Weiss should have felt vindictive against the men who attacked her. She should have taken pleasure in testifying against them. She didn't. She took an active hand in ensuring guilty verdicts, but she found little satisfaction in it. Nothing was worth being in the same room as them, having to see their faces again. The lack of remorse, their knowing reactions to her dyed hair—it only made it harder to put the ordeal behind her.

Weiss noticed a pair of pale red eyes watching her as she descended the courthouse steps, and she froze. It was a man in his forties with slicked-back dark hair and a tilted cross hanging from his neck on a silver chain. He was leaning against a black car with his arms crossed. Weiss didn't recognize him, but he recognized her and made no attempts to hide who he was looking at.

Her first instinct was to get as far away from him as possible, given her last experience being identified in public. Before she got the chance, one of the tinted windows rolled down to reveal a bespectacled face she'd seen on the news. Her wariness now replaced by confusion, she approached, and the window rolled back up.

"Hmm," the stranger said. "You're her sister, alright. Same eyes."

"You know Winter?" Weiss said.

"We've met. Now get in the car. Oz wants a word."

"About what?"

He shrugged. "Ask him. Hurry up, he's a busy man."

Biting back a retort, Weiss opened the door and took a seat opposite a gray-haired man in a green scarf. A can rested on his lap and he held a steaming mug in his hands. The scent emanating from the cup didn't smell like coffee, though. Was that hot chocolate?

"Weiss Schnee," Mayor Ozpin said. "You've dyed your hair."

"I did," was all Weiss could think to say. She was strangely intimidated. She had met more powerful political figures in the past when her father invited them to dinner, but this was different. There was wisdom beyond years in his eyes as well as a calculating look that made her feel like he knew every last thing about her.

"I must apologize for my associate's abrasiveness. In truth, my schedule is very much open for the rest of the day."

"How does he know Winter?"

"You can say they were colleagues, at least at one point. We worked closely with the military in cleaning up the aftermath of the attack, your sister included."

"Oh, right." The statue came to mind again, the one she had still yet to see up close.

It was still such a surreal memory, two years later. She'd still been working on her degree back in Atlas, then, and had left a lecture to find a very heavy and muted energy in the campus halls. Where students should have been chatting while traveling to their next classes, instead they were all rooted in place, muttering to each other while glued to their scrolls. Weiss had pulled out her own to find dozens of reports from every single media site reporting a mechanized army assaulting Vale. No one could believe what was happening. Remnant wasn't at war with anyone, there were no tensions or conflicts—it was entirely out of the blue.

In the days following the attack, the full story came out. Their leader had been a woman named Salem, who built up a massive underground organization. In a single day, she'd pulled off a complete takeover of the city of Vacuo—they murdered all city officials, raided police departments, and staged mass breakouts at the penitentiaries, using the inmates to bolster her ranks. But she hadn't done any of that until all communications towers had been sabotaged. Word of what happened never reached the military until Salem was already leading her forces to Vale, where she met her death.

"Mr. Mayor," Weiss said tentatively. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. As I've said, I have nowhere else to be."

"I've read about your views on vigilantism."

"Ah. Yes. Naturally you'll be opposed to them, given your recent experience."

"I suppose so."

"But you had a question?"

"Right. It's just . . . You said you'd pardon Pyrrha if she was still alive. But what about the person who saved me? The one who's impersonating her?"

"Well, firstly, I think 'impersonating' is an unfair term. I find it likely that this new Protector is merely trying to carry on her legacy."

"And secondly?"

"Secondly, they are still breaking the law, and are therefore a criminal. There's only one stance to be had on criminals."

"How can you say that?"

Ozpin sipped his drink. "Miss Schnee, I don't say 'hero' lightly. Pyrrha Nikos was a hero. This new Protector did a heroic act in saving you. But that does not mean we should readily give them our trust. Police officers are trained and tested, both mentally and physically, to protect and serve the citizens of their city. A vigilante is a wildcard who we know next to nothing about that doesn't acknowledge the law. Most are wannabe heroes with little competence—we arrest them for their own safety. But one with capabilities akin to those of Pyrrha Nikos is a danger we cannot allow to operate uncontrolled. At any moment, they can go from playing the superhero to playing the villain. That is not a risk I'm willing to take."

"But what if it was Pyrrha who rescued me?"

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible. Her body was retrieved from the wreckage and delivered to her family in Argus."

"But what if it wasn't? Hypothetically, if she were somehow still alive and acting as a vigilante, what would you do then?"

Ozpin took a long sip from his mug before answering. "A pardon forgives past transgressions. It does not grant immunity from the law."

"So you'd arrest her?" Weiss said disbelievingly.

"No. We wouldn't. We'd try."

She didn't know how to respond to that. A silence ensued while she stared at her fingers, interlocked in her lap. The way he talked, the tone of his voice—it made it difficult to disagree with him. But, obviously, Ozpin was wrong . . . right? If he had his wish for the world, then who would have saved her?

"Your injury seems to be healing up nicely," the mayor finally said.

Her hand instinctively went up to her left eye. "For the most part. It doesn't hurt all that much, anymore."

"And how are you faring?" He paused. "Mentally?"

She grew suspicious. "Is that why you came here? Just to see how I'm doing?"

"No. I sought you out on city business. But I've always been rather fond of an idle chat."

"Well I'm faring fine, thank you."

"And financially?"

Weiss pretended not to have heard. "What business do you have with me, might I ask? My family doesn't have much influence these days."

"I didn't seek you out because you were the only Schnee in this city. What I'm interested in is something that you and you alone can provide—your services as a psychotherapist."

Weiss was surprised. "How did you know about that? I didn't put my name on the ads."

"A good mayor is well versed in the goings-on of his city."

She waited.

"I'm privy to the secrets of a certain bureau," he elaborated.

"Oh."

"Councilwoman Goodwitch has written a bill that allocates more funds toward the rehabilitation of convicted criminals. Yesterday it passed four votes to one. There is some leeway there that would cover your fee, if we can reach an agreement."

"You want to pay me to heal prisoners?"

"Correct."

Weiss hesitated. "Excuse me if I'm overstepping, but is that really the best use of taxpayers' lien?"

Ozpin sipped as he took a moment to contemplate. "Atlas, despite having one of the lowest crime rates in Remnant, has an abnormally high recidivism rate. Why do you think that is?"

"I'm not sure."

"It's because their prisons neglect rehabilitation, in favor of putting excessive emphasis on prisoner detainment. It is my firm belief that the primary purpose of a correctional facility is right there in the name—to correct inmates' behavior, not punish them."

Weiss crossed her legs but didn't say anything. She couldn't say she wholly disagreed with that view, but still suspected there was a deeper motive here.

"I've spoken with Mayor Hill and she's in agreement with me," Ozpin said. "Unfortunately, General Ironwood is in charge of Atlas's penitentiaries and is quite set in his ways. But I do have a say in how those in Vale are run, and I mean to do everything in my power to minimize the crime in my city. Perhaps then people will see that there truly is no need for vigilantes, though I suspect that that is too optimistic to hope for."

"That's your aim, then? Reducing vigilantism?"

"My aim is to do what's in the best interest of Vale, always. Stopping vigilantes is part of that, but not where my focus currently lies."

Weiss bit her tongue and stared out the window, where she could still see people shuffling in and out of the courthouse. She didn't believe that arresting people like the Protector of Vale was at all in the city's best interest.

"So, might you be interested in my proposal?" Ozpin asked.

She hesitated. "You honestly think that me healing convicts' mental illnesses will lower crime rates?"

"Perhaps not drastically. But if you stop one criminal from reverting to bad habits, then it's a job well done and one worth doing."

"How many would I be treating?"

"Unless you have objections, as many as consent."

Weiss opened her mouth to answer and was about to look back at the mayor, but then caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. A man with familiar blonde hair and a backpack over one shoulder was disappearing into the courthouse. While she was distracted wondering whether that was who she thought it was, Ozpin cleared his throat.

"Sorry," she said, meeting the mayor's eyes. "I'll do it."

"Excellent," Ozpin said with a smile.

"Is this really necessary?" Weiss asked uncomfortably.

"We have a protocol. The mayor vouching for you doesn't exempt you from it," said the warden, a burly man with a short stature.

"She's clear," said the prison guard after she finished patting Weiss down.

"Can I have my bag back now?" Weiss asked.

"No personal possessions around the inmates," the warden said. "You can have it back when you leave."

"But what about my card?"

"What card?"

"My Civil Anomaly Bureau registration card. I have to show it to all my clients."

"Why?"

"Because I don't intend on coming back here in a jumpsuit," Weiss said with her arms cross. "It's legally required of me."

"Fine. You can have the card. Lark." The warden gestured to one of his men. The guard named Lark stepped forward and extended Weiss's bag to her. She took it and searched for the card while giving him a wary glance. He had the look of someone who enjoyed this kind of job way too much—the kind who peaked as a high school bully and never outgrew that nastiness. It was with reluctance that she returned her bag to him.

"All set?" the warden asked.

"Yes," said Weiss.

"Good. This way." He set off down a hallway.

Weiss followed a pace behind him. "So how many convicts am I treating?"

"Five."

A smile crept onto her lips. Five guaranteed jobs—that was more than she usually got in a week. On top of that, she had two more contracts outside the prison. With that plus the minimal restitution she was receiving for her hospital fees, she might be able to pay her sister back and keep up with her expenses—and Winter would accept the money even if Weiss had to force her to.

"And they've all been pre-diagnosed?" Weiss said.

"By a licensed psychiatrist, yes," the warden answered. "And they've all signed contracts approved by Mayor Ozpin himself, which are in line with Goodwitch's bill."

"And the mayor informed you that it might be beyond my capabilities to do all five in one day, correct?"

"Correct."

They continued deeper into the facility, passing a handful of guards and other staff members. At one point, they walked by a window through which she could see prisoners roaming in the courtyard. She tried to picture her father, who was imprisoned in a different city, out there with them. The man who'd had everything, now at the bottom of the barrel surrounded by the sort he'd once looked at like ants. It was an amusing thought.

The warden stopped by a closed door and turned to face Weiss. "Who do you want to see first? Think you stomach a psychopath right away, or you want to save him for last?"

Weiss was taken aback. "Someone with ASPD actually consented to this?"

"Yes. Don't worry—you'll have a pair of my men in the room."

"Well," she said, conflicted between nervousness and a little bit of excitement—she'd never imagined treating something like that before, and it could prove a valuable experience. "I suppose it doesn't make a difference either way. I'll treat him first."

"Fine. Head inside. We'll bring him along."

Weiss stepped through the door and found a small room with nothing but a table and two chairs inside, as well as a camera in the corner. She sat facing the door and waited, tapping her card against the table as she prepared herself to meet an actual psychopath.

A few minutes passed, and then the door opened, admitting three men inside. Two wore uniforms and the third was dressed all in orange, shackles binding his hands and feet. He was, in all, underwhelming. He had a scrawny build and curly hair, and stared at her with inquisitive brown eyes. The man looked completely normal, which actually made him even scarier.

The prisoner said nothing as he sat down. One of the guards connected his chains to his seat while the other walked over to Weiss, speaking in a low voice. He gave her the inmate's name and informed her he was diagnosed with both antisocial personality disorder and kleptomania. Then both guards stepped back to flank the door, and all three watched her expectantly.

"My name is Weiss." She decided it was best to introduce herself.

"Let's make this fast, darling." The convict smiled. "I'm brimming with excitement."

"Alright." She swallowed and then showed him the card, her last name once again carefully obstructed. "You just need to read this first."

His hand made a jerking movement as if he wanted to grab it, but his restraints prevented him from doing so. After a few seconds, his eyes moved from the card to meet hers, and she took that to mean he'd finished.

"Are you ready, then?" she asked.

"I said to make it fast, didn't I?" he said.

"I'll need to touch your forehead."

"Touch whatever you like, sweetheart."

Weiss cringed. Nevertheless, she reached a hand toward his face. She hesitated, as if he might bite her, then closed the gap and lightly met her fingers to his temple. One deep breath later and she was back in the Emerald Forest.

As usual, she immediately drew her rapier and took a second to look around. She'd had reason to develop this habit, and it paid off as a roar shook the forest and a creature came barreling toward her. Like all Grimm, it had a body as black as coal that was accented by bone plating with red markings. This one took the form of a giant scorpion, a golden stinger hanging from its tail.

A Death Stalker. Yeah, that made sense.

A hasty backward somersault brought her out of range of said stinger as it came shooting toward her. The creature scuttled after her, snapping its pincers at her legs and forcing her to keep retreating. Weiss studied it for weak points, trying to figure out the best way to get a solid strike in. At the same time, she kept her ears trained and was watching the woods behind the creature, wondering where the Geist—kleptomania—was.

She chanced a glance behind her and saw a large tree off in the distance, thick enough to withstand an attack. She turned and ran toward it through the dense woods, hearing lesser trees fall to the Death Stalker's claws as it continued its pursuit of her. As soon as she reached her target, she placed her back to its trunk and took a stance. The Grimm roared once more as it closed in on her. As she'd hoped, it attacked with its tail. She dodged out of the way at the last second, and the stinger sank deep into the wood.

Weiss circled around, avoiding the snap of one of its pincers, as the beast failed to dislodge itself. Angrily, it began to hack away at the tree, sending chunks of bark flying. Knowing she only had seconds before it recovered its maneuverability, she placed several quick jabs into its unarmored backside. Wisps of black smoke emanated from every puncture.

In its fury, the Death Stalker forgot about the tree and whirled around, twisting its tail at an awkward angle. It reared up on its back four legs and tried to get at her, but Weiss was out of its reach. She held her sword at the ready and prepared to strike. Black lines were spreading along the tree from where the stinger was stuck, rapidly wilting it. She shot forward, bounded over its pincers, and kicked off its head. Her rapier swooped in a wide arc, and then she hit the ground running. The Death Stalker roared louder and longer than ever, flailing and writhing, its stinger severed.

Weiss stood and waited for the opportunity to strike again, still keeping alert for the Geist. The venom was taking over the tree now, a whole dark patch surrounding the trunk. Then the damage became too much, and a deafening crack reverberated through the woods. The tree toppled over and landed on the Grimm, crushing it and shattering its bone plating. To finish it off, Weiss closed in and buried her rapier hilt-deep into one of its ten eyes. The Death Stalker let out a final roar and weakly clicked its pincers one last time. Then it became still. Within a matter of moments, it was nothing more than a cloud of dark vapor.

Weiss dropped to a knee, holding onto her sword for support. In the minute she took to rest, it began to snow.

The Geist didn't prove to be an issue. The commotion she'd made in killing the Death Stalker had drawn it to her. Weiss had fought one before, so she knew its weaknesses. Plus, it hadn't found anything useful to possess. The hardest part had been chasing it through the snow when it tried to flee, but once it made the mistake of cornering itself inside a cave, it was over.

Weiss opened her eyes and quickly withdrew her hand from the prisoner's forehead, then used it to wipe the sweat off her own. Her heart was beating faster, and her breathing was heavy, like she'd actually done all of that running and fighting.

"Is . . . that it?" one of the guards asked. "Did you do it?"

Weiss nodded. "He's healed."

"That fast?"

"That fast."

"Alright then," said the other guard. "We'll bring in the next one." He walked around the prisoner to release his restraints, then paused. "What's wrong with him?"

The former psychopath hadn't moved a millimeter since Weiss left his mind. He was staring, wide-eyed, right through her with a blank expression on his face. He didn't seem aware of what the rest of them were saying, or that they even existed.

"Shock, I expect," Weiss said. "People react to the lack of their afflictions in different ways. I've never treated something this severe and deep-rooted before, but I can safely say it'll take some work for him to adjust to the change. He'll probably be feeling guilt and regret for the first time, now, which will be difficult to cope with."

"Well, what do we do with him, then?" said the guard. "We can't just throw him back in with the other inmates in this state."

Weiss thought for a moment. Usually, she told her clients to take a day off and recuperate, and to try to get into the habit of meditation. She also suggested they begin keeping a journal, and taught them some helpful brain exercises. The most important piece of advice she gave was to avoid any situations or patterns that might have caused the mental illness to develop in the first place, where applicable. But this man wasn't fit to even hear those instructions, let alone act on them.

"Isolate him until he can talk again," she decided, "then he'll need frequent attention from a normal psychologist. Keep a close watch on him. I've already given your warden a file with detailed instructions on what else he should do to prevent his newly healed mind from deteriorating. It might be simplest to leave him here for now, if it's possible for me to treat the next patient in another room."

"I'll clear it with the warden," said a guard.

Fifteen minutes later, Weiss was sitting in a new chair in a new room when the guards brought in her next patient. He was bald and on the heavier side, but packed a decent amount of muscle. As the guards chained him to the chair, he wouldn't look at her and had a noticeable quiver in his hands. Weiss wondered how much better she'd looked when they brought in the psychopath.

"Bole Maze," a guard quietly informed her. "Generalized anxiety disorder."

"Nothing else?" she said.

"No." He joined his colleague at the door.

She turned her attention to the inmate. "My name is Weiss."

"Bole," said Bole.

She allowed him to read her card, and he had no comments. As soon as he said he was ready, Weiss touched his forehead and returned to the Emerald Forest once again.

As usual, she drew her rapier and observed her surroundings, but her target wasn't as easy to find this time around. She found north and set off at a brisk pace. She was looking for a Beowolf, a creature she'd slain four times already. GAD is among the most common mental disorders, and the one she'd treated the most often. It should be a simple enough case for her to be able to cure a third inmate today.

A couple of minutes later, Weiss passed by the same cave she'd killed the Geist in. A quick glance inside told her that her adversary wasn't there, so she moved on. One window had appeared so far, and Weiss paid it no mind. She'd only passed one in the previous prisoner's mind, but she hadn't been in there for long. More would likely pop up before the Beowolf fell.

Weiss could almost feel the card still cupped in her hand in the real world. It was the same one she'd shown Jaune Arc. Paragons are legally required to report any and all developments in their semblances to the Civil Anomaly Bureau, then they're issued an updated registration or license. But she had yet to contact them. As long as she didn't abuse the new ability, there was no harm in putting it off a little while longer. No one knew about it. Well, except for Jaune Arc. But if he hadn't reported her to the CAB yet, then she doubted he ever would.

Ten minutes later, Weiss had passed two more memories when she heard a howl off in the distance. She took off at a run in that direction, giving the sky a quick glance. The moon was out with its shattered side hidden from view, making it look whole.

The trees were racing by, and the Beowolf howled again, sounding a lot closer now. She thought it might be just up ahead in that clearing. Her grip on her rapier tightened, and she quickened her pace. It was fifteen feet away now. Ten feet—

Bang!

Weiss tripped and fell, scraping her hands on the ground. She scrambled to her feet and looked around for the source of what had unmistakably been a gunshot. Then she saw it, not five feet to her right, another window. Instinct carried her to it while her mind told her to walk away. Her curiosity won out.

Bole was in a dark building, a dropped flashlight illuminating a portion of the scene. He watched a shapely woman walk away, handing a pistol over to someone walking alongside her. Her face was obscured by darkness, but she was tall, had bleached hair, and wore heels that clicked against the floor with every step.

"Wait," Bole called after her, a slight quaver in his voice. "What do we do with the body?"

"Leave it," the woman ordered. "She can't do any harm to us now."

Then Bole looked down to the body of a female police officer, lying motionless in a pool of blood with a bullet wound in her forehead. For the gruesomeness of the sight and the poor lighting, it took Weiss a moment to realize she recognized the victim. A picture leaning against a grave swam into memory, and Weiss gasped.

Bole knelt down and closed the silver eyes of Summer Rose with a gloved hand, then he stood and walked after the woman who gave him orders.

The window vanished into thin air, and Weiss remained frozen in shock, trying to process what she'd just seen. The Beowolf had managed to completely slip her mind, until she was reminded of it in the most brutal way possible—with claws tearing into her back and fangs piercing her neck.

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