Jonah
The second review of the week began with questions the panel had already asked.
They wanted the date of Astra and Caspian’s bond, the first appearance of Kieran’s line, and every change in his condition since the collapse. They asked Astra whether the third line at her wrist had altered. They asked me when I had last allowed my Mark to surface without suppression.
I gave them the same answer I had given before.
“At Zenith Hall, when the Tower summons appeared.”
The reader at the center of the table turned to a fresh page.
The chamber was arranged differently this time. Kieran sat nearest Marrow, with Astra and Caspian beyond him. My chair had been placed apart from theirs, close to the door.
“Your private record describes an accelerating decline,” the reader said to Kieran. “Do you dispute the independent measurements?”
Kieran sat with his right arm supported against his body. He had recovered enough color to make the effort of being there less obvious, though not enough to hide it from me.
“I dispute your use of the word independent,” he said. “Marrow chose the readers, took the copy, and decided which older case mine should be compared with.”
Marrow stood against the wall behind the panel. His face did not change.
“The comparison procedure predates your arrival,” the reader said.
“That does not make it independent.”
Her pen moved. “Do you believe your association with Astra Verita caused the recent acceleration?”
“No.”
“On what evidence?”
“The decline began long before I met her.”
“The question concerns its acceleration.”
Kieran’s fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. “Then say what you are asking.”
The reader looked at Astra. “Would severing the open line reduce the strain on either Mark?”
Astra leaned forward. “You told us you didn’t know what the lines meant.”
“We are establishing possibilities.”
“By suggesting you cut one?”
Caspian touched her sleeve. She did not sit back, but she stopped moving toward the table.
The reader returned her attention to Kieran. “If severance slowed your decline, would you consent?”
“No.”
Marrow spoke from behind the panel. “Mr. Marsh, your refusal may compromise the review of every resident associated with you.”
“My dying is inconvenient for your paperwork. I understand.”
“You are being offered an intervention.”
“You don’t know whether it would help.”
“That is why it must be tested.”
Kieran’s mouth curved, though there was no humor in it. “On me.”
Marrow’s hand flexed once at his side.
He crossed the room quickly.
One hand closed around Kieran’s collar and pulled him forward. The movement wrenched his damaged shoulder. Pain broke across his face before he could hide it.
Marrow raised his other hand.
I caught his wrist.
My chair struck the floor behind me. By the time the sound reached me, Marrow’s pulse was beating beneath my fingers. I tightened my grip until his raised hand stopped moving.
“Let him go.”
Marrow looked at me rather than Kieran. He pulled once against my hold, testing it.
“Release my wrist, Instructor Hale.”
“Release him.”
Heat spread along my forearm beneath the sleeve. My Mark pushed against the restraint I had kept over it since childhood. Across the room, Astra caught her breath and grabbed her wrist.
The reader’s pen moved.
Marrow released Kieran’s collar.
I let go of his wrist only after Kieran settled back against the chair. His face had gone gray. Astra moved to his side, putting herself between him and Marrow.
“Response was immediate,” the reader said.
Another reviewer looked down at the instrument beside her papers. “Corresponding change registered in Verita’s third line.”
Caspian rose. “You’re recording this?”
“All responses during review are recorded,” the reader said.
I turned on Marrow. “He has been out of the infirmary for three days.”
“No injury was intended.”
“You wrenched his damaged shoulder anyway.”
Marrow straightened the collar I had crushed beneath my hand. A red mark was already forming around his wrist.
My Mark pressed harder beneath my sleeve.
Kieran said my name.
“Jonah.”
I looked at him.
He was breathing shallowly, his left hand braced against the arm of the chair. “Don’t give them another response.”
The heat along my forearm did not lessen, but I forced it beneath the familiar pressure of suppression. My father had taught me to do it before I understood why he feared my Mark. I had hated every hour of that training. Now it gave me a way to stop.
I stepped back.
The reader wrote something more. “Instructor Hale retains voluntary control following activation.”
“You could have asked,” Astra said.
“Self-reported responses are insufficient.”
“So you hurt him instead.”
Marrow returned to the wall. “The session will continue.”
Caspian looked toward the door. A healer had moved in front of it, one hand resting on the latch.
I picked up my chair and set it beside Kieran before I sat.
They asked about the heat beneath my sleeve, whether I had felt Astra’s distress before I saw her move, and whether my impulse had been to protect Kieran specifically or everyone in the room.
I answered as little as I could. Kieran remained upright beside Astra, though the color did not return to his face.
When the panel finally dismissed us, I waited until Kieran was through the door before following.
The chamber door closed behind us. Before we reached the turn, I pressed my back to the wall and looked down. My fingers were shaking.
Astra stopped in front of me. “They measured your line.”
“They did.”
“Do you think that was why Marrow did it?”
I looked toward Kieran. Caspian had taken his good arm and was supporting him without making it obvious. Kieran’s right shoulder sat lower than the left.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But the panel was ready to use it.”
Kieran eased free of Caspian and came back to us.
“You’re listing,” I said.
“And you’re trying to break your own fingers.”
I opened my hands. Crescent marks crossed both palms where my nails had pressed into them.
“Let me see your shoulder.”
“Once we’re back in the room.”
“Now.”
“Jonah.” He put his left hand over mine. “I am capable of walking to the end of one corridor.”
The tremor continued beneath his palm.
He did not pretend not to feel it. I did not pull away.