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A frazzled server with unkempt hair brings our food over in a hurry without questioning whose plates belong to who. Shockingly, she gets everything right before scurrying off to another table. Maybe the five-minute-food-ready thing is neat for customers but not for servers. It must be hell for everything to constantly be ready in five minutes. What about the cooks?!

Evangeline and Billie dig into their plates while I take a few nachos to munch on. My shoulders ache as my body breaks down from fatigue. I yawn, holding another cheesy, loaded chip, deciding whether to pass out onto this table or take another nauseating bite.

“You okay? You’re practically nodding off,” Evangeline says. I shake my head and shrug.

“I’m exhausted just being eighteen,” Billie giggles. “Can’t imagine what nineteen is like for you.”

I roll my eyes and continue nibbling on nachos. It’s hard being stuck within the same square footage for five years because my powers are...different. Having the chance to leave now is refreshing, but it doesn’t undo the years of being low on energy and growing antsy.

Evangeline tries to find a nacho chip without meat before giving up, while Billie finishes her plate and licks it.

The platter isn’t huge, so we finish it quickly, and I offer to pay once we’re ready.

“Great place, Billie.” Though I worry about the employees in this fast-paced environment.

Emerald’s Twin is only a few blocks from the base, so we (mainly Evangeline) figure walking off our dunch is the best route for “optimal digestion.” Billie whines the entire way back and is the last to make it up the top of the steps. The slide doors open as we saunter back into the building. The cold lighting and scuffed, tan floorboards greet us.

We walk through the busy, open lobby with members passing by, getting to where they need to be, or waiting for missions. Someone kicks one of the vending machines lined up against the wall when a toaster pastry gets stuck in the coils. Another member is arguing with the secretary about getting a replacement badge. Some people disappear down the hallway branching off into the cafeteria and dormitories, while others head to the gym. Someone with shaggy, red hair runs through the lobby and shouts about the monarchs on TV as he continues down the hall.

“Moment of truth,” Evangeline whispers.

“Let’s go to our room; last thing I wanna deal with is people shouting at the TV in the cafeteria like we’re watching sports,” I mutter.

We take the dimmer route with ambient LED lighting stretching a single wall strip down the hall. Amidst the row of doors on the left side, one door leads to the stairwell—down for the basement, and up for the large interior balcony overseeing the lobby. Further down the hall, an open doorway leads into the cafeteria. At the end, one closed door has a gold nameplate that reads, “Elite Commander Rebecca Foster” for her office. Along the right side are several doors either for storage, break rooms, the mailroom, or offices for finance and IT. Between the door to the break room and mailroom, we head to the dormitory hall.

Billie is the first to burst into our room and toss herself onto her top bunk. She swims in her five velvet, multi-colored comforters and wraps herself in a burrito. I grab the TV remote to turn on the thirty-two-inch flatscreen mounted on the wall.

The channel is already set to the Garnet Island News Station; a reporter stands outside in Central Square where King Remington is giving a statement to numerous journalists asking probing questions about the homicides and dragons. Surrounding him is his team of Guards with guns and crossbows. Behind them is a tall, muscular woman with brunette hair towering over everyone. She kinda looks familiar . . .

“It is a troublesome time for us all when we lose a fellow Zealan from this land. It’s equally heartbreaking when our sacred friends have lost their lives to evil,” King Remington states. Evangeline slides onto my lower bunk and wraps herself in my purple, fluffy blanket. She scoots over to let me sit next to her while we crane our necks to see the TV.

A photographer squeezes himself in front of the pressing journalists to snap a shot of the King. An Guard tenses their grip on their crossbow.

Remington blinks slowly before continuing, “As dwellers of the island of nature and animal preservation, it is especially stressful and... damning that this foul act on our precious dragons occurred here. I know some people have inquired about the Ultima Organization to assist with this investigation. They are our Protective Dragon Agents—trained for moments like this.”

“Hehe, PDA,” Billie giggles.

I kick my leg up to hit the bunk ceiling above me. “Shut up.”

Remington scans the crowd slowly. “I am here to confirm that Garnet Island will abstain from deploying Ultima. We should not use Spirit Users in any capacity in this matter. All members of Ultima and Elite will conduct their normal daily missions assigned by the people they serve.”

The journalists go wild and start spewing questions at him and shoving their mics as far as their arms allow to get more answers from the King.

“What!” Evangeline shrieks. “They absolutely need Ultima for this!”

Billie’s head appears upside down from her bunk. Her hair flops over and I swear a shower of blond falls to the floor. “Right. Or any of us. We’re the ones with special powers. This is dumb. Change the channel.”

I smirk and aim the remote at her. “Move your big head first.”

When she moves, I change it again: Sapphire Island News Station. King Evan is giving a speech from his office. I’m curious to hear what he’ll say since he oversees the island of technology, transportation, and manufacturing. It’s suspiciously always festering in poverty, too.

“I will NOT call upon Ultima to—”

I change the channel to Emerald Island. King Jonah’s mellow voice comes with a relaxing smile in his handsome, open kitchen.

“At this time, I’d like to further look into the matter with only my dutiful Guards and—”

Click. Next channel.

Queen Sophie of the party island that never sleeps, Topaz, stands outside her golden palace gates with a fierce smile as fireworks are going off in the background.

“I appreciate Ultima, the Protective Dragon Agents, and Elite, our Patrol and Safety Agents, but I do not want to risk their lives in this—” Click! I switch channels again. That leaves Onyx Island—science, medicine, and magic—and the luxurious business island, Amethyst. The channel lands on Queen Oona of Onyx Island, where Billie, Brooke, and I grew up.

“My people, my scholars, my experimenters, my questioners. Zeala is hurting from this devastating loss! I pray to the Superiors that no more blood is shed and if a dragon were to die, may it be a natural death!” Oona states. Above me, Billie unleashes an obnoxious yawn.

“She’s gonna say the same thing, too,” Evangeline murmurs beside me.

Oona brings a soft, warm twinkle. “I will not risk the lives of Spirit Users for—” Click.

“What the hell,” Billie mutters. “Okay, last one. I think we all know what that witch, Allison, is gonna say, right, Eva?”

Evangeline snorts. “Mhm. Thank goodness I don’t live there anymore.”

Allison wears a permanent scowl as she addresses the cameras. “I regret to inform you that I will not be utilizing Ultima’s services with this issue.”

I click the TV off. Billie grabs the bed, flips herself over her bunk railing, and swings onto mine with a heavy plop .

“I don’t get it. Is this an anti-Spirit User statement they’re making? Anti-Ultima? Anti-Elite? We could make so much bank if they let us help,” she whines.

For each island of Zeala, there’s a king or queen, and the chain goes: Guards are for laws. Ultima is for dragons. Elite is for people. But in a crisis like this, I figure it’s all hands on deck. Spirit Users—citizens with powers who don’t work for Ultima or Elite—can’t even help. It’s odd.

I cross my arms. “What’s it going to take for them to take action?”

Evangeline tosses some of my blankets for Billie to share on the other side of the bed. She’s sitting on my pillow, and I’m worried she’ll fart on it.

“What’s it gonna take for the Superiors to do something? They see everything and do nothing every day,” Billie says. “That’s pathetic.”

Evangeline’s mouth arcs into a frown across her pale, mousy face.

“They’re doing their best overseeing our world. I’m sure there’s a reason they haven’t stepped in; I’ve been praying to Evelyn every day,” she says.

Billie gives me a look, but I suppress my smile.

Oh, Evangeline. Always optimistic of our useless deities. Since anyone with powers were Traced, we each have a respective deity who gifted us. Evangeline worships Evelyn, the Earth Superior for Tracing her, but an abrasive, detached upbringing on Amethyst will do that to someone.

“The monarchs meet routinely at the island of choice to maintain checks and balances on each other,” I murmur.

“Then they must’ve consulted each other before making their statements. It seems odd they’d say no to this,” Evangeline says. She’s sitting by the window that’s centered right at my lower bunk. The sun comes from hiding in the clouds and beams bright rays through the glass, hitting Evangeline’s rich, cherry-red hair. She looks like a swan with a maple tree blooming from her head.

Billie shrugs and nestles under the covers until only her head is poking out. I try to stretch my legs out but accidentally graze the side of Billie’s hip with my foot. She giggles and wags her feet rapidly, hitting me and Evangeline on our end of the bed.

A vibration radiates on the bed until Billie pulls out her phone. She squints at the screen and tilts her head. Evangeline’s phone ringer goes off and she checks it, too, but furrows her red brows. Nothing comes through on mine.

“I’m assigned patrol by...Master Azul?” Billie looks at Evangeline. “You get something for tomorrow, too?”

Evangeline nods, mouth slightly parting. “Why would we be assigned this by Azul and not Rebecca?” I shake my head.

My blanket flies up in a purple flurry as Evangeline quickly climbs over me and off the bed. Still looking at her phone, she mumbles something about checking if her roommate Rachel is back and doing laundry. Billie barely emerges from the mangled blanket; her wavy, buttery blond hair lies sprawled all over her head with a big, goofy grin. She emerges before heading to the bathroom connected to our room. Jiggling pills in a bottle echo in the bathroom, but I don’t pay it any mind and resume reading.

T he rapid tapping hitting my window eventually pulls me out of my nap. I choke on my spit and jolt upward, finding my book lying face down on my lap. The sky appears darker through the textured window, only for me to realize it’s probably raining at dusk now.

I yawn, stretch, and rub my eyes before dragging myself out of bed. I peek at Billie’s top bunk, but she’s not there.

Evangeline bursts through my door, panting. “A-Alice!”

“Hey, what’s going—”

“Billie is in the infirmary!” she blurts.

“What?! What happened? Does she need me to heal her?”

Evangeline raises her hands, but they’re trembling. “I don’t think you can; it’s an internal wound, not external. Also...there’s another problem.”

A familiar, piercing wail is muffled but distinct from outside of the window. A panicked palpitation hits my chest. When I meet Evangeline’s wide eyes, her body vibrates from tremors. It’s probably not dusk, and that probably isn’t regular rain either.

“Another dragon was just killed,” she says.