They bring the boys out in a single-file line. There are three of them, all students, and they walk to the gallows with their hands chained behind their backs.

The first boy, Rowan doesn't recognize. A new student, then. There's a number sewn into the gray shirt on his back. 1763. He's a short, plump boy with a round face and rounder glasses. He cries silently as he lifts his heavy feet, one step after another, bringing himself closer and closer to the inevitable end. Red, puffy eyes can't seem to look away from the ground.

The next boy looks familiar, though Rowan can't say he knows his name. A tall, skinny boy who's more bone than muscle, he wears the number 1764. His eyes are wide, blue, and frantic. They jump from the gallows, to the gathering crowd, then back to the gallows. He reminds Rowan a bit of a spooked horse that's about to bolt.

The last boy in line, Rowan knows. His name is Garrett, an upperclassman who just turned eighteen a month ago. He sits next to Rowan in Middle Era Literature and Calculus. He's strong and sturdy, a farmboy from Central Garravon, and the only one in the line who stares directly at the gallows. His number is 1765.

Rowan's stomach churns as he joins the growing crowd. It's a warm, humid morning, but he shivers in spite of it. This will mark the third execution in a month, and a hundred years to the day since the war started. A hundred years to the day since magic became illegal. A hundred years to the day since the Vanaré.

The boys climbing the steps to the gallows are mages, and the men keeping them in line are members of the Vanaré. The Vanaré are elite soldiers trained specifically to hunt down those with magic. They believe magic is a choice. A terrible, unnatural choice. And they won't ever stop trying to destroy it completely.

Rowan knows in his heart they're wrong. Magic can't be a choice. Because why would anyone in their right mind choose something that will only get them killed?

The boys reach the top of the gallows. One by one, they're led to their respective nooses, and the Vanaré tighten the ropes around their necks. Garrett makes a face as the course material digs into his skin. But he doesn't say a word. No, he just glares out at the crowd, jaw set like a trap, and waits patiently for the end.

The Vanaré finish with the ropes and walk stiffly to the far side of the gallows. From where he's standing toward the middle of the crowd, Rowan watches the composed, rigid way they immediately fall into order. Their brown uniforms are starched and pressed. Not a wrinkle in sight. Even the yellow patches around their right arms are pristine. They bear a black segmented snake: the official insignia of the Vanaré party.

A low murmur swells throughout the crowd as two additional men take the stage. Rowan recognizes them instantly. First is Officer Vogel, the head of the Vanaré in this part of Garravon. He's a wicked man, tall and almost gaunt in the face, with small, cold gray eyes and thin lips he keeps pressed together in a firm line. He rarely speaks, but when he does, his voice is colder than a winter blizzard. The very sight of him makes Rowan's skin crawl. Ever since Officer Vogel was brought into Garravon from the south, the amount and frequency of executions have grown ten-fold, and the man always makes sure to attend each one.

Last is someone Rowan never thought he'd have to see again. With a smug smile on his face, Isaac Sloane follows obediently behind Officer Vogel, hands clasped, and a Vanaré patch on his arm.

Isaac and Rowan went to school together for a while before the former graduated six months ago. And what a fine six months it's been without him. Isaac was one of the worst bullies Rowan's ever had to deal with. And he's had to deal with a lot. But if Rowan had to choose between the noose and going through another year of Isaac's torment, he would probably choose the noose. It started off with normal things: getting tripped in the hallway on the way to class, having his school bag held out of his reach, that sort of thing. But it escalated quickly and, when Rowan thought it couldn't get any worse, it escalated some more. Eventually, it landed him in the nurse's office with a broken nose and two cracked ribs.

Rowan thought for sure that would be the end of it. Finally, the school would see sense and expel Isaac like they should have years before. But, of course, he didn't account for one crucial detail.

Money.

The well-to-do Sloane family has a stake in just about every oil rig in Garravon, and Isaac, the youngest of two, is their pride and joy.

So no, the school didn't expel Isaac Sloane. They did, however, finally separate him and Rowan so they never shared a class again. And then, when Isaac graduated and got accepted into one of the top universities in the republic, Rowan thought his luck was finally starting to turn around.

But seeing Isaac now, with his Vanaré patch proudly displayed on his arm, Rowan want to shove it down his throat. It's no surprise to him that Isaac joined the Vanaré. It's no surprise that the cruel recruit the cruel.

Not for the first time, Rowan wonders why. Why are the Vanaré so dogmatically against Mages? Why did the republic of Ibeltia invade Garravon all those years ago? Why can't people just live as people and not hate each other for it?

Well, Rowan thinks as he stares up at the gallows, it's no use asking questions to which he'll never find the answer. It's no use asking questions that don't have an answer at all.

The murmur of the crowd dies as Officer Vogel raises his right, gloved hand. Rowan feels his stomach drop.

It's time for the execution.