"Give me the Key," Ruby whispered, her eyes pointed toward the front seat.

Weiss barely heard her, and it had nothing to do with volume. Her thoughts were so completely preoccupied that she might not have registered the girl's words at all if it wasn't for the "Ruby's having a stupid and reckless idea again" alarm going off in her brain.

"Ruby, this isn't the time," Weiss said, her voice hollow.

"I know. Your brother just tried to kill us and . . . we should probably talk about that. But we're being wrongfully arrested and we can't let them find the Key on us. I promise I won't use it. I just don't want things to get any worse."

The alarm faded. Weiss moved her cuffed hands toward her pocket and withdrew the Skeleton Key, passing it over to Ruby as discreetly as possible. The movement was autonomous, her mind already pushing the subject to the back of her mind as her thoughts drifted off once again. She vaguely noticed that Ruby seemed to be trying to do something with the device despite it still being off. Weiss couldn't bring herself to wonder what.

She couldn't really process her thoughts at that moment. Funny, really, that having a master's degree in psychology does absolutely nothing to help one understand their own. She wasn't dwelling on what had happened or wondering why she'd survived her brother's grand plan to kill her, or even feeling the betrayal just yet. At that moment, she was thinking about her mother.

There had been an incident when Weiss was twelve. This was back when they didn't know the full extent of her mother's mental decline, and alcoholism had been her biggest problem. It was such a small thing. Her mother couldn't find her favorite wine glass anywhere, and she refused to drink without it. Weiss would have left it at that, a momentary strike of fortune, but her mother had gotten increasingly upset—snapping out, borderline frantic. Forced to wait much longer, the woman would have likely just drank straight from the bottle with nothing to moderate herself with.

Weiss had just wanted her mother to calm down, so she went searching for the glass. She'd recalled seeing her brother near one of the first-floor closets earlier that same day, and decided to investigate it on a whim. It had been in there, on a high shelf, situated perfectly so that it fell and shattered when she'd tried to climb up and retrieve it.

At the time, she'd thought Whitley had set her up to take the blame for it—perhaps his idea of a prank, or just a way to hurt her. In hindsight, she'd come to realize that his intentions had been pure. There were other, more subtle plots afterward that she'd also suspected his involvement in—a couple of missing wine deliveries, a jammed lock on the cellar door, and likely others she hadn't discovered. A naive prodigy's fruitless attempts to help combat their mother's addiction. She had no evidence they were his doing, and she wouldn't have confronted him or told on him if she had. In that matter, their interests had aligned. She'd just been old enough to know that nothing he did would change anything, and he was smart enough to pull it all off without anyone else catching him.

Whitley had always been a schemer. Weiss had always known he was smart enough to be Partridge, but a small part of her still thought he was too smart to be Partridge. Everything she'd seen so far just made the mastermind behind it all seem so incompetent. He'd left so much evidence pointing toward him. He'd brought her all the way to Schnee Tower, and not only had the explosives not gone off in time to kill her, but the building hadn't even collapsed. Honestly, he was better than this.

But the evidence was impossible to ignore. What had happened to that younger brother that sought only to regain his loving mother? What changed to make him turn his nose up at the solution Weiss had to that? Did it truly not matter to him anymore, or had he simply called her bluff, not knowing she'd been telling the truth?

The vehicle came to a stop. They weren't in Amity. It looked like they were at some other, smaller base further into the city. It was about a quarter of the size of a regular city block, surrounded by roads with a gated entrance on each side. Walls enclosed the area with one multistory building at the center and a few smaller ones around it. There were also outdoor areas for training, exercise, and drills. Weiss vaguely recalled passing a couple of other bases since leaving the vicinity of Schnee Tower, so she wondered why they'd stopped at this one in particular.

Marrow and Elm exited the vehicle, and Ruby took the opportunity to furtively stuff the Skeleton Key down the front of her shirt—whatever she'd been trying to do with it during the drive didn't seem to have worked. Weiss's cheeks grew warm as she watched this, and she quickly looked away. She felt the presence of the inhibitor in her pocket, but she didn't have the requisite measurements to hide it in the same manner. She'd be too wary of the spikes to attempt it, regardless. She just had to hope they wouldn't question what it was if they searched her.

"Say nothing, ask for a lawyer," Weiss muttered. "Understand?"

"Right to remain silent," said Ruby. "Got it."


Inside the tall building, Elm patted them down one at a time and took all their belongings into holding. Weiss had gone first, feeling nervous as the soldier found the inhibitor and placed it into a plastic bag along with her scroll, a compact, a few spare hair ties, and a cheap wallet holding nothing but the money she'd been given for her lost luggage. She was dreading having to replace all her cards and IDs once she was back in Vale.

Once Elm was done with her, she started on Ruby. Weiss waited, expecting the Key to be discovered, but it never was. What happened instead is that a weight suddenly appeared in Weiss's pocket, but she didn't dare check it right then and there. Ruby was cleared and they were both led downstairs and locked into separate semblance inhibiting chambers. She understood now that this base had probably been the closest one to Schnee Tower that had these installed.

Weiss had never had the misfortune of being inside an inhibiting chamber before, yet it was still familiar to her. Not only had she seen the interior of one through Torchwick and Neo's views of the same memory, but she'd felt the effect of one before, too. It was like a constant pressure surrounding a part of her that wasn't physical—the same feeling she'd had when Cinder Fall's gray-haired subordinate had used his semblance in the parking garage. It was more intense now, though. It felt less temporary—like a piece of her had been separated and was locked away somewhere else, getting farther and farther away the longer she was in here.

She hated it. This wasn't equivalent to binding someone's hands together—this was equivalent to cutting them off with the knowledge that they can be seamlessly reattached later. An irrational part of Weiss resented Pietro for having designed this room—blamed him for the immense discomfort she was enduring. But it was a necessary technology. She understood that. Without it, there'd be no guaranteed way to safely contain criminal paragons. Without it, there'd be those rare few that were almost impossible to imprison, like Adam Taurus. There'd be a lot more unjustified uses of capital punishment on paragons, and paragons only. It was ironic that, as violating as this room felt to be in, its existence actually prevented paragons from being more dehumanized.

Weiss stuffed both her hands into her pockets and sat down on the edge of the cot. She felt the Skeleton Key there, where it hadn't been when she'd entered the building. Knowing there were likely cameras watching her, she left it where it was and kept her face passive while she wondered how Ruby had pulled that off.

The minutes passed slowly until the door finally opened once again. Weiss wasn't surprised to see her sister on the other side.

"Come," said Winter.

Weiss stood and exited the chamber without a word. Almost immediately, an immense wave of relief flooded through her. She wanted to wrap her arms around that intangible part of herself that had been taken away and never let go, but that was of course impossible. She cherished every single second she was outside of that room, even if it meant being in the presence of the one person capable of making her feel as awkward and ashamed as she'd ever felt.

Marrow stood outside an interrogation room, and he exchanged a meaningful look with Winter as she led Weiss inside. It was one of the ones without the one-way mirror, where an arrestee could also have a reasonable expectation of privacy while speaking with their attorney.

Winter pointed a remote at the camera in the corner of the room and it shut off. "Sit."

Weiss did. "You know I—"

"Silence." Winter stood on the opposite side of the table, facing away from her. Her arms were folded behind her back—a mannerism she shared with Whitley, though his was a lot less tense.

She can't even bear to look at me? Weiss thought.

"I was under the impression that you had learned something from your misadventures in Vale," Winter said.

"But I didn't even—!" Weiss tried to protest.

"Did you or did you not leave Amity Base multiple times without permission, despite being expressly ordered not to? And did you or did you not utilize your acquaintance's unregistered semblance to do so, no less?"

"Yes, but—"

"Were you, or were you not trespassing at the old family manor, knowing we no longer own it?"

"Marrow told you?"

"Were you, or were you not," Winter continued as if she hadn't spoken, "at the home of Cooper Myrtle around the time of his murder?"

Weiss was too taken aback to come up with a response to that one.

"Your fingerprints were found at the scene of the crime," Winter elaborated.

"You know we had nothing to do with that!" said Weiss. "He was already dead when we got there. We just wanted to talk to him. Tyrian Callows did it!"

Winter still wasn't facing her, but there was the slightest movement of her head, a clenching of her hands, and a brief pause that indicated that it was her turn to be surprised. "You saw Callows?"

Weiss nodded, then quickly realized how pointless that was. "Yes. His semblance—he uses it to amplify fear. He petrifies his victims. It didn't work on me."

"So you discovered the scene of a murder and chose not to report it?"

"We knew someone would find it anyway. Tyrian would have been long gone by the time anyone got there even if we had."

"You think that's an excuse?" Winter demanded.

"We were traumatized! I think it's understandable if we weren't thinking clearly."

Winter looked at her watch. Weiss knew she was calculating how many hours had passed between now and then—the amount of time they'd had to come to their senses and do the right thing.

"Can you at least look at me?" Weiss slammed her hands on the table and stood, anger that had been building up for years now finally spilling out.

Winter slowly turned around. Her face was as stoic as ever, but there was a sad look in her eye that she failed to hide. "Why can you never just leave things to the people who know what they are doing?"

"Roman Torchwick would still be out of retirement if we hadn't done what we did," Weiss defended.

"You're patting yourself on the back for the single, ultimately inconsequential silver lining that came from your string of reckless and dangerous decisions. Just because things didn't turn out as horribly as they could have doesn't mean you weren't in the wrong. You both could have died!"

Weiss didn't back down, despite the guilt clawing at her heart. She was too stubborn for that. Winter was saying things she already thought about herself and, if anything, that only made Weiss want to argue more. "'Ultimately inconsequential?'"

"Torchwick is a single talented criminal in a network that will quickly replace him. His organization and the ones pulling his strings persist without him."

"Cinder Fall. She's the one pulling the strings. You nor anyone else would even know that name if it wasn't for us."

"Your reward for helping a wanted criminal evade justice."

"He never would have been caught regardless."

"You don't know that!" Winter said, emphasizing every word.

Weiss crossed her arms. "Maybe not. What I do know is that a woman who spent most of her life as a slave is now free."

"A woman who voluntarily chose to follow Torchwick into a life of crime."

"It wasn't a choice! She never had a chance to be anything else. Now she does. I gave her that chance, her right to choose."

"So you stand by your actions? You truly have no regrets?"

No, Weiss thought immediately. She regretted a lot of things . . . so many things. But there was no changing the past. As much as she tortured herself over them, it was harmful to dwell on her mistakes. She had to believe that what she and Ruby had gone through hadn't been for nothing—that those experiences meant something. Otherwise, what was the point of it all?

Whatever answer Winter took from her silence, Weiss didn't know what it was.

"And your actions since arriving here?" Winter asked.

"We didn't even do anything that wrong! All we tried to do was sneak out and talk to people. I just wanted to help."

"You acted predictably, and once again with complete disregard for the safety of yourself and those around you. And thus you put yourself in a position where our brother could easily frame you as his accomplice."

A silence followed her words as the weight of the present situation finally caught up with Weiss. Whitley was Partridge. Her own brother was the one behind all the terrible things that had happened in the last few days. The fight went out of her, and she wanted nothing more than to turn to her big sister and get all the answers, like when they were kids. But it wasn't that simple now, and there was still too much left unsaid.

Weiss lowered herself back into her seat. "You really believe it's him?"

"The evidence points to no other suspects," Winter said heavily.

"What did he say to you? He told me you'd reached a common ground."

"He painted a picture where three siblings could define their relationship with one another by their own actions, and not those of their parents." She paused. "It was a nice picture."

"And you believed him?"

"I wanted to." Winter sighed and uncrossed her arms, relaxing a bit, but the mental toll Weiss was putting her through began to show. "This doesn't look good for you, Weiss. Nor your acquaintance."

"My best friend," Weiss corrected. "And we're innocent."

"Mayor Ozpin and the General can be quite forgiving, but we're already past the point where your actions can be covered up again like your meddling in Roman Torchwick's affairs. Depending on the amount of fabricated evidence that has yet to come forward and how much of it we can disprove, it's plausible for a jury to exonerate you. But that won't placate Director Cordovin."

"There's no proof Ruby willfully used her semblance before registering it."

Someone knocked on the door.

"You think that will stop her?" said Winter. "Any paragon who gives so much as a hint of illegal activity is a target to her. That includes you." She turned and placed a hand on the door handle. "Our time is up. You can trust Marrow, but don't forget your rights."

With that, Winter left. The door closed behind her, but in the brief time it was open, Weiss could hear the arguing voices of Marrow and the other Ace Operatives. A minute later, Marrow entered alone.

"What happened to the tower?" Weiss asked him, realizing she hadn't gotten the chance to ask Winter.

"Still standing." He took a seat opposite her. "But the damage can't be fixed. We've evacuated the surrounding area and we're bringing in a controlled demolition team in case it doesn't come down on its own."

Good riddance, Weiss thought, though she tried not to let her reaction show on her face.

"Let's cut the small talk," said Marrow. "We've got five minutes alone, and then the others are coming in."

"I won't answer any questions without a lawyer present," said Weiss.

Marrow sighed. "I'm trying to help you, here."

"Why? You don't even know me."

He hesitated. "Your sister saved my life once. I owe her more than this. That's why she asked me to try and look out for you—seemed to know you'd get yourself into trouble here. I didn't do the best job on that front."

"That's why you didn't tell anyone else we were at the manor?"

"Just work with me, and I can bring the truth to light."

"You're a paragon, right?" Weiss said.

"Heightened sense of smell, yes. But that's—"

"Your teammates don't seem to respect you. Is your semblance the only reason you're on the squad?"

His face hardened. "Are you trying to antagonize me?"

"I'm just confirming my suspicions."

"This isn't relevant. I need you to tell me what you know about your brother's plans, and why you think he targeted you."

Weiss shook her head. "I'm sorry. I refuse to speak without a lawyer."

"You're not helping yourself. You know that, right?"

Weiss crossed her arms. She felt slightly guilty, but she had to do what was in her best interests. "I'll be happy to talk—once I have a lawyer."

"Alright. I tried." He stood, and then he left.


Her interaction with the other Ace Ops wasn't too different. Her refusal to cooperate tied their hands. Weiss chose to forfeit her right to a phone call, as the only people she'd go to in a situation like this were already in the same building. She couldn't call the family lawyer either, since Weiss knew they were in contact with Whitley. So all she could do now was wait for a public defender to arrive.

The chamber emitted a perpetual buzzing noise, barely audible but becoming more and more noticeable the longer the quiet dragged on. It instilled an even deeper sympathy in her for Neo, and even for the inmates of the Little Sister. The ones meant to be occupied indefinitely contained means of entertainment to avoid subjecting prisoners to the full cruelty of solitary confinement, but Weiss still couldn't imagine living like this day in and day out. This was maddening.

There wasn't even a valid reason for them to inhibit her semblance. She healed people's minds. Even with what the CAB didn't know about it, she couldn't use it to try anything illegal here. Ruby, at least, could teleport. It made sense for her. Weiss had no means of attempting to escape, not that she ever would.

Escape.

Weiss sat up straighter. The cycle had repeated itself several times before she finally noticed. The buzzing had changed. It was no longer persistent like the hum of a refrigerator. It was now cutting in and out, rhythmically.

Buzz. Pause. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Pause. One letter at a time, the message was conveyed slowly enough that she could interpret it without much difficulty.

"Escape?" she said aloud.

The cycle interrupted, and a new one began. Game is rigged.

"Who are you?" Weiss asked.

His real target. The chamber door clicked, and then the buzzing went back to repeating the previous message. Escape.

Weiss averted her gaze from the now unlocked door as if merely looking at it was enough to tempt her into another stupid decision. "No. Absolutely not. I've done nothing wrong. I'm not about to make myself a fugitive."

Game is rigged, the buzzing messaged again. Prove your innocence. No one else can.

"How am I supposed to believe that? I don't know who you are. You could be him."

I am a friend of the Protector.

Weiss couldn't think of a reply to that before the next message came—the exact address of the warehouse that concealed the hideout she'd briefly lived out of.

Could she trust this faceless person? There was still so much about Pyrrha she didn't know. Jaune had mentioned that two other vigilantes had worked with her, and there was also the mysterious benefactor who'd set up the hideout—who'd made her armor and invented the inhibitor that would save Weiss's mother. Could this be one of them? There were very few people who could have given that address.

Game is rigged, the buzzing messaged yet again. All his plans are succeeding. You lose if you stay.

"Not all of them," Weiss said. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

As intended.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The next message was another address, one she didn't recognize. Talk in person. Distraction imminent. Escape. Need you both.

"Why?" Weiss said. "Why us?"

No response. The buzzing had returned to its normal drone. Weiss, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, walked forward and placed her hand on the chamber door. She hesitated. Staying would mean entrusting her fate to others while she knew the odds were stacked against her. Leaving would make her a fugitive, but she'd be taking matters into her own hands. Seconds passed, and then the buzzing stopped, the lights cut out, and she was shrouded in darkness. The effects of the chamber faded, and the desire to never feel them again played a part in what she did next.

As Weiss pushed the door open, she thought about Roman Torchwick. He might be one of the few people who knew where the Protector's hideout was; he'd bugged her while she'd been his captive, after all. But he said he'd be leaving the country now that he and Neo were no longer under Cinder's thumb, and Weiss believed him. No, it wasn't suspicion that he might somehow be wrapped up in all of this that crossed her mind at that moment—it was his words, spurring her into action like they had once before.

Freedom isn't something that can be given—you've got to take it yourself.


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