The expression on her face turns grave. “Actually, you don’t. Not much, anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “They’ll be coming to take you for questioning in a few minutes. Your fate depends on what you know—or don’t know.” She turns away. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this, but I didn’t have a choice.”
There’s always a choice.
I shove Cassius’s words from my mind. “This is all tied into that girl, the one I tackled—Drusilla.” The image of them embracing and kissing comes back to me clearer than ever.
She nods. “I couldn’t let you arrest her. We love each other. But no one in the Establishment must ever know or they’d use it against us. She’s up for Recruitment.”
The irony of the situation almost makes me burst out laughing, if it weren’t for the pain in her face and the seriousness of it all.
“Hate to break it to you, Arrah, but I never checked in with Valerian after our rounds. They’ll be looking for me.”
She shakes her head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she looks ashamed. “After bringing you here, I slipped back into the Citadel and used your log-in password to check you in, as well as a set of your fingerprints, which I took the liberty of lifting while you were knocked out. Since we’re both off duty for the remainder of the day, no one will miss you until tomorrow morning.”
Now it all makes sense. The feeling that Arrah was hiding something from me. The fact that she’s so different from the other trainees. How she acted nervous earlier, like she was waiting for someone.
No wonder Arrah attacked me. I would have done the exact same thing.
“This place,” I say. “It’s a rebel safe house, isn’t it? You’re both part of the movement.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve already said enough. I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more.”
Someone’s approaching down the hall. Several people, from the sound of it.
Arrah’s palm presses against my cheek. “All I wanted was for them to treat your wound. I was going to try to make up a story. But you saw me with a gun. They think it’s too risky to let you go.”
“They? The resistance leaders?” I ask as the approaching footsteps get louder. They’re almost right outside the cell. “Arrah, listen. I wasn’t going to arrest Drusilla. I was going to knock you out and let her go. Believe me. I swear!”
“I want to believe you. I really do. But there’s too much at stake. The final decision’s not up to me.” She hesitates, her face a battlefield of conflicting emotions. “I’m so sorry, Spark. I think you’re okay. Even for a Fifth Tier.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She leans in so close, I can feel her hot breath on my ear. “I’m not sure what your relationship to Digory Tycho was, but I suggest you think very carefully before you answer their questions about him.”
The mention of Digory’s name triggers a geyser of adrenaline. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Before she can answer, the cell door bursts open and she moves away from me to join Drusilla in the corner. Four figures bustle in, all wearing black hoods over their heads. Three of these people keep their distance, while the one in the center approaches me. Male, by his shape and size. He pulls out a familiar object and dangles it in front of my face.
My ID tags. Mine and Digory’s, the only tangible remnant of him I have left.
“These were found in your possession after you were shot.” He speaks through an electronic modulator that disguises his voice.
“What does Digory have to do with any of this? He’s…” The word catches in my throat. “He’s dead.”
Hoodie stuffs the silver tags back into his pocket. “It doesn’t matter. Any bloke associated with Digory Tycho, especially during the Trials, is suspect.”
“Suspected of what?”
“Being a traitor to the cause. Conspiring with the enemy.”
“The enemy? You mean the Establishment, don’t you?”
Hoodie tilts his head as if he’s puzzled. “Strange words coming from an Imp trainee.”
I cock my head toward Arrah. “I don’t know about that. Maybe you can get our other trainee here to weigh in on the issue.”
Arrah doesn’t say a word. She just stares hard, as if willing my mouth to remain shut.
Hoodie ignores my sarcasm. “You were one of the four others recruited with Tycho. The only one who survived, to our knowledge. We need you to tell us how and why Tycho perished.”
It’s all starting to make sense now. The last time I saw him, Digory told me how he and his husband Rafé, a fellow resistance fighter, had married as part of their plan to be each other’s Incentives and not put anyone else’s lives at risk during the Trials. Digory had sacrificed Rafé’s life, and his own, so that Cole and I would have a chance. But at what cost to his reputation? His tortured words still ring in my mind: We knew what we were getting into, what the risks were… but Cole’s just an innocent child…
How would the resistance react if they knew Digory let one of their own die for personal reasons? Would they view Cole’s life as worth more than Rafé’s? Or would they view Digory’s decision as a betrayal of their cause, since Rafe’s survival as a rebel could be considered more important to the greater good?
If I tell them that Digory did what he did out of love for me, they might not care about his reasons and harbor resentment at his choice. The truth could seal my own fate, and Cole’s fate as a result.
But why would any of this matter now?
Unless they, too, suspect he’s still alive and want justice.
I shake my head, trying to maintain my composure and smother the emotions swirling inside me. “Look. I don’t know what it is that you’re after, but Digory died because he was a victim of the Trials, like we all were. I only wish there was some way I could have saved him—”
The words slip out before I can reel them back in. I try to contain myself, but by the look in Hoodie’s eyes, which are growing wide behind the slits of his hood, I’ve failed miserably.
“So you admit that you and Tycho got to be cobbers during the Trials, did you? Perhaps even closer? Was he secretly working for the Prime Minister? Following orders from the Prefect? Tell us what you know.”
I look deep into Hoodie’s eyes without so much as a blink. “I don’t know anything, except that Digory was horrified by the atrocities we saw committed during the Trials. He seemed like one of the most decent and compassionate human beings I’ve ever met.” I choke back the riptide of emotion crashing against the walls of my chest. I have to be strong.
Hoodie doesn’t break my gaze. “So how did Tycho supposedly cark it?”
Splinters of memory embed themselves deep in my skin, tearing through, leaving gaping wounds. “The three of us remaining Recruits were infected with a virus. There were only a limited number of antidotes. Digory was trying to get the last one so he could save his husband’s life.” Hoodie seems to tense at these words. “I…” I take a deep breath. “I beat Digory to the last one and… left him there alone to die.”
And left a part of myself with him to die, too.
“So why were you wearing his ID tag?” Hoodie finally asks.
For the first time during this little interview, I feel like I can finally be a hundred percent honest.
“Digory had no other family that I know of. It wouldn’t be right if he were forgotten.”
Hoodie is silent for the next minute or so. Then he proceeds
to barrage me with questions for the next thirty minutes. Or is it an hour? Two? It’s hard to tell. I’m emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He grills me regarding Imposer troop movements, security protocols, weapon caches—but I can sense it’s more of a formality at this point. I don’t have any vital information to give them, and they know it.