I took a deep breath. They weren’t betraying me. This was real. I glanced at Oren, who looked back and shook his head. “No,” I said. “We’re ready.”
We were met at the doors by a pair of officials recognizable in any city as bureaucratic lackeys. One reeled back when Wesley announced he’d found Sampson’s killer—with a jolt, I realized that it was the first time I’d even heard the name of the man I’d killed. Of course, Wesley jerked Oren forward then and not me. Oren snarled, playing the part of the dangerous, vicious savage beautifully.
Watching his face as he glared at Wesley, I wasn’t entirely sure he was playing a part at all.
“And the girl?” one of the officials asked.
Wesley shrugged. “She was with him when I found him. She’s probably guilty of something, if only by association.”
The officials chuckled and waved us on through, saying something about prisoner processing. Wesley had explained that all prisoners go through a questioning process. I shuddered to think what they might do to Oren if they guessed he wasn’t being entirely truthful, but Wesley assured me they’d stick to the protocol laid out for them by Prometheus. Oren just had to stick to his story.
Prisoner processing was two floors down, below the “ground” level of the city. Wesley himself didn’t know how far the tunnels and caverns of Central Processing stretched below Lethe. Prometheus kept his lackeys separate, allowing certain jobs access to particular parts of the complex and not others, so that no one person knew the entire layout of the place.
The iron on my wrists was weighing heavily on me, making my head spin and my eyes blur. We traveled corridor after corridor, the faces of the people working in CeePo blurring as we passed. There was an elevator much like the one Oren and I rode when we first arrived at the city, although it moved much more smoothly and efficiently. I was determined to make a mental map, keep track of all the twists and turns so that I could find my way out again when it came time. I forced myself to focus despite my blurring vision.
And then, abruptly, we stopped.
I blinked, looking up from my study of the corridor floor to find a tall, slim man standing in front of us. Wesley was staring at him blankly, but I could see his cheek twitching. He knew this man, and running into him wasn’t part of the plan.
“On Prometheus’s orders,” the slim man said. His voice was soft, resonant, trained as if he were a singer. Not a hair was out of place, his charcoal-and-ember suit fitted perfectly across his chest. “The prisoners are to come with me.”
“What do you mean, on his orders?” Wesley was saying, bristling. This man held some kind of authority— he outranked Wesley in Prometheus’s organization. I held my breath.
“New evidence has come to light in the case of Sampson’s death,” said the slim man.
“New evidence?” Wesley scoffed. “Please. The man was beaten to death in front of an entire courtyard full of witnesses. Trust me, I was there. This is the boy.”
The slim man smiled a little. “We know, Commander. That has not escaped our notice.”
Wesley’s hand tightened around the chain holding Oren. The links clicked together like bones, muffled by the flesh of his palm. “This is my arrest. I will see him to prisoner processing myself.”
“Be our guest, Commander.” The slim man was still smiling, a calm, cool smile. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, but I felt certain it wasn’t meant to be. “Our interests aren’t with him anyway.”
Wesley twitched, but managed not to glance at me. A little snaking spark of ice began threading its way down my spine. “What’re you talking about?”
“Examination of the body revealed that Sampson did not, in fact, die of the wounds sustained to his face and torso. Therefore it was not this boy who killed him.”
“Then who did?”
I held my breath.
Wesley’s grip on the chain was white-knuckled. He didn’t have to look at me to pass along the message that everything was going wrong, that our carefully laid plan had fallen apart only minutes past the door.
“We’re not certain. But as there were only a few people within range of Sampson during the attack, we have only a few suspects. You will report to prisoner processing along with the boy you have in your custody.”
Wesley didn’t answer, standing stock still in the middle of the corridor, face draining of color.
“And as for our other suspect,” said the slim man, turning a few degrees to his right until he faced me, “I will be taking her with me.”
That unfroze Wesley, who stammered, “I arrested her— she’s still my capture, I still want to be the one to—”
The slim man lifted a hand, cutting Wesley off with one gesture. “You have your orders. Carry them out.”
Oren met my eyes, staring over his shoulder as Wesley slowly took him down the hallway away from us. I wanted to scream out for them, run after them, anything. This wasn’t how the plan was meant to go.
The slim man turned to me, hands folded politely behind his back. “And now, miss, if you will come with me?”
I swallowed, my throat dry as sand. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. If you please?” He held out a hand, gesturing down the corridor in the direction opposite the one Wesley and Oren had taken.
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me your name.” I knew I was stalling, and for what purpose? Wesley and Oren were gone. Even if I could overpower this man, there was no assurance I could find them and certainly no way to return to the plan. They didn’t know anything—they just knew it wasn’t Oren who killed the man. They didn’t know who I was. What I was. This could still work.
The man smiled, amusement written clearly on his features. He knew as well as I did that I was the one chained and not in a position to deliver ultimatums. Still, he indulged me. “Very well. I am Adjutant. If you like, you may think of me as Prometheus’s right hand.” He inclined his upper body very slightly in something like a bow.
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
“If that answers your question, miss,” said Adjutant, “then we shouldn’t keep the examination rooms waiting.”
My body went cold. The Institute in my city had held me for weeks, poking and prodding me, experimenting on me, strapping me to their harvest chair and noting the results. I would not go back to that again.
It was time. Reveal I was a Renewable—or something like it—and get taken wherever they keep the noncompliant Renewables. Wherever they might have my brother.
I pulled every last scrap of power I had. I didn’t have much—we’d agreed that stocking up with too much power would potentially attract attention from Renewables working with Prometheus. I’d stolen the power from a few unneeded machines, ignoring my inner shadow’s protests—machine magic was not as satisfying as live magic. But what I had taken was enough. I gathered it and narrowed it and lashed out with all my strength.
The iron manacles around my wrist vaporized into dust in an instant.
I leaped back from Adjutant, ready to strike out at him. Sensing nothing, neither darkness nor the light of the Renewable magic in him, I expected rage, surprise, even fear— because until me, no one could magic iron. Instead, all that marked his features was a mild curiosity. I paused, staring.
“How fascinating,” he murmured.
And then he drew a small machine out of his pocket, stretched out his hand and aimed it at me, and pulled the trigger.
Pain erupted through my entire body, and I hit the ground with a crash. My arms and legs stopped responding to my brain, every muscle cramping tighter and tighter. I felt as though fire consumed me from the inside out. My skin itched, my body burned—it was somehow familiar, though no less agonizing.
I had only a blurry vision of Adjutant standing over me, looking down, before I blacked out.
