Pain hammers around my skull, pressure builds at my cheekbone. A cold, hard surface presses against my face, freezing my throbbing lip. I open my eyes, blurriness clouding my vision. I blink repeatedly and groan, raising a hand to cradle my aching head.

A sheen of sweat covers me from head to toe, chilling on contact with the cold air. No matter how many times I screw my eyes shut and open them again, my eyes refuse to focus on a single point. My gaze traces over a series of blurry outlines—figures slumped on the floor, or maybe heaps of blankets? It’s hard to say.

Afraid to stand upright, I crawl over to the closest shape and reach for it tentatively. Three copies of my hand move in tandem, semi-transparent and overlaid with each other.

Before my hand connects with it, the shadowy form moves, letting out a long groan. “Ugh, my head.”

“Caleb?” All the air rushes out of my lungs. I reach further forward and my blurred hands connect with his torso. He grasps my hand in his own, patting my knuckles gently.

“Hey, Ky. You alright?”

I shake my head, closing my eyes before I throw up. “My sight’s messed up.” I remember taking a blow to the head. “Harding knocked me out.”

Caleb growls. “That asshole. I don’t suppose you know where we are, then?”

A deafening clang of metal echoes around us, rattling around my skull, further increasing the urge to vomit. The crisp sound of slow footsteps follows, getting louder. They stop, replaced by the low hum of an electric door. Caleb’s grip on my hand tightens ever so slightly.

Then, a low whistle. “Finally awake, you two?” Harding says, and once again, I can hear his grin.

A ball of acid rises to the back of my throat. I swallow it back down, fighting to keep my face an impassive mask. If we’re afraid, if we cower, if we beg, he’ll relish every second. I’m determined to steal every ounce of joy from him. I will not give him the satisfaction of crumbling.

Caleb shifts closer to me until I can feel his warmth between me and Harding, like he’s shielding me. “Where are we?” he pants.

Harding gives a quiet chuckle. His footsteps skirt around us, tapping against the cold concrete as he steps from left, circling to our right. “Where do you think, Mr Chase?”

“You put us in Reform?”

Harding doesn’t answer. Instead, his steps continue to my right, coming nearer. Caleb shifts slightly, pressing back against me. He must be trying to stay between us. After a few moments of silence, he lets out a groan, and the surrounding air returns to its earlier chill.

“Caleb?” I squeal, reaching out for him. Opening my eyes doesn’t help much, but I see his form slumped forward in front of me, so far that he must have his face pressed into the floor. I glare up at Harding, or at least the blurry shape I imagine being him. “What did you do?”

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“Oh dear,” Harding coos in mock concern. “Don’t you know what’s happening?”

His dark shadow grows larger until he’s right in my face, his breath hot on my forehead. He shifts, holding up his hand between us and moving it from side to side. I stare right past it at his shadowy silhouette and continue to glare at him. “I can see just fine, thank you.”

He snorts again. “If you say so. We only have a few minutes alone, and I wanted to talk to you.”

I keep my face blank, though I’m sure some flicker of disgust curls my lip at this. “Why me?”

Harding sighs and crouches on the ground opposite me. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” his tone lightens, though it doesn’t lose the sound of his cruel smile. “Why you? Do you know how long I’ve been a warden, Miss Chase?”

“I’ll guess a really long time.” I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s been, oh, maybe fifteen years?” Harding says, ignoring the implied insult. “Five years in the regimental squad, then fast-tracked to a senior role. They saw something in me, liked the way I worked.”

“Who did?”

“Premier Sheridan, of course. Our commander.”

My breaths quicken as he speaks, but I try to hide it from him. “Wow,” I hum with a heavy burden of monotone sarcasm. Before today, I would have needed a full dose of Composure to pull off this stoic reaction. “That sounds really… special.”

Another chuckle. “It is. You wouldn't know anything about it, I suppose.”

I frown. It’s like he’s taking in riddles. “About what?”

“Being a part of something. A part of anything, really. You were never destined for anything greater.”

His insult stings. I can’t deny that. While my breath comes in increasingly shorter pants, I scramble for a witty comeback. But I’ve got nothing. Maybe because he might be right?

“Maybe you thought Frank could help you there,” Harding says, “but you’ve put your faith in the wrong side. The manager of a coffee shop won’t bring Sheridan down. She’s forty steps ahead of anything Frank has up his sleeve.”

I continue to scowl, but keep my mouth shut. He’s trying to bait me into revealing Frank’s plans. Harding’s trapped me in a net before, though he had to dose me to get at the truth. Would I have told him, anyway?

Considering how my blood’s boiling, my stomach rolling his closeness, I’d like to think that no, I wouldn’t have. Even before I knew more about Dani and Frank, even before I agreed to help them. That was a different Kyla, a different version of myself. She was gone now. I had to choose to be better.

I wouldn’t give him anything. Not this time.

Just as well that I didn’t really know much in the first place.

Harding sniffs and stands abruptly. “No matter,” he says breezily. “I’d say Frank should join you any minute now.”

“I look forward to it,” I spit back.

He steps away, his silhouette shrinking.

“Wait!”

He pauses.

“Where’s Dani?” I can barely keep the quiver out of my voice.

“Oh, Kyla,” he says, relishing every syllable. “You told me you could see just fine. I’m disappointed that you’d lie to me after all we’ve been through. They’re right next to you, of course.”

I squint at another blurry form to my left and kick myself for not paying more attention. That must be Dani. But they’re not moving. I make a move to scramble over to check on them, but Harding has already returned, and stops me with what I can only assume is his rifle. “Not so fast, Miss Chase. We have work to do.”

He gives a sudden, shrill whistle—the piercing sound makes me jump instantly. He moves away from us, and the urge to check on Dani grows again. I just want to make sure they’re breathing, that they’re still okay. But the room is instantly filled with noise—stamping feet and bustling bodies. My vision may have cleared somewhat since I woke, but I still can’t make out all the details. It’s just bodies to me—all dressed in dark clothing, with blurry faces. Nobody talks.

One approaches me while two others bend over and haul Dani and Caleb away. I hold out a hand to try to protect myself, to push them away, but it’s no use. Without being able to see their movements, stopping them is impossible. They grab me by my forearms and drag me to my feet.

“Take them down to intake,” Harding barks.

The rough hands on my arms squeeze tighter and haul me away.