don't you show them some respect?"

Lillian bristled. "I will not have you speak to me like this!"

"Then get out," Willow said, a thrill running down her spine. She had never stood up to her mother before. "Now."

Marabella Brie swore under her breath, hating the list of names she had drawn up to grant clemency. Jacques had blackmailed her. She hated her brother — no, half-brother, she corrected herself — more than anyone. All she wanted, right now, was to skewer him and everyone who had ever stood in her way. Her tail started flicking angrily, and she cursed her brother for threatening to tell the world that she — the first faunus to become the president of Atlas — had once been involved in the White Fang. Marabella was not ashamed of anything she had done as an activist. After all, she had left the White Fang shortly before it had turned to violence. Still, the stigma against the organisation was prominent in Atlas and she had buried that part of her life when her political ambitions had begun to bear fruit. No, Marabella Brie could not afford to have her career and legacy destroyed by a misconstrued version of her past. Jacques was not above revealing it in the most disgusting manner possible, and she would not — could not — take the chance of him ruining her life. He had been enough of a pain in the ass to her when they had been children. If he wanted there to be no hell for him to pay, then he was going to have to tread as lightly as she did. He got this, but nothing else.

Marabella frowned at the list, her tail still angrily flicking. She startled briefly when she accidentally knocked a few papers off her desk. This was not the situation she had envisioned herself in when she had kicked Jacques out of her office two months prior, offering up only a resounding no to his request that Lillian be pardoned. All of the Schnee matriarch's crimes had been federal offences. So far as Marabella was concerned, she thought Lillian Schnee should count her lucky stars that she hadn't been prosecuted provincially. The situation would have been in the hands of a regional governor in that case, and they were typically anti-Schnee. Marabella herself wanted to join that particular group. Her half brother was a skevy, perverted asshat with ambitions higher than the stars themselves. That didn't even mention how he had been a manipulative brat growing up and how she had hated him for being the child their parents (shared mother only, a fact to which Marabella was eternally grateful) had been most proud of. Jacques hadn't been a good child but they had indulged him and let him push people around, claiming it was only a sign of authority skills. Marabella snorted at the thought. Jacques wasn't authorative. If anything, he was ruthless and authoritarian.

"God damn it," Marabella growled under her breath. "He's going to play dirty until the end, isn't he?"

Though she was only just coming to this particular epiphany, she wasn't surprised by it in the least. Her brother was, to use the common phrase, a mobster. Marabella knew there was no proof of that, of course, but she was rather certain Jacques was corrupt enough to be. In a way, she supposed they were one and the same; he had, after all, blackmailed her into pardoning his God-awful mother in law. Marabella resented the thought. She had always told herself that she would play politics right, that she wouldn't bend to anyone else's interests when there were far more pressing issues to address. Atlas was a kingdom long since divided, and it wasn't getting any better. Marabella told herself she had only given in because she didn't want to destabilise the kingdom more. If her past came to light, she believed there would be much more public outcry than if she pardoned Lillian. She had told the DFAMA that lie and they all had taken it. The trouble was that Marabella herself knew she was lying. In her heart, she knew she was as bad as some of the other politicians she'd spent her career condemning. She lied to herself to stay sane, and for no other reason. After all, a kingdom like Atlas would be consumed by division and violence if their government became one in which they had no faith. So far as Marabella was concerned, her ethicacy was a small price to pay when they alternative was too horrible to consider. That was what she told herself, at any rate.

Renné was lying in the field, the wind tousling the grass and her hair. Everything about her felt heavy. Her mind had been wandering almost as much as she herself had been the last several days and she had to wonder how and if she would stay sane. Things were clearly starting to fall apart in the tribe since Raven had executed all of those whom she had deemed traitors, not to mention the infrequent notes she received from Ozpin that kept shaking her faith. So much hinged on her hope for it all to be over soon, the way a nightmare disappears after a person wakes up and reminds themselves that none of it was real. Renné knew that exact philosophy couldn't really be applied in her present situation, but it was all she had. Her son. She was missing all of his moments. As for her husband, she knew what she had done probably tore him apart even if he believed she were somehow still alive. Renné wondered if he'd resent her if he knew the truth. She had turned her back on him and their son, and, in the process, hurt them deeply. They were probably still mourning. With Summer gone, too, her son had no mother, not even an adoptive one. Renné doubted Qrow would remarry. Part of her was glad for that, if only because it gave her hope that things would get better.

Besides, if she didn't have hope for that much, then she would be just as bad, just as jaded, just as cynical as Raven. Renné held great respect for Raven even if she thought she was a bit cruel and misguided, but she didn't want to be like her either. Raven was so cold and detached. Renné knew she never could live that way again. Lillian had caused them all enough pain by spouting off that particular philosophy.

"You sound like Tai," Raven had sighed heavily, and had seemed almost transfixed when she brushed her hair over her shoulder. "He begged me to stay, you know," Renné could have sworn she heard a melancholy hint to Raven's otherwise emotionless voice. "I wonder if he ever understood what I meant when I said it's not that easy."

"It could have been," Renné remembered how she had argued. At the time, she supposed she has still been clinging to some false sense of righteousness. "You chose to abandon them."

"You made the same choice," Raven had cuttingly reminded her of her own mistake and of the way she knew she had hurt her son and husband without a shred of emotion in her voice. There wasn't even a hint at sympathy. "You are in no position to claim it's easy to simply change your mind."

Renné could almost feel again how hard she had swallowed at Raven's accusation. Part of her had known even then that Raven — harsh as she was being — was right and that their lives were nothing like a movie in which they could chose to go back in such critical decisions. Another part of her, however, had been screaming and trashing at her to prove it could be done. At the time, she had vowed, it would be. Now, she didn't believe it. Shit was way too fucking bad for that to be the case.

"We can't go back right now," Renné had said, but even then her voice had wavered a little. In retrospect, that should have been her first clue that she had a weak conviction on the matter. "But that won't always be the case. I won't let it be, anyways."

Raven had shaken her head. "He'll move on," She had said sadly. Renné had been stunned by the way Raven had seemed — even for a moment — to care. "No matter what you do, he will move on and leave you here alone."

Renné knew how much she had hated and refused to believe her words at the time. Now, she was terrified that they would prove true.

"Fuck," Renné threw a rock into a tree, standing up angrily. Even her own thoughts and memories seemed to be taunting her this time around. "Damn it all."

She can't be right, Renné thought. Can she?