They pull me to my feet and lead me back down the hall. By the time we’re in the sunlight, more than a few passing soldiers stop to watch. Thomas’s men shove me unceremoniously into a waiting patrol jeep’s backseat, chain my hands to the door, and lock my arms down in metal shackles. Thomas sits next to me and points his gun at my head. Ridiculous. The jeep ushers us back through the streets. The other two soldiers sitting in the jeep’s front watch me in the rearview mirror. They act like I’m some sort of untamed weapon—and in a way, I guess that’s true. The irony of it all makes me want to laugh. Day is a Republic soldier on board the RS Dynasty, and I am the Republic’s most valuable captive. We’ve switched places.
Thomas tries to ignore me as we travel, but my eyes never leave him. He seems tired, with pale lips and dark circles rimming his eyes. Stubble dots his chin, a surprise in itself—Thomas would normally never show his face without being perfectly clean shaven. Commander Jameson must’ve run him ragged for letting me escape from Batalla Hall. They probably interrogated him for it.
The minutes drag on. None of the soldiers talk. The one who drives us keeps his eyes firmly on the road, and all we can hear is the drone of the jeep’s engine and the muffled sounds from the streets outside. I swear the others must be able to hear the hammering of my heart too. From here I can see the jeep driving ahead of us, and through its back window I see occasional flashes of white fur that make me feel incredibly happy. Ollie. I wish he were in the same jeep as me.
Finally, I turn to Thomas. “Thank you for not hurting Ollie.”
I don’t expect him to answer. Captains don’t speak to criminals, he’d say. But to my surprise, he meets my gaze. For me, it seems, he’s still willing to break protocol. “Your dog turned out to be useful.”
He’s Metias’s dog. My anger starts rising again, but I push it back down. Useless to rage over something that won’t help my plans. It’s interesting that he kept Ollie alive at all—he could have tracked me down without him. Ollie’s not a police dog and has no training in sniffing down targets. He couldn’t have helped when they were trying to track me across half the country; he’s only useful in very close range. Which means that Thomas kept him alive for other reasons. Because he cares for me? Or . . . maybe he still cares for Metias. The thought startles me. Thomas’s stare flickers away when I don’t reply. Then there’s another long silence. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll be held in the High Desert Penitentiary until after your interrogation, and then the courts will decide where you’ll go.”
Time to put Razor’s plans to work. “After my interrogation, I can guarantee that the courts are going to send me to Denver.”
One of the guards sitting up front narrows his eyes at me, but Thomas holds up a hand. “Let her talk,” he says. “All that matters is that we deliver her unharmed.” Then he glances at me. He seems gaunter than the last time I saw him too—even his hair, combed neatly in a side part, is dull and limp. “And why is that?”
“I have information the Elector may be highly interested in.”
Thomas’s mouth twitches—he’s hungry to question me now, to uncover whatever secrets I might hold. But that’s outside of protocol, and he’s already broken enough rules by conversing idly with me. He seems to decide against pressing me further. “We’ll see what we can get out of you.”
Then I realize that it’s a little strange they’re sending me to a Vegas penitentiary at all. I should be interrogated and tried in my home state. “Why am I being held here?” I ask. “Shouldn’t I be on my way to Los Angeles?”
Thomas keeps his eyes forward now. “Quarantine,” he replies.
I frown. “What, it’s spread to Batalla now too?”
His answer sends a chill down my spine. “Los Angeles is under quarantine. All of it.”
* * *
HIGH DESERT PENITENTIARY.
ROOM 416 (20 × 12 SQUARE FEET).
2224 HOURS; SAME DAY AS MY CAPTURE.
I sit a few feet away from Thomas. Nothing but a flimsy table separates us—well, if I don’t count the number of soldiers standing guard beside him. They shift uncomfortably whenever I let my eyes rest on them. I sway a little in my chair, fighting back exhaustion, and clink the chains that keep my arms secured across my back. My mind is starting to wander—I keep thinking back on what Thomas said about Los Angeles and its quarantine. No time to dwell on that now, I tell myself, but the thoughts won’t go away. I try to picture Drake University marked with plague signs, Ruby sector’s streets crowded with plague patrols. How is that possible? How could the entire city be under quarantine?
We’ve been in this room for six hours, and Thomas has gotten nowhere with me. My answers to his questions lead us around in circles, and I’ve been doing it in a way so subtle that he doesn’t realize I’ve been manipulating the conversation until he’s wasted another hour. He’s tried threatening to kill Ollie. To which I threatened to carry any information I had to my grave. He’s tried threatening me. To which I reminded him of the taking-information-to-my-grave factor. He’s even tried some mind games—none of which went even remotely well. I just keep asking him why Los Angeles is under quarantine. I’ve been trained in interrogation tactics as much as he has, and it’s backfiring on him. He hasn’t gotten physical with me yet, the way he had with Day. (This is another interesting detail. It doesn’t matter how much Thomas cares for me—if his superiors order him to use physical force, he’ll do it. Since he hasn’t hurt me yet, it means Commander Jameson told him not to. Odd.) Even so, I can tell his patience with me is wearing thin.