When it came to Weiss's semblance, the line between reality and fantasy was very obscure. Was the Emerald Forest real? No. Was the Beowolf real? No. Was the pain she felt when it mauled her real? Yes.

When she was just a girl, a cartoon called Warriors of Grimm had been a guilty pleasure of hers. She'd watch it at night on low volume, so no one could hear, with a blanket wrapped around her and her nose almost pressed against the screen. After Winter left to join the military, the show became her only solace. Whenever her father expressed his disappointment that Weiss wasn't singing well enough or showing as much enthusiasm for the STC as she should, and when her mother was too drunk to pay her any attention—that show was where she'd escape to.

Warriors of Grimm featured a world plagued by dark creatures called Grimm. Paragons didn't exist in that world; it was just ordinary people using fantastic weapons and skills to face unique challenges. That's the main thing that had attracted her to it. When the real world was full of people who'll shun and fear you just for being born with a semblance, it was easy to lose yourself in a fictional one without that kind of discrimination.

In reality, her semblance just altered the brain chemistry of a person's mind in order to weed out the mental illness. It was a complex science that her own brain needed to interpret somehow, so it only made sense that it turned her into a warrior of Grimm. And though she tried, it was impossible to experience anything else. It made the process of curing people a lot simpler, but it also made trying to understand the full scope of her capabilities extremely difficult.

So did the Beowolf actually kill her? Of course not. But that didn't mean that "dying" within a mental landscape came without consequences. For the past three days since her first job healing convicts, Weiss had been lying at home doing little more than rewatching old episodes of Warriors of Grimm with an ice pack on her forehead, as well as throwing up now and again. Her failure had drained her of all energy and left her with a fever. Consequently, she'd had to move all her appointments back a week.

As Weiss laid on the couch, the warriors taking down a Nevermore on TV, she pondered over her notebook. What she saw when using her semblance may have started as a fabrication of her own mind, but the more she used it, the more she realized that there were rules and consistency to it. It operated logically with patterns that it never deviated from—Weiss believed if she could identify them all, she could bypass its limitations. The thing with Forever Fall and the windows were just more factors to figure out.

Though she'd been staring at the same page for the better part of an hour, she'd come up with no new revelations. Her untouched soup was getting cold, and her ice pack had melted. It wasn't until the episode ended and a different show began to play that she finally built up the strength to drop the notebook and sit up. Only because she didn't want it to go to waste, Weiss began eating tiny spoonfuls of soup to sate her nonexistent appetite, at the same time flicking through the channels.

Surprisingly, Weiss wasn't that upset about screwing up another contract—unlike her previous two failures, she'd be able to try again and redeem herself. The most annoying part was that it had been a Beowolf that had taken her down. A Beowolf. The warriors kill about a dozen of them every episode. And yet, one had been responsible for her fourth "death".

In all honesty, a small part of her was almost glad that it had happened. It gave her a whole week to contemplate—time to spend trying not to think about the memory she wished she hadn't seen. She also had a valid excuse to avoid contacting Ruby Rose, who had emailed her four times now, trying to pay her for the job she didn't do. Weiss hadn't responded to any of them, of course; she had more pride than that.

There was nothing worth watching on TV. She checked every channel she had access to, pausing on the news for only a moment—there'd been another bank robbery in the night—before finally hitting the power button. Weiss dropped her spoon back into the bowl, unable to stomach a fourth bite, and miserably pushed herself to her feet. As if it took a great effort, she walked five steps to the kitchen and replaced her ice pack with a fresh one. Then she fell back onto the couch and sighed in relief as the cold soothed her temple.

For a while, she just laid there, wondering whether she could relax enough to fall asleep. But then her scroll buzzed. Weiss checked it and found another email from Ruby Rose. She set the scroll back down and shut her eyes again. Almost immediately, the image of Summer Rose's dead body came back to her.


Three days later, Weiss was feeling a lot better—physically. Mentally, she was still a wreck. Though she'd tried to occupy her thoughts with anything else, she'd been tearing herself apart about what she'd seen all week. She agonized over whether she should tell Ruby Rose what she'd seen—and subsequently the police—or if she could continue keeping her semblance's evolution a secret.

Ruby already knew. Her mother had been killed two years ago. That was plenty of time for an investigation to wrap up and for the murderer to be caught. There's no way the death of a police officer—assuming the incident hadn't just happened to occur on Halloween—could remain unsolved for this long. Bole Maze, who was an associate to the crime, was in prison—surely, that was a good sign.

But, just as soon as Weiss had been reassured by this reasoning, the realization that she didn't know what Bole Maze had been convicted for brought it crashing down. He could have been imprisoned for an unrelated crime, and his involvement with Summer Rose's murder could have never been uncovered. And if that was the case, then Weiss had a moral obligation to share what she'd learned.

Of course, the solution was simple. The answer was one internet search away, but she didn't want to know it. If the result wasn't to her liking, it meant she'd have no choice but to notify the CAB of the development in her semblance. Then she'd get a shiny new license informing her potential clients that she could have access to all their secrets. It was extremely doubtful that her career would survive that.

Then she received a call that further complicated the situation.

"Weiss Schnee?" a woman's voice said on the scroll.

"Speaking," said Weiss.

"I'm calling from the Eastern Vale Correctional Facility. I have it here that you're scheduled to come in tomorrow, yes?"

"That's correct."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone that appointment indefinitely."

"What? Why?"

"Last night, we had a security breach, and someone died. Until we can conclude an investigation, the warden has strictly forbidden any and all outside visitors. I apologize for the inconvenience."

Weiss didn't respond right away. "Someone . . . died? Who?"

"An inmate." There was a pause. "One of the ones you were set to treat, in fact."

Her heart sank, and she asked a question she already knew the answer to. "Which one?"

"Bole Maze."

It couldn't be a coincidence. He'd aided and abetted a murder, been incarcerated, and then died during a security breach. Now, Weiss didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but the circumstances were very suspicious. It sounded like Bole Maze had known something dangerous, and someone on the outside killed him because of it.

Minutes after the call had ended, Weiss was still staring at her scroll. She braced herself for the information she should have sought out days ago, and pulled up a search engine. The entry "Summer Rose" yielded her an article dated two years back—Police detective found shot in abandoned Vale subway station.

Weiss read it. Summer Rose had been reported missing three days before a group of teenagers happened across her body. How she wound up there was unknown. The only sign of damage was a bullet wound to her head. No suspects had been named.

Unsatisfied, Weiss hit the back button and kept searching. She found more articles but no new information. The most recent one stated that the investigation was "ongoing with no new leads". As far as the internet was concerned, Bole Maze's hands were clean of the crime, as were those of the woman who'd pulled the trigger. Searching his name yielded nothing—not even a reason for his arrest and incarceration.

After half an hour, Weiss leaned back in defeat. She knew something that the police didn't, which meant she had to report it. That also meant she had to share how she'd learned it. There was no choice to be made here.

But there was one person who deserved to know before anyone else. So Weiss navigated her way to one of the several emails she'd ignored and tapped "reply".


Around the time she should have been curing convicts, Weiss knocked on an apartment door. A few seconds passed before the silver-eyed girl answered.

"Hi!" Ruby beamed.

"Hello," said Weiss. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" She stepped aside and gestured welcomingly.

Weiss entered and made for the couch. The apartment looked no different from the last time she was here, except for the hoodie and backpack tossed haphazardly onto a chair. The TV was off, and some papers were sprawled across the coffee table—they looked to be designs and technical drawings of some sort.

"Coffee?" Ruby had closed the door and was already on her way to the kitchen.

"No, thank you," said Weiss.

Ruby returned to the living room half a minute later with a glass of milk and sat next to Weiss, looking inexplicably excited.

Weiss scooched away, unable to meet the girl's eyes. "As I said in my email, there was something I needed to discuss with you."

"You've figured out how to help me with my insomnia," Ruby said without a trace of doubt in her voice.

"Your—? No. You don't have insomnia. This has nothing to do with that."

"What?" Ruby looked confused. "Yes I do! Why else would you want to talk to me? You said you don't want my money."

"I'm not here to argue with you about your denial," Weiss said flatly. "Your 'condition' can't be cured, and you need to accept that. But that's not why I came here."

Ruby's face fell. "Oh."

Weiss swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt in knowing she was about to make the younger woman even more somber. It was surprisingly difficult to get the words out.

"Then why did you ask to meet me?" Ruby asked.

Weiss took a deep breath, sighed, and said, "I've learned something about the death of your mother."

There was a blank look in Ruby's eyes, as if she didn't fully understand what she'd said. "Huh?"

"Some time ago, shortly before our first meeting, my semblance developed the ability to see people's memories. I've been pretending it hasn't, avoiding using it as best I could, but . . . last week, by mistake, I saw something I shouldn't have."

"And?" Ruby asked quietly, her face etched in worry.

"I had a job curing convicted criminals. One of them was there when your mother was shot. I saw the memory, and I saw the woman who fired the gun."

"You . . . you know who killed my mom?"

"No," Weiss said hastily. "It was dark, and I only caught a glimpse of her back. But I know the name of the prisoner who was involved. Bole Maze. That's a lead."

"That's a lead," Ruby muttered, looking deep in thought. It was impossible to tell what she was feeling. "Weiss, this is huge. Why did you wait so long to say anything?"

"I've been under the weather," Weiss said truthfully, though that wasn't the only factor. "But today I'll go to the CAB office to inform them of the evolution in my semblance, then I'll report what I've learned to the police."

"You don't sound too thrilled about that."

Weiss hesitated. "How willing would you have been to go through with the process of me trying to heal you if you'd known I could see your private memories?"

"I'd still want you to try."

"Really?"

"Duh. Just because you can, doesn't mean you would, right?"

Weiss stared at her, perplexed. "You don't know me. How could you just assume I'd do the right thing?"

For a brief moment, a shadow seemed to pass over Ruby's face. "My mom always knew how to see the best in people—even those that don't deserve it. If I can't aspire to be like her, then what's the point?"

Weiss looked away from her. "Well . . . not everyone's that trusting. Not everyone's that desperate, or has as little to hide. Everyone knowing what I can do will make it a lot harder for me to keep this as my career. It's difficult enough as is."

"But that's crazy! There are so many people that could use your help. All those people with dementia or depression or—"

"You're being naive. You don't understand what it's like to be a paragon, Ruby. Not really. Your semblance isn't something a stranger would ever find out about. So you haven't experienced the kind of hatred they can have for us. People would rather keep their phobias and disabilities than be touched by a 'lusus naturae'."

Ruby let out a small gasp. "Have . . . have you actually been called that?"

"Several times. And this new ability is just something else to scream 'don't hire me'."

Weiss could feel those silver eyes staring at her sympathetically, which seemed backward. She'd come here to talk about the murder of Ruby's mother, after all.

"So . . . What if they didn't know?" said Ruby.

"What are you talking about?"

"What if you just didn't tell people? Keep it secret and don't use it, you know?"

"That's not possible. As soon as I tell the CAB—"

"Then don't tell them."

"I have to!" Weiss said, frustrated. "Don't you understand? I can't give this information to the police without telling them how I came across it."

"That's what I'm saying! Don't go to the police."

Seconds of silence followed as Weiss tried to figure out whether she'd misheard. "What?"

"I can follow the lead. I'll investigate it—without the police."

"You'll investigate?"

"Yes."

"You?"

"Yes!"

"Are you . . . qualified to do that, somehow?"

"What's there to be qualified for? Ask questions, find answers. It's not rocket science."

Weiss had to make an effort to keep her voice calm. "Ruby. This isn't a game. This is real life. There is a murderer out there. What do you plan on doing if you find her? You could die!"

"Well I'm not going to confront her, obviously! If I can get a name, then I'll go to the cops."

"And you think that you can do a better job than them?"

"I have to try."

"Why?"

"I just have to."

"That doesn't—"

"Because someone killed my mom!" Ruby exclaimed, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "I just . . . I just have to find out why they killed my mom."

A wave of pity swept over Weiss. She tried to put herself in Ruby's shoes, to feel the hopelessness in knowing that her mother would never come back—to know that there was someone out there, walking free, who'd taken her from her, but not know why. She wouldn't want to sit idly, waiting and hoping for someone else to find the answers she so desperately wanted. She'd want to do something, anything, to seek justice.

Weiss understood Ruby's desire to take action. It wasn't too different from her own situation. She was using her semblance, curing people, and learning its limits. She was doing everything she could to understand and master it so she could accomplish what she'd failed to do. Weiss could picture her own mother's face as vividly as ever, staring madly, unable to recognize even her own daughter.

But still. Vale had dozens of precincts full of professional detectives far more capable of achieving anything with this information, and in a much more timely manner. To keep it from them to privately investigate it without any sort of experience would be insane. And childish. And, with Weiss's motivations, selfish.

"Ruby," Weiss said with her best attempt at a consoling tone. "You didn't see what I saw. You don't understand the full scope of the situation."

"Then explain it to me," Ruby pleaded.

Weiss hesitated, then described the memory in detail. She made a point of mentioning exactly how callous the woman had been, and the conviction with which she gave orders. "Do you realize now? This isn't just some random killer. This is someone with power and followers."

"'She can't do any harm to us now,'" Ruby muttered to the floor, echoing the killer.

"Also . . . There's something else I failed to mention."

Ruby looked up at her.

"Two nights ago," said Weiss, "There was a breach in security at the prison, and Bole Maze died. The person I talked to wasn't explicit about what happened, but it's not a stretch to guess that someone on the outside broke in and killed him—because he had information they didn't want to be discovered."

"'She can't do any harm to us now,'" Ruby said again. "My mom was the best detective the world has ever seen. She must have been investigating them, and that's why they killed her." Her voice cracked.

"And if they find out that you've learned too much, what do you think will happen then? They're not going to just let you go. You'll meet the same exact fate."

Ruby was silent for a spell. "I have to try."

Weiss huffed. "For the love of—!"

"I have to try!" Ruby interjected. "Don't you get it? This is even more reason to do this quietly, without getting the cops involved. If the police get this lead and start investigating it, how long before she finds out? Any chance of catching her by surprise and arresting her will be gone!"

"So . . . what? You'll arrest her yourself?"

"That's not what I'm saying. If I can find out who she is, then I'll tell the cops. I just mean that the longer this investigation remains off the books, the easier it'll be to stop her."

Weiss was slightly impressed by her reasoning, but didn't let it show. "But you'd be the one shouldering all the risk. If you ask one wrong question, put one toe out of line, you'd be putting yourself directly into their sights. And you probably wouldn't even know until they've already killed you."

"I'm not stupid. I can be careful, and I can take care of myself. I won't try anything dangerous. And if I can't learn anything, then I'll let the cops take over. Okay?"

As Weiss stared at her determined, defiant face, she couldn't help but feel a small sense of admiration for the girl and her idiotic plan. Behind the naive drive to avenge her mother, there was some authentic courage inside Ruby. And Weiss almost found herself believing in her, trusting that she could actually do it.

"Where would you even start?" Weiss asked.

"Bole Maze," Ruby answered readily. "You said he was a prisoner. Finding out what he was arrested for would be the first clue. If I can figure out his past, maybe I can find out who he worked for."

A stupid thought came to Weiss. It was an idea so ill-advised that she questioned her own intelligence. Surely no straight-A student who'd graduated high school a year early and gotten a master's degree in five years would say something as moronic as what she was about to say. And yet—

"Well, you won't do it alone," said Weiss.

Ruby's brow furrowed. "Uh . . . what?"

"I'm going to help you."

Ruby stared at Weiss as if expecting her to suddenly shout, "Just kidding!" But she didn't. There were few moments throughout Weiss's life where she'd made an honest joke, but this wasn't one of them.

"Why?" Ruby asked.

She couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was guilt for her reluctance; had she acted sooner, Bole Maze might have been able to provide more information before his death. Maybe it was the fear of permanently losing her own mother that made her sympathetic enough to want to help get justice for Ruby's. Whatever the case, the silver-eyed girl had made up her mind, and she'd be needing help.

"Because," said Weiss, "I've failed to talk to you into a more reasonable course of action, and someone is going to have to keep you out of trouble."

Ruby stared for several seconds, emotionless. Then a smile slowly crept onto her lips.

"But let me make one thing clear," said Weiss. "As soon as we hit a dead-end or run into any kind of danger, we're going straight to the—Get off me!"

Ruby had thrown herself at Weiss and embraced her in a hug, which came full force with a strong waft of her rosy perfume. Weiss pushed her away, but Ruby was still grinning.

"You're the best witch doctor ever!" she said happily.

Weiss rolled her eyes and sighed, already regretting her decision.


A/N: Credit to my beta readers: Bardothren, I Write Big, and 0neWhoWanders. They're great writers who are a huge help with making this story as good as it can be.