A/N: Hi everyone! So JJ is a rebel after all. But why? You'll soon find out...

A big thank you to Thedaffodilqueen for the wonderful Kajika! He's still hanging around but is no longer in the competition, but what a unique character he is to write. I just loved his cool, content calmness. Very chill. Almost too chill for this story, hahahah. Definitely Zelda's opposite, which is why I wanted to play around with their relationship together. How those two end up, you'll have to wait to see...

Enjoy the chapter, and thanks for reading!

~ GWA

Mr Rudy leads the way down to the conference room, where the palace is holding JJ custody.

Custody. Like a criminal. Like a rebel.

I feel like I should've seen this coming. It's been a meteor in the sky that drew ever closer to my atmosphere. But only now, so close, can I see the ridges on the surface, the flames that trail like an orange aurora, and the destruction it will cause when it eventually impacts on earth. JJ, a rebel. All this time, all those lessons and essays…

The weird part is that he confessed. He could've continued to get away with it. I had no idea. Roy certainly didn't – he glowed when he hired him as history teacher. Why now? Why confess at all?

I quiet my rioting head when I approach the door. Rudy stills and turns to me.

"He's… in a state," he warns. "I wouldn't… I wouldn't get angry at him."

Frankly, I don't know how I feel right now. Confused, mostly. But that could give way to anger at any point from now. Rudy doesn't delay further and pushes open the door, revealing one of our conference rooms crammed with Captain Durante's security team, each of them surrounding JJ with hands on holsters. JJ sits at the back of the room, head in hands.

I hear a weep. Lilly occupies the opposite corner of the room; it's the first time I think I've ever seen her in pants, dark, sullen grey, that cling to her curves like wet cloth. Tears dash through streaks of runny mascara. She splays her hand over her face, trying to stop herself from crying, but they seem endless, dropping onto the parquet floor from the tip of her chin.

Roy and Cami stand by her, in front of her, a protective barrier between her and JJ. Their expressions mirror each other – a semblance of composure eclipsing their shock. Roy's hands have turned apple red over the top appendage of his cane.

"Gail," he says in greeting, not bothering to look my way. "Take a seat."

"No." It's a small, petty act of defiance, but that's all I can afford these days. "I want to stand."

"Fine. JJ," he looks back at him, "repeat your story for Gail. Now."

Gone is all that politeness. It's taken a visible toll on JJ too, when he looks up at me. He's been shredded from the inside out, anguish that has bloodied his cheeks purple with fear, that have contracted his pupils into tiny pinpricks, like drops of blood. What was once a handsome face is now dishevelled, wan. Terrified.

"My son first— please—"

"We'll not do a damned thing until you repeat it for Gail!" Roy snaps. "You're in no position to bargain!"

JJ runs his hands through his hair – it's greasy. "Your Highness—" He chokes when he looks at me. "I-I swear, I never wanted to be a rebel. I never wanted to have anything to do with that awful organisation in the first place—"

"Then how?" I press. I need details.

He takes another tremoring breath. "My wife. When she was alive, she was… in a bad place. Monetarily. Barely enough to get by. The rebels offered her an out in exchange for our support. She agreed to pay back the money when she could." His hands are restless. Fidget, fidget, fidget. "Then she met me… we fell in love, got married, had Easton… then she died, and all that debt fell onto me by proxy. Thousands and thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands. I-I couldn't afford to pay it, still can't. And my son… I couldn't…" He drags his hands down his face again. His cheeks are wet but it's like he has no more tears left to flow. "I couldn't let him go. They saw the posting for the history teacher position here, and forced me to apply so I could get insider information. I didn't want to – I never would've if it weren't for Easton. Please, you have to believe me."

It isn't an unbelievable story in the slightest, but it hits me hard just how badly it must've been if his wife was forced to go down such a dark path. Going to the rebels just to be able to live? What about government funding? What about our anti-poverty schemes? A sharp pain makes me realise I've been clenching my fists, my nails digging crescents into my palms enough for the skin to ache.

I face JJ. "I… I'm so sorry."

"And my son." He makes to move forwards, but Durante's guards step in. No chance. His feet stutter before he falls back on his chair. "My son. Please. I need to make sure he's safe. Please."

I glance at Roy. His jaw is clenched, but he says. "I've already sent someone to retrieve him. We'll be putting him in care for the time being."

"Care? Care?" JJ splutters. "That's not good enough! They'll kill him when they find out what I've done!"

"Then why?" I ask him. "Why tell us at all?"

"I told you because I couldn't— couldn't face doing this anymore." He drags another hand through his head. "This… this treachery and underhandedness… it's killing me within. I never wanted this life. All I wanted was to spend time with my son. Make him happy." He chokes. Finally his gaze goes to Lilly. "And now… Lilly…"

She turns away. I glance at Roy, but he's muttering to Durante. Durante then sends someone off.

"I'll see what can be done about Easton." He takes a deep breath. "I need you to tell us everything. Everything you passed onto them, all of your contacts, any information you may have that will be useful to know."

JJ's eyes frost over. In seconds, I make a tenuous guess. Max. JJ was the one ferrying jobs back and forth between him and the rebels. It makes sense, after all – JJ would have no issue being in the Selected wing. He probably pretended to be delivering essays or class feedback. No one would have any reason to suspect anything else.

"I'll tell you anything you need to know."

"Wait." I approach JJ – so close that Durante moves to stand between us, but I ignore him. Instead I crouch by his ear. "Don't namedrop Max. Please."

His face barely changes, a testament to how well he can mask his shock. "I'll… try," is all he says in response. That's not a yes, not a no. I don't know what to think. Suddenly I find it hard to breathe, but Durante pulls me back and has JJ escorted down to the barracks, where they can interrogate him properly.

With his security team gone, it's only me, Roy, Cami and Lilly left. None seem in the mood to talk.

"I trusted him," Roy says quietly, signing as he speaks. "I trusted him and he betrayed us."

"You gave me a second chance." Lilly's sudden signs punctuate the air. "Please, give one to him, too."

Roy is silent a moment. "The circumstances are different. He's an adult. He knew what he was doing."

"Adults can still be manipulated," I tell him as I sign.

Lilly nods. "Wouldn't you do anything to save a loved one?"

"I would," I say quietly.

Roy makes eye contact. Then he looks away.

"There's lots to discuss. We'll need to be there for the interrogation. You too, Lilly." He retrieves his cane and offers his free hand to Cami, but his face is crumpled. "I am so done with spies."

Lilly hesitates at the threshold.

"Thank you," she signs to me. "For supporting me."

Then she goes to join them, leaving me in the dark. As always.

By the time I've returned to my bedroom, hours later, the boys are no longer there. I think Rudy might've sent them away for the evening. Good thing, too. I spot little indications of life, from wrinkled cushions to a rumpled comforter to my TV, crackling with static.

I shut it off and flop down on my bed. By tomorrow, the Elite will know about JJ. They'll know he's a traitor. Max will know, too. Worry eclipses the rest of my thoughts. If JJ does, in fact, drop Max's name in his interrogation, then Max will be gone before the hour is up.

But no. JJ will try. All he has to do is not mention him. Max can be spared from fate.

The next morning, I wipe my crusty eyes and peer at the clock. Eight o'clock, Day Six. Today's the day of the final match against the Sacramento Scorpions. I check my messages, watching as the All-Star ladies send encouragement and last-minute ideas for strategy to the group chat, aching to join in. But I can't. I won't. I'm no longer on the team, after all.

My shadow guards pop in and out throughout the day. The Elite don't visit me again, so I can rightly assume they heard the news. I have breakfast, then lunch in my room, and am on the cusp of going completely mad before I receive a knock at the door. To my surprise it's my lady's maid – Aderyn's replacement Emma – with a tray and a note on top. Handwritten in the wonkiest penmanship.

Dear Gail,

Please can we play together today?

Taeyang.

The note makes my heart fill, the first time in days. Poor Tay. He must sense something is off in the palace, something no one can tell him. I don't know how much Omma knows – when she took a step back from palace duties, she really meant it – but Tay would've inadvertently felt part of the pushback of my secret being revealed.

I scribble a quick reply. Kitchen in thirty minutes. Bring your best baking skills!

After I change into a flowery blouse and chinos, the guards trail my steps on the way downstairs, and Tay meets me outside the doors with Regan. His hair is messier than usual today, but he beams – a wide, toothy grin – and bounces on the spot when I approach.

"I already got started!" he pipes, pointing to the apron. His favourite one must be in the laundry, because today he's wearing a bright yellow one that says Sunshine Boy on it. "Is that okay?"

"Of course that's okay. I'm ready to bake!"

"Yay!"

I pass a grateful smile to Regan, who leaves us at Tay's little kitchen corner. I ready the stool for him to stand on and then grab myself my own apron. Tay is flicking through a thick, well-used recipe book by the time I've knotted it behind my back. A strange sensation of déjà vu hits me hard – Kingsley's date with us seemed so long ago. That was during the very dawn of the Selection.

Now we're at the dusk. So many things have changed… so many people have, too. Me included.

Tay smooths the book open. "I want cake."

"Me too. Chocolate?"

"With double-choc chips!" Tay cries excitedly. "And chocolate frosting!"

"This sounds like it's going to be very rich."

Tay pauses.

"I will put a strawberry on top."

Giggling at how cute he is, I grab the necessary ingredients from the pantry and fridge, and we set to work. Sieving the flour, measuring the powders, cracking the eggs and washing one singular, sad strawberry. The change in my routine is nice, methodical, but my mind wanders back to the Selection, to the boys, to JJ and the Rebel Resurgence and Rose and the Voice. Everything seems to have gone wrong all at once, and I feel a little like this fruit. Alone on a bed of my own making.

"Gail."

"Huh?" I look up from whisking.

Tay is watching me with open, curious eyes. "What's wrong?"

"What?" I splutter. "What do you mean? I'm—"

I'm fine. Is that what I was going to say? Isn't that what I always say? I rest my hand as my lips crumple. "I've been better. But right now I'm happy to be baking with you."

"Then why do you look sad?"

"It's… adult stuff."

Tay's face sours. "Hand holding again? With Mr Max?"

I resist another bout of laughter. "Not that kind of adult stuff, no. Just… things. It's… erm, Selection related."

"Are you picking the winner soon?"

Another comment that hits me like a curve ball. The winner. To my Selection. Soon? But of course, obviously, there are only six of the Elite left. The choice is – should be – looming on my horizon. All six faces pop into my field of vision like they're standing in front of me. Ben, Kingsley, Max, Sheng, Silas, and Soren.

"I… think so," I say uncertainly. "Yes."

"Who will you pick?"

"Who do you think I should pick?"

Tay goes rosy-cheeked and he looks down at the bowl. "Can they all win?"

I start mixing again, chuckling. "I wish it worked like that, Tay, but I can only pick one winner."

"Will they be sad?"

"Some of them will be, but that's okay. They'll be fine if they don't win."

Tay quiets again. For a moment I think he's dropped the subject, focused on adding the dry ingredients to the wet. He takes the bowl and whisk from me to oversee the stirring, but then he says, "You should pick your favourite. The boy you really like."

Who I really like is a fine balancing act between six equally-sized pits into six dark abysses. I don't know where each will lead me, whether it's the mere entrance to a kingdom of happiness and sparkles, or a mask for the rocks at the bottom. Not that I think any of the boys are rocks, but the mystery of the future frustrates me. There's an age-old adage of follow your heart, but I am so over anything remotely as risky. Can I follow my head instead? It's not like I haven't been burnt countless time chasing the things I loved.

I loved hockey, for example. Look where that got me.

I try to picture my future with each of the boys. Kingsley and I could have so much fun together. Ben will never fail to challenge me and my perspective. Silas will keep me on my toes, and Soren will never stray from my side. Max will forever have my back, be the rock beneath my feet and the wings that keep me flying, and Sheng…

Well. I don't know about Sheng. I don't know… about us, anymore.

The revelation hits me like an avalanche of trucks. Can there be an us? What we had before was beautiful, a wonderful memory to cherish forever and ever. But it's not me anymore. I've changed. He's changed. Maybe not by a lot, but certainly enough for me to see that what he can offer me… isn't what I want anymore.

I take a steadying breath. This is hard to process. I can't just throw away so many months of secrecy and forbidden love between us. I don't want to be cruel. But when I think of Sheng, and his confession, I think that maybe he's in love with a Gail that doesn't exist anymore. The Gail of Before, not After.

The doors suddenly clatter behind me, and I turn so quickly that I accidentally knock flour at the assailant. Silas yelps; his untucked black shirt is peppered with ivory flecks.

"Shi— itake mushrooms," he cries, staring at me with bewilderment. "Can't a guy get some chips without being violently accosted?"

"A-Accosted? You snuck up on me!"

"If by snuck up you mean I walked into the kitchen," he chuckles, attempting to wipe the flour away but only succeeding in spreading it. He gives in and steps to my side. "Hey. What're you making?"

"Cake, Mr Silas!" Tay chirrups. He offers the spatula. "Want to taste?"

Silas drags his finger through and tucks it into his mouth. "Mmm. Not bad."

Tay's whole body deflates. "Not… good?"

"No! I mean, yes! It's great, Your Highness!" Gingerly he replaces the spatula in Tay's hands. "It's really good."

"Yay!"

Tay goes to pour the batter into the cake tins. I face Silas. "Why're you getting chips?"

"Just doing a bit of studying," Silas says, leaning against the counter and plying his face with his hands. "Trying to stay energised."

"… With chips?"

"I never said my life choices were good." He does look… tired. Wan. His usually pretty, L'Oreal-commercial-worthy eyelashes sag with his eyes. Even his curly hair falls limper than usual. "You… heard the news, then. About… about JJ?"

I nod.

He takes a deep breath. "It hurts, I'm not gonna' lie. I liked the dude. Liked his style of teaching. I learned a lot under his tutelage. Now this…" He shuts his eyes. "I just wonder if it will ever end."

"What will end?" I whisper.

"Just… things like this." There's a thread of ambiguity in his words. "Feeling like nothing ever matters. Nothing you do makes a difference."

"Whoa, Silas—"

He waves it off. "Sorry. I'm being stupid."

"No, you're not." I tug his sleeve. "It's okay. I feel… mad, too."

"It's not even him I'm mad at. I mean… I am. Obviously." He uses the base of his palms to rub his eyes. "Christ, I should've had more lunch. What I mean to say is… I'm mad at the world. These circumstances are so shi— iitake mushrooms. What did we do to deserve it?"

I don't think Silas knows the hows and whys of JJ's involvement with the Resurgence, only that he is, but I have a feeling he'd be a little more understanding if he knew. Silas seems the type to care deeply, even if he doesn't show it very much.

Tay makes a little noise – he almost trips off the stool. Silas and I hurry to help him slot the three cake trays into the oven. A rush of hot air weaves through my hair when I open and shut the door, and Tay dusts off his mitts.

"Want to make frosting?" he asks us.

"I do," I say, then turn to Silas. "You know your academics are frozen while you're here, so it wouldn't hurt to take a break…"

"For chocolate frosting? I would absolutely take a break." He winces. "Err. Maybe I'll grab an apple or something first. Better life choices, you know?"

The satisfying crunchy apple noises make an ambient soundtrack besides me and Tay as we whip together the airy, chocolate cream frosting to go in between the layers and over the top of the cake. Tay lets me lick the spoon – very generous of him – and before long the oven timer beeps for our attention. The smell is so heavenly I almost forget my own name.

As Tay prepares the piping bags and waits for the cakes to cool, Silas and I sit down at the small breakfast bar. He taps his fingers against the marble surface of the countertop – it's a rhythmic sound that calms me. After a few moments of it punctuating the kitchen din, he says, "Do you know what's going to happen to his son?"

"He's gone into witness protection."

Silas nods. "Thought so. Easton… he must be terrified."

Tay looks over at us then. "Easton? My friend?"

Right, I forgot they were friendly. Tay and Easton liked to play with June a lot, too. "Do you miss him?"

Tay's shoulders sink. "I haven't seen him since yesterday. He always wants to play pretend when I'm trying to bake." His cheeks puff, but he glances at the doors then, almost as if expecting Easton to burst inside, his nanny Linda in tow, but the doors remain steady. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," I tell him. Tay grins and goes back to the piping bags, and I don't have the heart to tell him the truth. That his relationship with his father will probably never be the same again.

Silas leans his head against his hand. "Maybe we should go keep him company, or something."

I shake my head. "We can't. Witness protection is a whole other thing."

"Right." His thumb brushes against his cheek like a tic. "I don't want him to be scared. He doesn't deserve it. No kid does."

"I know."

"I know you know." Another pause, thick and pregnant. His gaze flickers to Tay, who is bobbing his head and humming as he scoops mixture into piping bags. "He's a lucky kid, you know. Prince Taeyang."

"Because his family aren't rebels?"

"Because he's got a great sister like you to look out for him."

My lips curl up. Only a little, but it's enough to have Silas mirroring my expression.

"You're not letting that go to your head, are you?"

"Excuse you, it'll take way more than that to inflate my ego." But I raise my chin and jiggle my head, grinning. "You don't have siblings, do you?"

"Nah. Just me and my dad. Most days."

"Most days?"

He takes a breath, but his easy-going smile shutters. "It's complicated."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

I reach out, squeeze his hand. He looks at it for a second, like he can't quite fathom what I'm doing, or why, but eventually his fingers twitch in response.

"I…" His lips tremble as he trails off. "Thank you. For… being you."

I tilt my head. "What do you mean?"

"It's… refreshing, I guess. It's been a long time… since I felt comfortable around someone."

That's big. And for someone like Silas? Who deserves the world and so much more? It's practically unfair that he feels like he can't get close to anyone. But that's what he meant, I figure, when he said he was mad at the world.

"Cake is cool enough!" Tay announces, splitting the moment in two like an axe to wood. "Let's decorate!"

Silas raises himself from the bar stool and saunters back towards him. "For the record, my baking skills are the best."

"Your eclairs were so banana-shaped we had to throw most of them out!"

"… It's the thought that counts."

Tay starts to giggle uncontrollably, and when Silas does too, I smile.

We take a layer each, to spread the thick frosting on top and neaten it flush with the edge. Then we build the cake, one part at a time. The filling gets on my apron, my cheeks, my hair. Silas gives me a lecture on why I shouldn't lick the spatula and then dip it back into the cake (hint: it has something to do with germs). Tay tries to pipe some swirls at the base but runs out halfway through, leaving one side of the cake a pristine beauty and the other a half-finished disaster, but he's so proud of the creation he doesn't even mind. My heart feels lighter, too, when we cut into the cake and gorge on the fluffy texture and air-light cream. This was what I needed: time spent with people I care about.

They may not know why I'm on house arrest, but their company I cherish all the same.

We're inside the seldom-used elevators to take us to Omma's office, pushing a cart with the cake and plates along, when the doors whoosh open one floor below, and Sheng stumbles inside. All the chaotic thoughts in my head about him fly back in as quickly as they fly back out. He looks… awful. His varsity jacket is wrinkled and bent, his face blotchy and red. His eyes are dull, lifeless.

"Sheng!" I step around the cart towards him. "What… what's wrong?"

Sheng's eyes flicker between me, Silas and Tay, but his face crumples almost at once.

"My grandmother… she's gone."

It's a blow to my chest. The words have barely left Sheng lips before he falls into me, before his entire body is tremoring, shaking with pent-up sobs, wetting my shoulder with his tears. Tears prickle behind my own eyes.

"Sheng, I… I'm so sorry."

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. I didn't know her for very long, and I only met her once, but Grand Mah was vivacious even as her health waned. She was the hand at Sheng's back, pushing him to do better and better, and now her absence carves a hole in my chest. I hold Sheng close to me. I let him cry.

"I'm so sorry," Silas croaks beside me.

Tay watches us with wide, curious eyes. Then, after a moment, he reaches forwards and grips the hem of Sheng's jacket.

"Sorry, Mr Sheng," he mumbles.

Sheng leans back slightly. He uses his hand to wipe away the tracks of tears on his face and chin. "Thank you." His voice is rusty.

The elevator spits us out on the office floor, but suddenly I don't want cake anymore. Don't want anything but to comfort Sheng in his anguish. Silas meets my eye; at once he seems to understand.

"Come on, Prince Taeyang," he says, offering his hand to Tay. "Let's go deliver the cake to your family, shall we?"

Tay hesitates and warily takes Silas' hand. Together they push the away to the offices.

"Sheng…" What else am I supposed to say? I take his hands, squeeze them tight. "If there's anything I can do…"

"No," he croaks. "No, there's nothing, thank you."

"How's your father?"

"Not good," he replies quietly, and his honestly shocks me. Sheng's not a liar, but he would swerve away from the truth if he thought it unprofessional. "He's… he's still at the hospital. My other family is on their way over. To… say final goodbyes."

"Shouldn't… shouldn't you be at the hospital too?"

He shakes his head. "I can't… I can't stand to be there anymore."

With as frequently as he'd been visiting, it's no wonder. "Okay." I gulp down the lump in my throat. "When was the last time you ate?"

He rubs his face. "I don't know. This morning."

I squeeze his hand again and pull him towards the closest receiving room. "Let's sit down and have some tea or something. I know it won't make you feel better, but it's good to eat."

Sheng doesn't argue. My shadow guards wait at the door as I have some food summoned, which arrives quickly: a host of sandwiches, cakes, little desserts and teas. Sheng doesn't seem to want to eat anything, but I load up his plate with what I think he'll enjoy and put it on his lap. He nibbles at a chocolate tart as I pour him some green tea. I don't speak. There's nothing to say, and I don't want to push him if he's not ready.

"Thank you," he mumbles eventually, when the chocolate tart is gone.

"That's okay," I mumble back. "Please, have some tea."

He nurses the teacup's rim. "Thank you for everything you do, Gail."

"You don't have to thank me for being a decent human being."

He shakes his head. "You keep my father and I employed. You are unfalteringly kind to us. You let me go to visit my— my grandmother whenever I wanted. The Selection… it paid for her treatment. It prolonged her life."

The memory of the secret deal I made with Senior Mah, all those months ago, volleys back into my head. The only reason I, initially, kept him in my Selected pool beyond the eliminations was because of Grand Mah, because her cancer treatments were so expensive. Now that she's gone… I no longer have that obligation. The debt is paid. Not in the way I wanted, but it's paid nonetheless.

I look at Sheng, watch as his gaze is faraway and melancholic, and I wonder if I can do the right thing to eliminate him from the competition. No more games and playing around. Sheng has to go. But I can't bring myself to do it. Not now. Not like this.

"Gail…" Finally his dark eyes bore into mine, and I shiver despite myself. "You've barely spoken to me since I confessed."

This feels like the wrong time for this conversation, but Sheng is emotional, volatile. The worst thing I can do now is avoid it.

"I… I know," I say carefully. "I-I haven't known what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Don't I? You're in love with me. That's something I should respond to, isn't it?"

It comes out snappy, and Sheng's eyes pop. "Gail—"

His response is cut across by a swift knock at the door. "Gail?" calls Roy.

I don't dare look at Sheng as I try to compose myself. I sweep down my dress, wrinkle my nose, and pronounce, "Yes, come in."

The door opens a crack. Roy peers inside.

"We need to talk. In private."

"Can it wait?"

"No."

Again I don't look back at Sheng, my old flame now extinguished, but I say, "Help yourself to as much food as you want. Please ring for more if you're still hungry." With that, I follow Roy out into the hallway. Guards on my heels, I don't speak until we're back in his office. The cake has long since turned to ash in my stomach.

Roy sets his cane down and sits at his desk. For the second time today I'm hit by a wave of déjà vu, but the circumstances as so different to the last time we were here in his office like this – when I was pleading with him to have my Selection – that there's hardly anything to compare. All the nerves on my skin have been frazzled, shocked into high alert, and I can't tell if it's because of Sheng, or because of the way Roy's face is uncharacteristically sullen.

"In the last thirty minutes I've received word from JJ's interrogation downstairs."

My heart jolts. "Anything useful?"

"Yes. He's given us a few names and contacts within the Resurgence that we can research." His jaw clenches and he knits his hands together. "You… may want to sit down, Gail."

No, no, no. "Why? What's wrong?"

"He told us some disturbing intelligence. Not only had he been in contact with the Resurgence on the outside, but the inside as well. He told us…" He takes a deep breath. "He told us he'd been ferrying information to Maximus Wellington for rebel hit jobs, where he acts as a getaway driver."

My gasp comes out shaky and forlorn. No. No. No. This cannot be happening.

"I know," Roy says, mistaking my reaction for shock. "I'm sorry, Gail. He's—"

"No, you can't!" I step forwards, then back, back towards the door. "No, no, no, please, you can't take Max—!"

"No," the expulsion of his breath is gruff, frustrated. "No, we can't."

"What? I… I don't understand."

"I'd already sent guards to apprehend him." Roy meets my eyes. "But they've searched everywhere in the palace. Not in the Men's Parlour. Not in the kitchens, nowhere on our cameras. The last place he was seen was after breakfast this morning, entering his quarters. I've had it searched. All his personal belongings were missing."

My entire body turns to stone.

"I don't know… don't know how the hell he did it," Roy mutters, "but he's nowhere to be found."

And that can only mean one thing.

Max has fled the palace.

NTT: "Maximus Wellington is a fugitive, and he will pay for his crimes."