Tin Smyth came to collect me at 7:00 A.M. We headed straight to the Municipal building –only this time instead of blistering summer heat we were greeted by a glacial freeze. Even my fur-lined boots were no match for the weather. At least the sky had stopped emptying buckets of snow on Kemper.

"Perfect. The panel has already arrived," Smyth announces as we arrive at the building.

A carriage fashioned to a pair of ebony horses is stationed to the left of the entrance. On the side door is an intricate gold engraving –an emblem of some sort, accompanied by familiar script: Mount Gomery, Sycoma City. Under these words are new ones, ones that I've never seen before, a dictum of sorts: Last Old, First New.

My eyes shift upward. Through the petite, oval window I make out the facial features of Helga Hawthorne.

I loathe the carriage and its contents.

They're all in town for me. Just the thought makes my stomach drop. I note the lettering again. I've never heard of Montgomery, but I can only assume it's the city where the C.R.I.S. Headquarters is located in Sycoma.

"You hanging in there, Miss Katton?" Tin Smyth examines my not so calm exterior.

"Yes." I nod, unaware that I've been clenching my fists in my mittens.

"Excellent. Well, you know the routine. Chase will have his Evaluation first. There will be a short interim and then you'll go. Re-Evaluations are always second," he says.

I nod again and my gaze falls on the patch of scars that climbs his jaw line.

"You're the only re-Evaluation set for this afternoon, so we should convene earlier than anticipated. You'll be back at the cabin before you can miss it," he affirms.

I follow Smyth through the doors and to the clerk's desk where Reggie directs us down the corridor.

Hall 3 again.

I haven't been inside the long rectangular room since my K-Day, but it is just as I remember. Smyth conducts me to the same chair as before. He looks at me sideways but doesn't spark up conversation. I'm thankful for this. Instead, I stare forward and daydream of the million possible other places I would rather be.

One by one, sightseers pack inside. Most of the people I expect to see –but then I spot two grey haired figures reclined in the last row of benches. It's the Shaw couple.

Hart is overly nosy and thrives off of gossip. Tin Todd is as dreamy as ever. I have no doubt he's on my side. I ogle from across the court table –at the charcoal scarf contrasting his pale snow-white skin. I have not had a ton of time to acquaint myself with him, but I suspect he is too innocent to judge people.

"It's almost time," announces Smyth, leaning in. "Are you ready?"

"Ready to get it over with," I mumble in a low, gruff voice.

Helga Hawthorne strolls down the aisle, trailed by four board members of the C.R.I.S. I quickly recognize Kline and Caine and if I remember correctly, they are wearing the exact same outfits as before. My focus shifts to the two new faces eying me surreptitiously from behind the others.

Both figures fall into stride behind Charles Caine. They are male and substantially younger than my board members. The taller of the two is supremely handsome with wavy dark hair piled on his head and a complementary 5:00 shadow. My first thought: native. Then I notice his pallid skin and sunken features and I reconsider.

His companion is short and stockier, but still handsome. He reminds me of Ethan.

Tyse Easton, Kemper's Enforcer, stands to the side of the desk, horizontally aligned with me but lurking in the shadows. Having the enforcer here is just a precaution. I hope.

"Welcome and good morning to all," Hawthorne recites in her same tenacious voice. She clears her throat and overcomes the chattering crowd.

"Today we will conduct the Evaluation of Mr. Chase Young and the re-Evaluation of Miss Evelyn Katton," states Hawthorne.

"For those of you new, I am Helga Hawthorne, the Arbitrator residing over today's hearings. Board Members Jasper O'Flannigan and Graham Yale will be evaluating Mr. Chase Young." Hawthorne indicates the two new faces sitting on her side opposite Kline and Caine.

A low murmur passes through the audience. People cannot get enough of Evaluation hearings. I even see a few out-of-towners here for the show.

Chase is poised and seated behind a table very similar to mine. In all the time he's been here, since he washed-up, I don't remember him conversing with anyone except myself. He's reserved and introverted mostly. He stares back, mindlessly fidgeting with the pamphlet in front of him.

Next to Chase is Tin Hart, his voucher. Hart is dressed to match Tin Smyth, with an upmarket suit and shiny dress shoes –the Tin pin fastened to his breast pocket.

He whispers something to Chase that causes a shift in their dynamic. Chase is on edge. Just then, as if she can sense his uneasiness, Hawthorne begins the Evaluation.

Chase recited his History, Approach, Situation, Memory, and Application in an abrupt manner. I expected this considering he is evidently withdrawn.

It would be the worst thing if Chase failed his Evaluation and was classified a refusal. I am his nurse and therefore would be partly to blame. Hawthorne and the board members seemed pleased enough with his responses. With the only remaining element left being the Verdict, they proceeded to the next step. Me.

After Chase was dismissed and returned to his chair, Board Member Yale (the supremely handsome one) called me forward.

I walked forward and took the witness stand. For the most part, the questions were the ordinary doctor-like questions you would expect. To keep from seeming too disinterested, I focused on Graham's beautiful face.

Graham is almost as charismatic as Tin Todd, with the same sultry smirk too. The only thing better than having Tin Todd walking around town would be to have Yale too.

After the last inquiry they had planned for me, the board members regrouped and excused me from the spotlight. They seemed adequately content, so I was able to relax some of the built-up tension in my shoulders.

On my way back to the table, I study the crowd. Smyth nods approvingly in my direction. I steal a quick sideways peek at Chase. I grin and roll my eyes ever so slightly. A small smirk settles on his lips and I know he's thanking me inside.

When I finish my testimony, the board members deliberate. Since Chase is still residing in the Refinery, he wasn't given a reassignment team. There is no one besides me who could testify to his character and behavior. I hope I was good enough.

Twenty minutes later, Hawthorne rises from her throne and ejects her voice across the hall.

"On this say, the eighth of February, 2702, on behalf of the Committee of Refugee Integration Services, I hereby declare Chase Young approved for integration."

A familiar applause erupts behind me. Chase uncomfortably shakes hands with and hugs his fans.

Hawthorne announces that there will be a short interim before my re-Evaluation and that anyone who wishes to leave should do so now.

"Hey." Chase comes up behind me.

"Hey to you. Congratulations," I say. "You didn't screw up."

"And neither did you," he laughs.

"You did learn from the best," I remind him, laughing. "Plus, I couldn't mess up. I was getting sick of having you in the Refinery."

"I bet." His smile hardens into something more serious. "Thank you, Ev."

"You're welcome." I nod. The nickname is so minor, but so William.

Chase leaves after that –no doubt relieved to have his new autonomy. I don't blame him. A civil exits from an opening in the wall behind the board members' desk carrying a lumpy canvas. I recognize the complimentary K-Day satchel.

"How are you feeling, Ev?" William appears at my side, eyes perplexed.

"I feel fine," I lie under my breath, trying not to pay too much attention to him.

I am still mad at William for his treachery, though I frequently remind myself that my hostility is unfair considering he doesn't know I know. I shouldn't know.

"Do try and relax. There is no Hasmav during the re-Evaluation process, so at least you can focus all of your efforts on convincing the board members of your exemplary behavior. It brings me comfort reasoning how well you have reacted. They will pass you with flying colors." William declares.

"That's just the thing," I whisper, scouring the room for eavesdroppers. "I don't feel exemplary. I've had all this unbridled publicity and raging popularity. It's enough to make anyone mad."

I feel my eyes begin to sting. I cannot, will not let myself fall. "I've been put on a pedestal that's too high to climb down from. It's true what they say: It is lonely at the top."

William laughs quietly, and I can't help but smirk myself.

"Leave it to you to make jokes now."

"Who said anything about jokes?"

"It's just your nerves getting to you. You've handled everything with true character. Charlotte and Nic still cannot believe how remarkably you've adapted. And I overheard Brynne talking to Reese the other day, reckons you're one of the strongest refugees. The real deal." William says, matter-of-factly.

I frown. An altercation is not what I need right now.

"After this, you'll be in the clear and you don't have to worry about any more check-ups or hearings. We can celebrate. You know Charlotte will insist," he taunts.

"I know," I grumble. I can hardly imagine Charlotte throwing me a party after our recent relationship setback.

"And then maybe you can finally come down from the top. Join us common folk at the bottom?"

"Maybe," I smirk again.

"Hem hem." Smyth clears his throat as he approaches.

"Tin Smyth." William dips his head.

"William." Smyth curtly nods.

"I was just about to retreat to my seat. Just giving Ev here some last minute advice." William stands up from his seat.

"Of course," Smyth agrees. "Any moment the board members will be back and we will reconvene."

"Then I'll be off."

William smiles one last time at me before rejoining Nic and Charlotte in their seats a few rows behind us.

The hall fills to the brim. Even more people have shown up since this morning. No doubt my re-Evaluation has been the talk of the town. There's been talk of my stability, or instability.

Hawthorne slides back into position, followed by the four C.R.I.S. board members.

I'm surprised O'Flannigan and Yale have stayed. I assumed they would want to start journeying west as soon as possible. I know they are anticipating my re-Evaluation just as eagerly as the rest of Kemper.

"Miss Katton," Yale smiles as he passes me.

"Hi," I mumble, taken aback by his somewhat British accent.

I stare at him, my eyes following all the way to the panel. He's real young. His sophistication is overwhelmingly charismatic –a factor that I'm sure played a part in his selection to the C.R.I.S. I envy the refugees who get to have him as a board member.

"Ahem–." Hawthorne clears her throat, adjusts herself and opens the briefcase in front of her.

My eyes dart distractedly to a thick woolen peacoat and twill plaid scarf circling Yale's neck.

Despite the obscene crowd, Hall 3 is drafty and cold and sways in the howling wind outside.

"Welcome back."

Hawthorne's formal voice echoes and the congregation stands in unison. "On the 8th of February, 2702, the re-Evaluation of one Miss Evelyn Katton, est. 2015 will now commence."

A low excited murmur rumbles in the audience behind me. Smyth steals a peek down at me.

"Will Garner Nicolas James please step forward and approach the bench," Hawthorne commands.

Nic scuffles out of his row and collectedly saunters forward, with all his dashing charm. Oohs-and-ahs pour in from every row, as people ogle at Nicolas.

He pauses at the front of the room and waits for instructions. This is silly of him because I know he knows where to go. He is stalling for dramatic effect.

"Yes, there is fine."

Hawthorne indicates to the open seat just in front of the board members' desk. Nic situates himself and then looks forward. The audience draws in a deep anxious breath.

"As a character witness to Miss Katton, you are required by the town of Kemper and the greater region of Wenonah of the Five Lands to adhere to all questions in a truthful manner. Inappropriate or irrelevant responses may be ruled inadmissible." She recites to Nicolas.

He nods.

"Very well. The remainder of Miss Katton's hearing will be conducted by C.R.I.S. Board Members Kline and Caine," she finishes.

Kline shifts in her chair beside Hawthorne, crossing her hands over her chest. She readjusts and reaches into her bag, pulling a thin paper from a leather folder.

"Garner James." Kline barely lifts her eyes. "You were on duty the day that Miss Katton was retrieved from the forest, correct? The resurfacing on August 19 of the year last." Kline's words don't so much ask a question as they look for validation.

"Yes," Nic answers. "However, I was not in the exact vicinity when she was discovered."

"Where exactly were you?" Kline's mouth turns into a thin line.

"Sector A. I was sweeping the trails, staying behind to double check," Nic states.

"But you did see her that day?" Kline probes further, her brow raised in suspicion.

I feel the room and its occupants collectively holding breaths. Nic looks annoyed more than nervous.

"No," he answers flatly. "Evelyn, Ms. Katton, was taken directly to the hospital by Garners Pace, Fynn, and William James."

"And how soon after that did you meet Evelyn Katton?" Kline asks.

"A few days later. We volunteered to be her reassignment team," he says.

"Yes, yes," Kline mumbles. "You volunteered even though you had never met or seen the refugee?"

"Reassignment can be discomforting to some. It can be a grueling process and willing volunteers are always welcomed. The C.R.I.S. knows a thing or two about that," Nic finishes.

"Yes. Kemper is always thankful for its volunteers." Kline's mouth contorts into a distasteful smile. "And Miss Katton has been residing under your supervision ever since her initial Evaluation, correct?"

"Yes," Nicolas responds flatly.

"Garner James, over the past five months that Miss Katton has been living with your family, can you recall any noteworthy improvements or significant setbacks in her cognitive development?" Kline inquires.

"Yes." He nods.

"Well, which is it? Improvements or setbacks?" Kline cocks her head to the side in thought.

"Improvements, of course," Nic answers.

For a minute I think she is going to ask for an elaboration, but she flips through her pages again. Good thing, Nic is always concise. Giving extensive details is not a strong suit of his.

"Very well, that will be all for you." Kline dismisses him with a wave.

Nic stands up and makes his way back into the crowd, Charlotte moving aside as he rejoins the row.

"Mrs. Charlotte James, if you would please approach the bench." Charles Caine stands up and cheerfully waves Charlotte forward.

I remembered Caine was much more pleasant from the few times I encountered him –at the Evaluation and then again at the Berry Ball. His jovial bouncing only made my distaste for Kline surge.

Like her husband, Charlotte gracefully walks forward. You can sure tell she's a native now. Here, so at home in front of all these people and fluidly adept, walking with such a charisma in her step that you just want to be her.

No. I remind myself that no one sitting here in this cramped courtroom has even the slightest speculation that Charlotte is the Bridge operator. A fury builds inside me, swelling larger with each step Charlotte takes. I wonder briefly if they know –if Hawthorne, Kline and Caine, and all the other board members know who she is.

"Hello Board Member Caine, what a pleasure to see you again." Charlotte coos, instantly winning over Caine, his cheeks deepening to the rich red of Yale's plaid scarf.

Spectacular. This works out well for me. Caine is going to believe every word Charlotte spoon-feeds him.

"Hello," he squeaks. "The pleasure is mine."

Kline and Hawthorne exchange hesitant looks then Hawthorne clears her throat. They do not practice pleasantry in court. Come to think of it, Kline doesn't practice pleasantry anywhere.

"Right. Shall we begin?" Caine raises his voice, trying to regain an authoritative tone.

Charlotte nods and offers a dazzling smile.

"Mrs. James," he begins. "In a few short words, please describe Miss Katton's demeanor, characteristics, and behavioral attitude of the past six months."

"Well, Ev –beg your pardon –Ms. Katton," Charlotte jumps the gun, ready to go. No doubt she's been preparing for months –overcompensating for our recent turmoil. "Miss Katton is commendable. Her ability to adapt and so rapidly acclimate to our society is unprecedented. She has flourished here."

"Yes, we are all aware of Miss Katton's wash-up perfection," Kline rudely interjects, her words infected with disdain. Although she herself does not sound too convinced.

The audience stirs behind me. Board members rarely use the slang "wash-up"; it's informal and inappropriate. They're expected to say refugee, as it is the proper term. She must have caught herself too because she quickly corrects herself.

"Yes, Miss Katton is an admirable refugee. This much is noted. Please answer the questions about her character and demeanor."

Charlotte looks hurt, another plus. No one, not even Hawthorne, is immune to Charlotte's ruefully poignant face. Sympathy points.

"I was simply stating the obvious, just in case anyone here has forgotten," Charlotte rebuts in a less graceful manner. "May I continue?" Charlotte returns to her sweet voice, looking to Caine for approval.

He nods, agitatedly.

"Miss Katton has shown remarkable strength throughout this whole ordeal. It is enough for anyone to break down and start doubting. But Miss Katton has remained steadfast and conscientious of her surroundings." She pauses.

"What about her setback in October?" Caine intrudes, looking over his notes. "It was recorded here that Miss Katton experienced a brief black-out after the Hunt and Haunt. This is at times an indicator of memory-regain, but more frequently associated with physical and emotional distress."

"Oh it wasn't a blackout," Charlotte dismisses the idea as nonsense. I wonder how even she can talk herself out of this one. "Evelyn confided in me earlier that day. She was experiencing nerves. It was after all her first public event in Kemper and she was apprehensive about attending, you see."

"So Miss Katton did not black out?" Caine raises his brow in an agnostic manner.

"No. When we were returning home for the evening, she took a breather, then a nap. It was a long day for her after all. Surely, this situation merits considerable leeway for minor distress?"

"Of course, yes."

Caine, gullible as he is, seems thoroughly satisfied and even delighted with her rebuttal. He will latch on to any chance of my success. I get the overwhelming feeling that Caine wants nothing but the best for refugees. I wonder if this makes him a good board member or a foolish one.

"Perfect! And has Miss Katton experienced any similar setbacks since that day?" He asks.

"No. Not of which I'm aware." Charlotte replies. "She tells me everything, so I would know if she had."

"Has she shared any concern or angst with you?" Caine asks.

"No." Charlotte smiles. "Pardon, once yes. You see we were designing her Berry Ball gown and she was concerned that lavender wasn't her color."

An audible laugh erupts behind me, and even Caine chortles at her remark. Leave it to Charlotte to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

"Excellent! Lavender was a suiting selection if I do say so," he banters timidly.

"Thank you, I was quite pleased as well." Charlotte laughs with all the charm of a classy movie star.

"Please remain on point," Hawthorne asserts, killing the mood.

Caine coughs and pauses for the laughter to subside.

Caine proceeded to ask about my application duties and responsibilities, and how timely I was with my check-ups. Charlotte, to my relief, continued to provide adequate answers, captivating the audience more and more with each word she spoke.

O'Flannigan and Yale watched on with the same dreamy daze in their eyes as the audience. I wonder if they ever met Charlotte before or if they even knew of her before today. Even more, I wondered if they (or any of the C.R.I.S. for that matter) knew of her secret status.

William was called up next, met by a murmur of interest by the crowd. To my dismay, Caine was not staying on interrogation duty. Instead, as William was situated in the hot seat, Kline resumed the cross-questioning, continuing where Caine left off.

"Garner William James," Kline hissed in her usual nasally voice. She asked a sequence of questions about my behavior, which started with an inquiry about where I spend my free time. William neglected to mention my hazardous (and somewhat illicit) adventures at Cliff's Cove, a rescuing gesture. I can hardly imagine how Kline would have reacted to that.

Kline concluded William's testimony by asking about the parameters of our relationship. It's still foggy whether or not she was alluding to something happening between us. William remained cool and collected.

"I'm not entirely sure that the C.R.I.S. is able to request such intrusive information when it's so clearly irrelevant to the matter at hand," he answered.

Judging from her scowl, that wasn't good enough. "I don't want to have to ask again."

"Then don't." William shrugged.

He stared back at her blank face. She must have decided against crossing a Garner because she didn't press the question any further.

"That will be all, Garner James."

For the most part, everything has gone according to plan –routine questions and suitable responses. There's another temporary interim to allow the board members time for discussion of the character witnesses and the voucher's testimony.

Tin Smyth was summoned after William. Smyth was not held responsible for answering question, rather he was asked to deliver a brief statement addressing my progress. All the while I watched quietly –observing as if I were looking down on the scene from an outer-body experience –and remained silent.

Next is my narrative. I'll be expected to deliver an anecdotal account of my past few months here. I've been smoothing it out and refining the extraneous details for the past week.

Tangible anticipation consumes the space around me. Smyth is back at my side, austere as ever, and brandishing the Tin badge fastened to his suit-pocket.

"Miss Evelyn Katton," Board Member Katherine Kline calls in her unwelcoming tone.

I tense. Just the sound of my name escaping through her gritted teeth is enough to drive me wild.

"Please approach the stand," she spits. Does no one else hear her animosity, I wonder?

Here we go. Here we go. I rise, greeted by a familiar murmur behind me as the crowd excites.

Swiftly I make for the podium, desperate to speed things up. Nothing is worse than a drawn-out charade. I smirk, but this is a charade I remind myself.

Three steps to go. Two steps ahead. Just one more step guards me from Kline's intrusive inquiry.

Just remember to smile. I hear Charlotte's voice in my head.

I saunter towards the stand anticipating the blank and biased faces of my spectators, expecting and prepared for loathsome scrutiny, and privately bemused by the entire scene.

Thirty seconds after I finally adjust in the chair and am holding my breath, the room shifts.

It happens in the blink of an eye, all at once.

"STOP! Don't move."

"STOP!"

"NOO!"

Cries erupt on all sides.

A blurring figure lunges forward as if suddenly capable of flying, and the crowd is on its feet in front of me. They all face me, eyes wide.

Someone knocks into my side and two seconds later William's steady grip yanks me to the floor.

My head smashes against the chair leg on my way down. A familiar smell swirls around my head as I see the small pool of blood forming under my right cheek.

I try to pull myself up but a brute force keeps me where I am.

"Stay down," William hisses close to my ear.

I roll over onto my side and keep my head low, wedged between William and the unforgiving table. My eyes dart up. The crowd is a sea, rows of spectators falling forward over one another like angry waves of an ocean. Chaos has dominated order in the courtroom. Hall 3 is under siege.

Bodies are jumping and running, swirling shapes moving at the speed of sound. The constant shouting continues. My head is pounding. Through the noise and the pain, I look up.

A long stream of vibrant red snakes my way like a river running course. My eyes follow the blood along the floor to the first row of benches, but my line of sight ends at a surly figure staring directly at me.

I squeeze William's hand to steady me. As if in unison, Easton's finger wraps the trigger of his pistol.