Miranda found James an hour before midnight, sitting in his living room with the Soul Splitter on his lap and death in his eyes.
"Don't," she said from the doorway.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're planning. I can see it. You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look people get right before they do something stupid." Miranda stepped inside, closing the door. "James, please. Think about this."
"I have thought about it. For three days. Every angle. Every option." James set the Soul Splitter aside carefully. "Tomorrow they take me. Put me in Crown custody and eventually discover what I am."
"So you run. We've talked about this."
"Hmm." He turned to face her. "There is one option we haven't discussed."
Miranda went very still. "No."
"You don't know what I'm going to say."
"Yes, I do. You're going to say you're going to the garrison. Going to try to free your mother. And it's suicide, James. Complete suicide."
"Maybe not free her. That seems impossible." James's voice remained cold and controlled. "But I can see her. One last time before they take me."
"They won't let you see her. We tried..."
"They won't let me. I know." James picked up the Soul Splitter again. "But they can't stop me if they don't know I'm there."
Understanding dawned in Miranda's eyes. "You're going to infiltrate the garrison with magic."
"You catch on quick dear Miranda." James stood up.
"And when they realize someone broke in? When they investigate?"
"I'll be in Crown custody by then. They can't prove anything. It'll just be another mystery." James met her eyes. "This isn't about breaking her out, Miranda. It's about seeing my mother one more time. About telling her I tried. About not spending the rest of my life wondering if I could have done something."
"I won't talk you out of this," Miranda said quietly.
"No. You won't."
"Then I'm coming with you."
"Absolutely not."
"You need someone watching the perimeter. Someone to warn you if guards are coming. Someone to create a diversion if you need to escape." Miranda's voice was firm. "And before you argue that it's too dangerous for me, I could say the same. This is my choice..."
James wanted to argue. Wanted to protect her from this. But she was right. Having someone outside would increase his chances significantly... or do the opposite.
"Fine. But you stay outside. Do not enter the garrison. If something goes wrong, you run. Immediately. Don't try to help. Just run."
"Obviously," Miranda said with a smile.
They spent the next hour preparing. James couldn't take the Soul Splitter, too bulky and obvious. But he loaded his pockets with small components, anything that might be useful.
He wrote a note for the territorial officials who'd come tomorrow:
Gone to say goodbye to mother. Will return for the custody placement. Don't destroy the plants in my room.
—James
Miranda read it and almost chuckled. "Only you would worry about your plants while planning a prison break."
"It's not a break," James corrected.
"Sure it isn't."
---
They left just after midnight, moving through dark streets toward the garrison.
The building looked different at night, more fortress than administration center. Guards on patrol. Lanterns burning.
James and Miranda stopped in shadows across the street, observing patterns. Guard rotations every fifteen minutes. Three entrances: main gate heavily guarded, side door with two sentries, back entrance near the supplies with one.
"Back entrance," James whispered. "Single guard, less visibility from the main building."
"How are you getting past him?"
James focused, reaching out with telepathy toward the guard's mind. The man was bored, tired, thinking about his shift ending in two hours.
You need to check the main gate. Important. Now.
The guard frowned, touched his temple like he'd heard something. Looked toward the main gate and started walking that direction, drawn by the planted suggestion.
"Spooky," Miranda covered her mouth with her hands as she spoke.
"Wait here. Count to one to a hundred. If I'm not back in twenty minutes—"
"I know. Run... and don't get caught." Miranda grabbed his hand. "Don't die in there."
"I don't plan to."
James teleported to the back entrance, a short jump that left him breathless for a second, but the door was locked. He placed his hand against it, felt the metal pins inside, used telekinesis to shift them with surgical precision and the lock clicked open.
He slipped inside, into a dim corridor lit by occasional lanterns. His telepathy scanned ahead. There were two guards on the main floor, focused on the front entrance. Cells below, in the basement where they'd keep prisoners awaiting trial.
Where his mother would be.
James moved through the garrison like a ghost, combining teleportation for short jumps with telepathy to avoid guards. When footsteps approached, he flattened against walls or ducked into alcoves, letting patrols pass within feet of him.
The stairs to the basement were guarded by a single sentry, sitting half-asleep at his post.
Sleep. You're so tired. Just close your eyes for a moment.
The guard's head nodded forward. Breath evened out as he went to sleep. He would wake in minutes, but minutes were enough.
James descended into the cell block where the basement was cold stone and iron bars. Six cells, most empty as his telepathy stretched out, searching for familiar thoughts...
—why am I even surprised, Grayson spoke out and now I'm here, and James, my sweet James is alone, please let him be okay—
His mother's thoughts. Third cell on the left.
James approached quietly, seeing her silhouette in the dim light. She sat on a wooden bench, head in her hands, looking timid.
"Mother," he whispered.
Eliza's head snapped up and stared at him like he was an hallucination. "James? How did you—you shouldn't be here!"
"I know. I had to see you." James moved to the bars, keeping his voice low. "They're taking me tomorrow. Making me a Crown ward. I couldn't let them do that without saying goodbye."
"Oh, sweetheart." Tears streamed down her face. "You should have stayed home. Should have stayed safe—"
"I've been safe my whole life. Look where that got us." James's voice cracked. "Father's imprisoned for speaking the truth and you're charged with loyalty."
Eliza reached through the bars, touching his face. "You have to survive this. Whatever happens to me, to your father, you survive. Promise me."
"I promise. But Mother, I need you to know—" James struggled with words. "Everything I've done, everything I've learned, I did it to protect us. To be strong enough that this couldn't happen. And I failed. I'm sorry I failed."
"You're eleven years old. This isn't your failure." Eliza gripped his hand tight. "James, listen to me. When they place you in custody, cooperate. Don't fight. Don't resist. Just survive until you're old enough to be free. Then live. Live the life your father and I wanted for you."
"What about you?"
"I'll be convicted. Probably three to five years. Same as your father." She held back her tears. "But we'll survive it. And when we're released, we'll find you. However long it takes. Now go James, hurry!"
He placed his mother's hand on his forehead and left, teleporting back up the corridor.
He found the guard still sleeping, slipped past and emerged into the main corridor.
He heard footsteps coming closer. Two guards, walking patrol.
James pressed against the wall, preparing to teleport—
"Did you hear something?"
"Probably rats. This place is full of them."
They passed within inches as James held his breath, perfectly still.
Then they were gone, around the corner, and James could move again.
He reached the back entrance, slipped outside—
And found four guards waiting, surrounding Miranda.
"There he is," one of them said. "The Aldric boy. Knew you'd show up eventually."
James froze. Miranda's expression was agonized, apologetic and scared all at once.
—they caught me, I tried to run but there were too many, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—
"Let her go," James said, voice steady despite everything. "She has nothing to do with this. I came alone."
"Sure you did. That's why she's standing watch outside." The lead guard gestured to his men. "Take them both. Breaking into Crown property. Interfering with prisoners. That's serious charges for a couple of kids."
James's mind raced through options. He could fight. Could teleport. Could use any of his abilities.
But there were four guards and Miranda was in grabbing distance. Any violence would put her at risk.
He'd already lost his parents to this system. He wouldn't lose her too.
"I'll come quietly," James said. "But she was just trying to stop me. She's not guilty of anything."
"Tell it to the tribunal." The guards moved forward, iron cuffs in hand.
James let them bind his wrists. Let them pull him away from the garrison, away from his mother, away from the last shred of freedom he'd tried to claim as Miranda walked beside him, also bound, her thoughts a cascade of guilt and fear.
—this is my fault, should have done something—
"Not your fault," James projected to her telepathically.
They were marched through cold streets to a different building, Crown Youth Services, the sign read. The place where wards of the state were processed before placement.
The night officer looked at them with tired resignation. "Breaking into the garrison. Really? What did you think would happen?"
"I wanted to see my mother," James said. "That's all."
"And you?" The officer looked at Miranda.
"I tried to stop him. Obviously failed." Her voice was small.
The officer sighed and made notes in his ledger. "You're both being held until morning. Then tribunals for both of you. Separate from your parents' cases, so at least there's that." He gestured to attendants. "Put them in temporary holding. Separate cells."
James was led to a small room with a cot and a barred window. They removed his cuffs, took his pockets' contents and the door locked behind him.
He sat on the cot and stared at the wall.
He'd gone to see his mother and made promises to survive and return.
And he'd been caught immediately, and now he'd dragged Miranda down with him.
Some genius he was.
James pulled his knees to his chest and finally let himself feel the full weight of his failure.
His father was imprisoned.
His mother was imprisoned.
He was imprisoned.
Miranda was imprisoned because of him.
Outside, dawn was beginning to break. His last day of freedom was over.
Tomorrow would bring tribunals and charges and the end of any illusion of control.