Chapter Nineteen
CASSIA
Frost dusts the leaves and turns slick under boots as Arayik instructs two recruits to position the scout for interrogation.
They plant him upright before shoving a tent pole between his arms, effectively keeping the man contained to one spot.
Kellen pulls off the blindfold they slipped on when he was unconscious and we were instructed to pack everything.
Not sure why that matters…if the man could communicate with his people, I don’t think knowing we have a couple tents is a big deal.
The man blinks at our faces—counting, sorting, storing. A bruise swells high on his cheekbone where Arayik caught him, deforming his face.
“You had yourself a long walk,” Arayik says, voice flat enough to pass for calm.
The scout wets a dry, cracked lip and keeps taking us in. I study him closer. He’s near my age, or older if you measure years in hunger…He’s far too skinny.
Elias posts to Arayik’s left, Kellen to his right, all three glaring at our new camp member. The rest of us form a ring around the four of them.
“Ashford,” Arayik says, eyes on the prisoner, “names, numbers, locations. I want answers, so get them.”
I’m not sure if I should be relieved or terrified.
I step in and lower to one knee so I’m level with the sky-blue eyes of our guest. I couldn’t care less how compromising this position is—I want to level with him when I’m inside his head. His gaze finds the slit of my mask and stays there.
The camp has a particular taste at this hour—cold metal, anxious thoughts, a thread of old smoke that doesn’t blow with the wind, last night’s nerves still crusted on the edges. I can’t decide, but it’s not pleasant.
How do you tell a man you’re about to invade the most private part of him? I try to convey my sincerity through my eyes as I wouldn’t dare utter it out loud; then I reach.
Fear slides through me first—acrid and sour—repressed by sheer will. Beneath it, sadness. Grief so intense I need to swallow a cry of pain. Is he grieving his family? I’ve no doubt they’re wondering where he is by now.
“Your name,” I say, pouring calming thoughts under his skin.
“Rook,” he answers. A lie, I believe; there was a spike of something unrecognizable when he said it. But I keep that to myself.
“We can keep this straightforward, Rook” I tell him. “I just need some information and this is done. You talk, this is easy for everyone. But if you don’t, I really don’t think you’ll like what these men will do to you.”
He huffs, not amused. “You sound like you have no idea what will happen after you leave. Doesn’t matter if I talk or not.”
“You’re right.” His brows raise. “Either way, I will personally ensure the outcome is not painful if you just give us what we need.” I’m not confident in that promise, but it’s not a lie. I will do whatever possible to make sure they give him a quick, clean death.
He draws breath to answer. Arayik steps in and drives a knife into the man’s shoulder, causing him to scream and thrash.
Who knew it was possible to hate one person this much?
I peer up with a glare so severe, heat radiates from my eyes. The meaning is clear: message received.
“Let him speak, Commander,” Elias says, challenging the Anchor. Surprisingly, Arayik eases back half a pace.
The man coughs, and I lift a canteen in offering as more calm emotions leave me, a pressure building deep in my head. “Drink first. Then we talk.”
He eyes the canteen like it could be a trick before drinking anyway. Water coats his chin, washes a thin line through the dirt at his throat. There’s something blue peeking out from behind his ear, bright in the rising sun.
“What do your people call you?” I ask, softer.
“Rook,” he says again. It still tastes wrong, but if he wishes to be called Rook, then who am I to say otherwise as a woman pretending to be her brother?
“How far is your camp?”
“Far enough,” he answers.
It’s at this moment I realize how selfish I am because I hope he refuses to answer my questions. He’s right, Arayik will not allow this man to live after today, but he’ll make it so much worse if he wastes the Commander’s time. And yet, I want him to.
“How many are on watch when you sleep?”
He’s careful. “Enough.”
Kellen steps in a half pace, voice even. “Two? Three?”
The smallest flinch when Kellen says three. He tries to swallow it, not successfully enough to escape my notice.
“Two,” he answers.
“Noted,” Kellen says. His attention ticks to me, and I shift my weight to sit on both knees. He saw it, too.
Arayik crouches and snatches Rook’s left foot like it’s something he does often. The knife tip touches the web of skin between toes, dragging a wince from me. “Give me what I want,” he says. “Cut the shit.”
Rook stares at the blade, then at me. Something old and heavy moves behind those irises.
“You know what you call your places?” His voice is rough.
“Facilities. We call them white barns.” His eyes slide past us as if there’s one through the trees as he spits his next words.
“They took my mother to one when my father died. When I got her back, there was a new number carved into her skin.”
“You see, I covered up the old one. She was finally free of that prison and never wanted to be reminded of her identity in there, so I found a needle and covered the side of her neck where they place the marks. But when I got her back? There was a new fucking number on the other side. She meant nothing but money to them. You soldiers think you’re so high and mighty because you can toss the rest of us around and throw our mothers away when they lose someone they love.
” He pauses as the knife presses just enough to make his skin blanch.
Arayik doesn’t need to say the threat out loud.
And still, I feel an immense sense of pride at his next words. “So no, Enforcer, I will not cut the shit. You may do what you wish with me, but you will never get anything useful from my mouth.”
I want to hug him. To tell him I’m proud—that he reminds me of my father and brother. That he’s a rare gem in this horrifying world.
Instead, Arayik’s patience hits its ceiling. “Enough,” he shouts, shoving the tip of his blade into the crease of Rook’s foot. “If he won’t talk, I have no use for him.”
He reaches for a small pack Finnick is already opening like he’s been waiting to all morning. Shock baton, tubing, syringe, more knives. The list makes my stomach hard.
“Wait,” I cry before Arayik can choose where to start, jolting from my position to stand next to him. “You’ll spike adrenaline and pain before we use the only advantage we have.”
“What advantage is that, Ashford?” Arayik asks, amused, without turning his head.
My voice lowers. “He thinks we’re monsters. He’s ready for pain and death, but he isn’t ready for someone to treat him like a person. That’s why he brought up his story of barns. He’s anchoring himself. If I pull on that anchor, he may give us something he doesn’t think is information.”
A beat. Kellen’s brow raises in my direction while Elias remains quiet. The Commander exhales a sound that isn’t quite a laugh; a dry, fearsome sound.
“Five minutes.”
That’s as much space as I’m going to get.
I return to Rook and wring the rag out under the canteen mouth. I dab the cracks at his lip, not a dramatic help, but the man deserves to speak without being completely dehydrated. He startles at the gentleness.
“What’s your river called?” I think of sunny days and flowing water, filling him with the peace of those images. My skull pounds as if it’s going to tear from my scalp—I’ve been holding my power for longer than I thought. Still, I keep going.
“Old map says Kole,” he answers as his eyes flutter shut. “We call it The Spine.”
I pause. “Because?”
“It holds what we build; gives life to all of us that just want to live in peace.” It costs him to say it, fear rising in my throat again. I share more calming feelings before continuing.
“You were counting us when we spotted you,” I say, not exactly a question.
“I was deciding what you are.”
“And? What are we?” I keep my voice flat to hide the excited interest I feel in speaking with this man.
He tips his chin toward Arayik without looking away from me. “It’s like you said: monsters.” His gaze slides to Arayik. “But that one is pure demon.” Rook grins at the Commander, showcasing blood-crusted teeth.
I don’t blink. “Tell me something that won’t get anyone hurt.”
He exhales as both shoulders drop a fraction. “We planted the kale too close in the lower bed,” he mutters almost conversationally. “The kids won’t thin it; they feel bad for the small ones.”
“How many beds do you have?” The question leaves before I can stop it.
“Eight,” he says, and also catches himself a second too late. We still have an audience.
As much as I would love to learn everything about his life and how he brought people outside the perimeter, I know my window is closing.
Reaching inside, every bit of goodness I possess gets shoved into a box as I continue. “North.” No reaction. “South.” Still nothing. “East—” There, a slight twitch in his eye. It appears our intelligence was correct, after all.
I know my time is exhausted when Arayik strides forward. “His camp is east,” I declare for the group, holding Rook’s gaze.
I’m so sorry.
Arayik’s hand is already on his gun when I stand. “Good.”
Elias appears at my shoulder, voice low. “Walk.” And I do, my head shaking as I will the impending migraine away.
Pack heavy on my back, we step far enough that the noise of camp becomes a hum. A shrill pop spreads through the land, but I keep walking, praying to the stars it was a quick enough death.
Elias waits until my pulse has finally learned a normal rhythm again to speak. “You did good. And you kept Arayik from turning the man’s hand into a lesson. That’s not nothing.”
“Don’t make it a compliment.”
I shove past him and wait for orders to move through the squads—reset packs, check straps, drink. The day is bright yet cold. Rook’s lifeless eyes watch us from the ground, wrists still tied as his hair soaks in blood from the pool beneath him.
We don’t walk toward him when we finally move.
We go east.