The room was luxurious, but not as ostentatious as Abhijat had expected it to be. It could’ve been a suite in any high-end hotel. The bed was large and inviting, littered with little round cushions in various shades of red. Atop the bedside table sat a small steel bucket, which held a bottle of champagne and some ice.

Locking the door, Abhijat directed the befuddled prime minister to the bed, and threw himself down onto the couch, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

After a moment of silence, Abhijat leaned forward for a closer look at his companion. Fasih looked slightly unfocused and woozy, but apart from that seemed well enough. He was gazing curiously at the champagne bottle sitting in its bucket beside the bed.

“Want a drink?” Abhijat asked, sitting back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Not sure that’d be the brightest idea, what with the drug in your system. Then again, you seem to be on a roll tonight.”

Fasih clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t matter. But did you know there’s almost eight grams of dissolved carbon dioxide in this bottle? That means more than 20 million bubbles per glass. And even that’s just 20 percent of it, ’cause 80 percent of the gas escapes through direct diffusion—”

Abhijat grinned. “Alright genius, here’s a trick question for you. Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Huh?”

“You said just now, it doesn’t matter that you’re drugged. And earlier in the washroom you said you were immune to Amven. Well, no offense, but you don’t look particularly immune to me. What’s the deal with you?”

Jehan giggled and shook his head, orange hair flopping into his eyes. “That’s not how it works. Being immune doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me. It just…affects me less. And I get over it faster. That dose wouldn’t last more than forty minutes on me. On anyone else it’d last at least six hours, more if it was their first time taking the drug.”

“And why’s that?”

Jehan shrugged. “Cause I’m used to it. Your body develops a certain amount of resistance to any drug that’s administered to you consistently over a number of years.”

“And what? You’ve been getting high on Amven at the QRI all these years?”

“Of course not.” Jehan rolled his eyes. “You can’t get high on Amven. Not in the recreational sense, anyway. I was testing it.”

“Testing it?” Abhijat raised an eyebrow. “On yourself? Why? The institute run out of guinea pigs for you to play with?”

Jehan frowned. “I was fifteen when I started developing Amven. Of course, that was a very crude version, nowhere near as potent as this. Still, I really had no idea what I was doing, those first few years.

“It was a previously untested compound, quite unstable. Initially, I wasn’t very sure about how it’d affect the nervous system, you know, what it’d do to an actual living creature. I mean, in theory I knew. But I couldn’t begin animal testing until I was sure the drug wouldn’t cause any permanent damage.”

“And so, you decided to test this…unstable compound…on yourself?”

“It had to be tested on someone,” Fasih shrugged. “I’ve never liked relying purely on theory, anyway.”

“I see your history of terrible ideas is long and glorious,” Abhijat sighed. “For how long did this go on?”

“Only the first few years. We did start testing on animals eventually, once we’d stabilized the formula and were reasonably certain of the correct dosage and possible side effects.

“But since I was already immune to the drug to a great extent, I just volunteered to be the test subject every time we developed a new prototype or something.” At Abhijat’s raised eyebrow, he proceeded to explain. “It was just more accurate that way. Rats can’t report very reliably on the nuances of the variations in physiological symptoms caused by two different prototypes, you know.”

Abhijat shook his head, aghast. “I can’t believe the QRI signed off on this.”

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“Who said anything about the QRI?” Jehan frowned. “I mean, we did use their labs sometimes, but very little of the actual research was conducted on campus. Amven is one of the highest priority projects funded by the central government. Much of the research is still classified. You don’t think we were testing those drugs on the premises of a public institution, do you?”

“I’m almost tempted to order you to tell me everything you know, but I have a feeling that’ll turn into a biochemistry lecture I’ll most probably sleep through.”

“Your self-awareness is admirable.”

“Can I punch you now?”

Fasih shook his head. “Only if the drug doesn’t wear off by the end of an hour,” he said earnestly. “We still have thirty-five minutes to go.”

Abhijat leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “Yeah? And why is that?”

“’Cause if it doesn’t wear off in an hour, then this prototype’s more potent than I thought it would be. In which case, we’d have to resort to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Violence,” Jehan smiled.

“Come again.”

“The effects of the Amven drug can also be counteracted by pain. For example, an electric shock or a broken bone will enable a person to regain control of their mind, even before the drug has worn off naturally. The only requirement is that the sensation of pain has to be sudden, unexpected, and intense.”

“So, now you want me to electrocute you?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying that you might have to. Although I really would prefer a broken nose, if it’s all the same to you.”

Abhijat bared his teeth in a grin that was almost feral. “I aim to please.” His eyes wandered over to the champagne bottle on the bedside table. Could this be considered drinking on the job? “So, you’ll do anything I say, huh?”

Jehan cocked his head to the side and squinted at him suspiciously.

“Pour me a drink.”

At Jehan’s glare, Abhijat shrugged. “What? It’s for science. We’ve been spending the taxpayer’s money on the Amven project for years. I need to know if your claims hold water. Now, touch your nose with your tongue and pour me a drink.”

Jehan rolled his eyes and poured out two drinks, handing one to Abhijat.

“You still have to touch your nose with your tongue.”

“Even Amven can’t make one perform impossible feats.”

“It’s not impossible at all. It’s easy. You just stick your tongue out until it reaches your nose.”

“Please, feel free to demonstrate.” Jehan smirked, reaching for his cellphone and flicking on the camera. “I’d be honored to learn from you.”

“You’re a terrible captive.”

“I’ve had better captors.” He sipped the champagne. “This stuff isn’t half bad.”

“Why’d you betray my father?”

Jehan froze. Abhijat waited with bated breath, his heart thundering in his chest.

It was a gamble, and this was probably the worst possible time to make it. They were in enemy territory, with no one to rely on but each other. And Fasih certainly seemed to know more about what was going on here than he did. Making an enemy of him was perhaps not the best idea, under the circumstances.

But Fasih would never volunteer the truth of his own accord. And Abhijat needed to know. It wasn’t logical, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let this opportunity pass.

If he couldn’t give his father his old position back, the least he could give him was the truth.

Jehan grinned ruefully. “All this…you were trying to get me off my guard.”

Abhijat said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He just stared at the other man and willed him to tell the truth.

Jehan bit his lip, gazing down at his own hands. He seemed to be fighting with himself. For a moment, Abhijat was sure that despite the drug in his system, despite everything, Jehan wouldn’t talk.

Then, he blew out a breath and sagged against the headboard. “Fine,” he said, refusing to meet Abhijat’s eyes. “You want the truth? You’ll have it. I betrayed Rajat so that–” he inhaled sharply, his voice shaking. “So that he’d be safe. So he’d be happy.”

Incredulous laughter escaped Abhijat’s lips. “Happy?” he began, his voice rising. “You thought casting aspersions on his character, questioning his integrity, painting him as a traitor in the media, and destroying his reputation would make him happy?”

Jehan flinched, shrinking imperceptibly back into the bed. Despite the effects of the drug, he retained significant self-control. Abhijat noted these facts almost subconsciously, his training kicking in despite the fury rushing through his veins.

Part of him wanted to walk out of the room and not look back, leave Fasih alone in this hellhole to whatever fate might await him. It was what the bastard deserved.

But a bigger part of him wanted to know the whole truth.

“Happier than he would’ve been dead,” Fasih murmured, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “A ruined reputation can be fixed, but corpses can’t be stitched back together into a person. God knows, I’ve tried.”

A terrified, blood-curdling scream rang out from beyond the locked door of the suite.

Abhijat rushed over to the door. Through the peephole, he noticed that a group of people had gathered near the bar. A man was writhing on the floor, screaming. The crowd looked agitated, but Abhijat couldn’t see enough to understand what exactly was happening.

“Damnit!” he snarled, kicking the wall.

He turned to see Jehan sitting on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed. He sighed. Whatever chance he’d had of getting the truth out of Fasih, it was gone. At least for now.

He held out a hand. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

For the fraction of a second, Fasih hesitated. Then, he nodded and clasped Abhijat’s outstretched hand.

Abhijat pulled him up, spun him around, and twisted his hand up behind his back until he could hear the bones popping.

Jehan screamed.

“Feeling feisty yet?” Abhijat hissed into his ear.

“I should’ve known you’d enjoy this way too much,” Fasih snapped, pulling himself free and rubbing gently at his swollen wrist. It was going to bruise. Abhijat grinned.

“You’re welcome. Now move it.”