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.
Never.
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.
Thank you, Wesley, for your endless drills and training.
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.
CHAPTER 22
I wasn’t out for long. I came to while still being dragged. Dimly I could see Adjutant ahead of me, leading the way—he’d summoned assistance somehow, because I was being dragged by two faceless Eagles. I still couldn’t move. Every bump and jostle made my nerves scream in protest. My vision was dazzled—everything was surrounded in violet rainbows, like I was staring at the world through refractive crystals. My skin tingled.
I tried to speak and it came out as an inarticulate moan. Adjutant looked over his shoulder at me. I felt the Eagles’ grip falter, and Adjutant said sharply, “She’s still overloaded. She can’t do anything, so stop acting like children.”
Eventually we reached a small room, big enough only for a table and a chair. The room had no windows and only the one door. Suddenly I was reminded of the Machine in the Institute, a room containing only a chair, ringed with darkness.
The Eagles dropped me into the chair, but my muscles still weren’t responding to commands from my brain, and I slid out of the chair and onto the ground. I didn’t even feel pain when I hit, too dazed and dazzled to do so.
“Thank you,” came Adjutant’s voice somewhere above me. “You may go.”
The Eagles withdrew, shutting the door behind them. I half-expected it to be made of iron and clang shut with awful finality, but instead it was just a regular door. But then again, they knew iron wouldn’t stop me. And they knew what would.
With a muffled groan of effort I rolled over enough that I could see Adjutant looking down at me, his face thoughtful. In one hand he was still holding the device that had incapacitated me, tossing it up and down idly.
“What an interesting specimen,” he said quietly. “Prometheus will be fascinated.”
“What—” I croaked, my mouth cramping as I tried to force it to speak despite the odd convulsion my muscles were locked into. “What’d you—”
Adjutant raised an eyebrow. “This?” He held up the device and examined it. It was small, curved, designed to fit into the palm of his hand—a smaller sibling of the devices Prometheus’s enforcers carried. “The Eagles affectionately refer to the process as being ‘zapped.’ The talon overloads the systems with magic. It works against the normals, but it’s particularly effective against Renewables. I’m told it’s exceedingly painful.”
Overloaded with magic? My teeth ground together, muscles still locked down tight. The magic was overcoming my brain’s ability to send signals to my body. The realization was enough that I could begin to fight it, carefully pushing the magic down away from my mind. My vision began to clear a little. I found myself better able to speak.
“Why—me? Haven’t done anything.”
Adjutant tossed the device onto the table with a metallic clang. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “But you were about to, back there in the corridor, were you not?”
He’d seen me vaporize iron with a single thought, prepared to attack. I swallowed convulsively, finally getting my throat to listen to what I wanted it to do.