Sevro’s watching Thistle on the holoDisplay. “Did you want to talk with Thistle?” I ask.
“Who?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Never heard of her.” I can tell he’s wounded by seeing her again. Wounded even more because he tells himself to be hard, but this betrayal—by one of his own Howlers—cuts at his core. Still he plays it off. Not sure if it’s for Victra, for me, or for himself. Probably all three.
After several minutes, Antonia and Thistle drip with sweat. Per my recommendation, we’ve made the cells forty degrees Celsius to amp up their irritability. Gravity is jacked up a fraction too. Just outside the realm of perception. So far, Thistle’s done nothing but weep and Antonia has been touching the bruise on her cheek to see if any lasting damage has been done to her face. “You need to come up with a plan,” Antonia says idly through the bars.
“What plan?” Thistle asks from the far corner of her own cell. “They’re going to kill us even if we give them information.”
“You weeping little cow. Pick your chin up. You’re embarrassing your scar. You’re House Mars, aren’t you?”
“They know we’re listening,” Sevro says. “Least, Antonia does.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t matter,” Mustang replies. “Highly intelligent prisoners often play games with their captors. It’s the self-confidence that can make them even more vulnerable to psychological manipulation because they think they’re still in control.”
“You know this from your own extensive personal experience being tortured?” Victra asks. “Do tell me about that.”
“Quiet,” I say, turning up the holo’s volume.
“I’m going to tell them everything,” Thistle’s saying to Antonia. “I don’t give a shit about this anymore.”
“Everything?” Antonia asks. “You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough.”
“I know more,” Antonia says.
“Who would ever trust you?” Thistle snaps. “Matricidal psychopath! If you even knew what people really thought about you…”
“Oh, darling, you can’t really be so stupid.” Antonia sighs sympathetically. “You are. So sad to watch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Use your head, you little simpleton. Just try, please.”
“Slag you, bitch.”
“I’m sorry, Thistle,” Antonia says, arching her back against the bars. “It’s the heat.”
“Or syphilitic madness,” Thistle mutters, now pacing, arms wrapped around herself.
“How…base. It’s in the upbringing really.”
I consider pulling Thistle out, extracting the information she’s willing to give. “Could be a ruse,” Mustang says. “Something Antonia designed in case they were captured. Or maybe my brother’s play. That’d be like him to sow misinformation. Especially if they just let themselves be captured.”
“Let themselves be captured?” Victra asks. “There’s over fifty dead Golds in the morgues of this ship who would disagree with that statement.”
“She’s right,” Sevro says. “Let it play. Might make Antonia open up more when we get her in a room.”
Antonia closes her eyes, resting her head against the bars, knowing Thistle will ask what she meant by “use her head.” And sure enough, Thistle does. “What did you mean when you said if I tell them everything, I’d have no more use?”
Antonia looks back at her through the bars. “Darling. You really haven’t thought this through. I’m dead. You said it yourself. I can try to deny it, but…my sister makes me look like the village cat. I shot her in the spine and played acid drip with her back for almost a year. She’s going to peel me like an onion.”
“Darrow wouldn’t let her do that.”
“He’s Red, we’re just devils in crowns to him.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“I know a Goblin that would.”
“His name’s Sevro.”
“Is it?” Antonia couldn’t care less. “Point’s the same. I’m dead. You might have a chance. But they only need one of us alive for information. The question you have to ask yourself is if you tell them everything, will they still keep you alive? You need a strategy. Something to hold back. To barter incrementally.”
Thistle approaches the bars that separate the women. “You’re not fooling me.” Her voice becomes brave. “But you know what, you are done. Darrow is going to win and maybe he should. And you know what? I’m going to help him.” Thistle looks up at the camera in the corner of her cell, taking her eyes off Antonia. “I’ll tell you what he’s planning, Darrow. Let me make…”
“Get her out,” Mustang says. “Get her out now.”
“No…” Victra murmurs beside me, seeing what Mustang sees. Sevro and I look at the women in confusion, but Victra’s already halfway to the door. “Open cell 31!” she shouts to the techs before disappearing through into the hall. Realizing what’s happening, Sevro and I rush after her, knocking over a Green who’s adjusting one of the holoscreens. Mustang follows. We break into the hallway and run to the brig security door. Victra’s hammering on the door, shouting to be let in. The door buzzes and we fly in behind her, past the confused security guards who are gathering their gear, and into the cell block.
Prisoners are shouting. But even then I hear the wet thwop, thwop, thwop before we make it to Antonia’s cell and see her hunched over Thistle. Her hands through the bars that separate their cells, drenched in blood. Fingers gripping Thistle’s curly hair. The shattered remnants of the top of the Howler’s skull bend around the bar as Antonia jerks Thistle’s head toward her and against the bars between them one last time. Victra shoves open the magnetized cell door.
Antonia rises, grisly deed finished, bloody hands held in the air innocently as she bestows a little smirk upon her older sister. “Careful,” she taunts. “Careful, Vicky. You need me. I’m the only one left with information to sell. Unless you want to stumble into the Jackal’s maw you’ll…”
Victra breaks Antonia’s face. I can hear the brittle snap of bone from ten meters away. Antonia reels back, trying to escape. Victra pins her to the wall and beats her. Machinelike and eerily quiet. Elbow pumping back, driving from her legs, just as they teach us. Antonia’s fingers claw at Victra’s muscled arms, then go limp as the sound becomes wet and muddy. Victra doesn’t stop. And I don’t stop her, because I hate Antonia, and that dark little part of me wants her to feel the pain.
Sevro shoves past me and launches himself at Victra, pinning her right arm back and choking her with his left. He sweeps her legs and takes her backward to the floor, locking his legs around her waist, immobilizing her. Released from Victra’s hold, Antonia flops sideways. Mustang lunges forward to keep her head from cracking on the sharp edge of the welded metal bed pallet. I kneel and reach through the bars to feel Thistle’s pulse though I don’t know why I bother. Her head is caved in. I stare at it. Wondering why I’m not horrified at the scene.
Some part of me has died. But when did it die? Why did I not notice?
Mustang is shouting for a Yellow. The guards picking up the call.
I shake myself.
Sevro’s letting go of Victra. She coughs from where he restrained her, shoving him away angrily. Mustang bends over Antonia, who’s now snoring through her shattered nose. Face a ruin. Bits of teeth littering mashed lips. Except for her hair and Sigils, you can’t even tell she’s a Gold. Victra leaves the room without looking at her, pushing through the Gray guards so hard two of them fall down.
“Victra…” I call after her like there’s something to say.
She turns back to me, eyes red, not with rage, but a fathomless sadness. Knuckles frayed open. “I used to braid her hair,” she says forcefully. “I don’t know why she’s like this. Why I am.” Half of one of her sister’s broken teeth protrudes from the meat between her middle and ring knuckle. She pulls the tooth from her knuckles, and holds it up to the light like a child discovering sea glass on the beach before shivering in horror and letting it clatter to the steel deck. She looks past me to Sevro. “Told you.”