She tried to kill herself. She cut her own wrists.

Robert Quistin loved his daughter, and hated him. Mode knew what Kat must have gone through when he left; he didn't even know if she knew what had happened to him. Quistin had seen her upset, and he'd come here to get revenge. That was straightforward enough. There was no reason for Quistin to limit himself to the truth. Mode was effectively caged; there was nothing he could do to ascertain the truth or falsity of Quistin's statements - at least, not that Quistin would know about. The man was lying. He had to be.

Katera would never do that.

Hands clenched, her long sharp nails dug into the palms of her hands, thin rivulets of blood meandering slowly along her skin...

The door to his cell slid shut, the lock engaged, and Mode stood in the center of the little room and began to tremble.

Maybe she could have. Maybe she would have, if she thought he was dead. Katera was far too full of life to consider it under any other circumstance. What would he have done, if he thought she was dead? He would have continued, as all organisms continue, but he would have wished to join her. He wouldn't have done it himself. His survival instinct was far too strong for him to contemplate what Angel had so carefully considered. Even Angel had been forced to seek outside assistance.

Katera was strong. Was that courage, to be willing to face existence without purpose? Or was it cowardice, to be unwilling to follow love where it would lead?

It didn't matter. It didn't, goddamnit, they were both alive and someday they would be free. Someday they would be together, and nothing would ever tear them apart again, not even death. Even then, he would find a way to follow her. He would find a way to drag her back, or he would go with her, but they would never be separated for long.

What mattered now was finding a way to contact her. He had to know that she knew he was alive and waiting for her. Then she would be safe from herself. Mode knew her too well to think she was in serious danger from anyone else. Wick didn't care about Katera. Neither did the twins, if they lived, which he doubted. All he needed was to tell her he was alive, and that he wanted her, and she would be alright.

Wouldn't she?

Nathan had been to the cell blocks several times during the past few years. Interrogations were usually conducted in the rooms set aside for that purpose at the ends of the corridors, but Vaisou had instructed him to handle their interview in her cell. That made him uncomfortable. The interrogation room made things official; within that room, everything was business, no matter how ugly things got. Using the prisoner's cell for this seemed less...professional. More personal. Whether this was for the subject's benefit or his, or both, Nathan didn't know.

Either way, he didn't like it.

The four guards Vaisou had assigned followed him. During his time at the IA compound, he had almost ceased to notice them. They were always following him places, and very rarely interfered with anything he said or did. They were fixtures, and he treated them as such. Now they were acting towards him as they had acted towards his captors, and the change in their accustomed demeanor was palpable. Instead of insignificantly menacing, they were now insignificantly deferential. Unimportant as their presence or absence was, their altered manner served to underline his apprehension with a reluctant appreciation for what his new position would offer him, if he were successful.

Power.

The guards flanked him, and he was the one to card the door open and step inside.

There was an immediate scrabbling as the occupant of the cell sat up on the low metal bunk that hung from the wall opposite the door, and Nathan held his hand up as the guards followed him in. It was the same gesture he'd seen the other interrogators use, and he did it perfectly. They responded immediately, ceasing their forward entry into the cell and holding their positions behind him. The girl blinked rapidly, trying to accustom her eyes to the sudden light as one of the guards keyed the room illumination, and Nathan examined her more closely.

Dark, straight red hair hung about her face and just brushed her shoulders. This was her fifth day in IA custody, and whoever had previously been in charge of her had been relatively humane; she had been allowed access to bathing facilities and had been issued standard prison garb to replace her own clothing, the dull yellow jumpsuit all IA prisoners wore. Her jawline was a little too strong for beauty, her features a little too plain to be called delicate, but decidedly feminine. Her skin was milky white, with a healthy smattering of freckles. She sat very straight, and her nervousness was in plain evidence as she pushed a pair of smallish glasses back into place and swallowed.

When she stopped blinking so rapidly, he could see her eyes were pale blue, and they fixed on his with frightened defiance. It occurred to him they had probably not bothered attempting to question her before this, and so she naturally assumed he was one of the typical interrogators. She was probably expecting violence...yet she did not look away from him. He could see her pulse in her throat, and she was trembling slightly, but she did not look away.

There was a quiet thud as one of the guards set down the metal chair he had requested, and Nathan left it where it was. He made another curt gesture, and the guards quietly exited, and he clasped his hands comfortably behind his back and watched her watching him. He was in full uniform for this, and he let her look him over without changing his expression. When she realized he was observing her examination, she flushed lightly, but held his eyes anyway, as if to drop her gaze would be an admission of defeat, a prelude to surrender.

Interesting.

She broke their staring contest briefly to watch the door close, and then looked back to him with a resigned, weary terror that made him pity her and become furious with her at once. Pity, because she had suffered something to make her look at him with that expectation, and fury, because she did not know him, had never met him, and had no right to expect such loathsome behavior from him. Rape was the single act he would have hesitated to perform, even to get Katera back.

Maybe she can just tell you've done it before.

He kept himself expressionless by the thinnest of margins, and regarded her coolly until he knew he could speak calmly once more.

"Hello, Clara," he said quietly. "My name is Nathan. I'm here to ask you a few questions."

At the sound of his voice, she started a little, and her expression shifted from resigned to wary. Her features became a little more difficult to read; she was not adept at masking her emotions, but he could see she was making an effort. Palani was a distinguished university; the girl was intelligent, but untrained and inexperienced, and her attempt to dissemble shielded little of her thought processes.

She drew her feet up onto the bunk, as if touching the same surface he stood upon was distasteful, and crossed her arms tightly across her stomach. "I'm not afraid of you," she said fiercely. "I haven't done anything wrong. You have no right to keep me here." Her hands were fists tucked under her forearms as she glared at him.

"I'm not keeping you here, Clara," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm here to ask you some questions, and depending upon how you answer those questions, the people who are keeping you here will be happy to let you go. You know why you were arrested. I have read your file. I will get to the point. I need information from you concerning Phillip Highland and the planned demolition of Lunar Base VII."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said angrily. "You IF people are all the same, thinking you can push everyone else around like you push each other, no respect for any individual rights. Yes, I know Phillip Highland, and I haven't seen him in six months! And if I had, it wouldn't be any business of yours." A little of the fear drained out of her voice, replaced by anger, but it sounded...forced. It sounded rehearsed. When Nathan took a slow step forward and pulled the chair to a position roughly in front of the bunk, that fear returned, and he turned the chair to face the door and sat down easily, resting his arms on the back and watching her scoot back against the wall the bunk was hung from. He was closer now, and her rapid breath was an easy indicator of how uncomfortable that made her.

"Clara," he said reasonably, his voice still quiet, still even, "I'm afraid we don't have time for this. That base has a full complement of staff and soldiers, over two thousand people. If you don't tell me where the bombs are, they're all going to die. That doesn't bother you?" He saw the flicker of uncertainty pass through her eyes. She was loyal, but not a fanatic. That was good. An idea began to take shape.

A new strength came into her eyes then, replacing the uncertainty. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said calmly, and her breath began to slow. "But I do know Phillip Highland. I haven't seen him in six months, but wherever he is, whatever he's doing, it's probably the right thing."

Nathan saw that light, her pale blue eyes suddenly serene, and any doubt he had harbored vanished. He studied her with an excellent imitation of surprise and frustration. "How can the right thing involve killing so many innocents, Clara? Do you really think those people deserve to die?" "Those people are part of the IF, aren't they?" the girl responded coldly. "They're soldiers. During war, soldiers die. No one made them join up, did they?"

Nathan frowned, his face set in serious concern, and said nothing for a moment. When he did speak again, his voice was heavy with bitter frustration. "You really believe that, don't you? There are children on our Lunar stations, Clara. You're going to let them die too?" She said nothing, just glared up at him sullenly, and he nodded and stood, his posture rigid, and despite her newfound calm, she shrunk a little as she looked up at him. "Alright," he said roughly. "I can see this is going nowhere. You fanatics are all the same." A sad, angry smile touched his mouth and he shook his head. "In a way, I envy you people, to think what you're fighting for is worth dying for, worth killing children for. I just want to know one thing, Clara. Do you think you're a martyr? Is that why you're doing this?"

That serene look didn't leave, but it faltered. He saw it falter, if only for a moment. "You can't kill me just because I know Phillip Highland," she said warily. "I haven't done anything wrong." Nathan looked at her in confusion, and then released a brief, harsh chuckle, as if she were making a poor joke. "No, I imagine they won't. But I don't think you're going to be one of the first people they evacuate. There are children here, Clara - but that doesn't matter to you, does it?"

He watched that serenity stumble again, and her eyes widened a trifle. "Why would they evacuate the IF Command Post?" she asked, deadpan. He stared at her, and when pity crept back into his grey eyes, it wasn't entirely feigned. "He didn't tell you, did he?" he asked her gently, his tone wondering. It was his turn to hold his expression while her eyes searched his face, and that serenity tripped and fell away from her and did not rise again. "Tell...tell me what?" she asked a little hoarsely.

Nathan shook his head again, like he couldn't quite believe the situation, and looked into her frightened eyes with the same sincerity he had once manufactured to put Dante at her ease. "We have video footage of Phillip Highland departing the Command Post early this morning on a transport shuttle, bound for Earthside. Mr. Highland," he added sarcastically, "rarely visits our installations for social reasons. Several elaborate detonators were discovered in the resulting sweep, and we're working on disarming them, but frankly, it doesn't look good. At least, with these, we have a fighting chance. The Lunar base is as good as gone." He let reluctant awe creep into his features, but his voice was still bitter. "Maybe if the IF could command that kind of loyalty we could figure out a way to win against you people. You must be proud."

He turned to leave without another word, but she was already shaking. Her skin had gone several shades paler. He walked towards the door, counting his steps. One...two...three...four...fi-

"Wait." Her voice was a whisper, ragged and weak, and he kept walking, as if he hadn't heard. "Wait," she said, a little more audibly, and he immediately paused and turned to face her. Her face was blank, but tears were already spilling down her cheeks, her eyes dulled. She stared at the floor, and made no attempt to meet his gaze as he walked back to her, silently took his seat, and waited.

Vaisou was waiting for him when he came back into the conference room, and they exchanged the necessary information without pleasantries. Vaisou left immediately, and did not return for at least forty minutes. When he did return, he was smiling, but it was not the idiotically cheerful smile that was normally pasted on his face. It was the cynical smirk he'd only seen once before, and it put Nathan immediately on edge. Had she lied?

"Congratulations, Mr. Terrence. The codes worked. They're removing the detonators now. Congratulations, also, on an extremely well-played gambit. I couldn't have done it better myself." There was something else behind that smile, and Nathan did not relax, not even when Vaisou reclaimed his seat. "Johan was right about you, Mr. Terrence, no doubt about it. It's a difficult job...but it has to be done, and I think you'll manage quite nicely." Nathan watched him silently, but Vaisou just continued to smirk at him, and so he rose, preparing to depart. His tension began to leave him. It was over, and soon Katera would be with him, and he would be content. He could do this. It wasn't pleasant, but it was bearable. He could do this.

"A shame about the girl, though," Vaisou said offhandedly as Nathan pushed his chair in. He forced the motion to be smooth, but inside, his heart began to pound. "Yes?" he said non-committally, and met Vaisou's reptilian gaze. "Bright girl, just fell in with the wrong elements," he said reprovingly. "Even so, wouldn't think she was the suicidal type. Damndest thing. I guess the guards weren't paying enough attention. You wore her out pretty well, Nathan, but I guess we're lucky she didn't try to shoot anyone else." He grinned his crocodile grin, and Nathan stared, and then turn and left the room, before he cost himself all that he'd just paid for. He left, and walked, and then ran, but the cell block was already empty, any trace of her stay already erased. He could have asked. He could have looked it up...but he knew he didn't have to.

“So your telling us that you did not aid Ms. Kinoshita’s escape from Central Command?”

“If I had, don’t you think I would have left with her?”

“Now, now. There’s no need to be difficult.”

“You have no idea how difficult I can be.”

They were fools to believe she would stay behind willfully. Why would she, Minerva whose only obvious friend was Riya, want to stay behind while her “friend” left this hell hole to pursue better things?

But in reality, she had no idea if Riya was pursuing better things. She was still unsure as to whether she was alive or not. She could only assume she was living the free life on Earth somewhere.

That bitch is probably lying on some sandy beach right now, laughing at how she played me for a fool.

The meal slot in the door opened up to reveal her breakfast…or perhaps it was lunch now. She stood up and took the tray from the guard. She found it extremely difficult to eat with binders on her wrists: Both hands had to move up to put the food in her mouth. She had made it a point to look highly uncomfortable and unorganized in her bindings whenever guards or IF officials were present. They were idiots to think that these pesky bindings could keep her locked up. She was Scorpion, after all, and she had learned from the best in the business: Riya.

But in truth, she didn’t want to escape. She didn’t care what they did with her. Riya had left her. Abandoned her. Perhaps given up on her? That was highly possible. Maybe Riya came to realize Minerva had no potential and dumped her. She felt the anger well up inside of her. Riya would regret the day she abandoned her to the MPs. If Minerva ever got her hands on her…she’d kill her…

Minerva tossed the food aside and stood up in the cramp cell. She paced as best she could, trying to drive the thoughts out. She couldn’t kill Riya. Or could she? She felt so much anger, and yet she felt she could never betray Riya. She would never tell the IF Riya’s secrets, though she figured they had found the packet in her barracks of articles. But she would never tell them her personality, her ways of movement, how her brain worked. Only Minerva would hold that secret.

She had been hearing rumors of a court martial that would occur in the next few days. She had no idea if it would be for her or not…not that she cared. She actually felt honored to be given a whole court martial by the IF for doing nothing more then sleeping. She wondered if she should break out of her shackles the moment she reached the bench, kill the guards, all the members of the International Fleet Command, and then run for it. She would no doubt be caught, but at least she would go out in style.

She didn’t give a rat’s ass if they executed her that evening. All she cared about was getting out of the blasted cell she had been in for numerous days. Maybe they’d throw her out of the IF and she could go back to Earth and find Riya to yell at her for being a bitch. Maybe they would execute her? Minerva truly didn’t care. She had nothing else to live for. Maybe nothing would happen. Perhaps they’d find her not guilty and she could continue being the soldier she was trained to be. That was by far the least favorite of the three selections.

She lay back down, deciding to sleep some more when the door to the cell opened. Two MPs stood in front of her wielding large guns to prevent her escaping.

“Come with us.”

“Why?”

“Prisoners are not allowed to ask questions.” The larger guard said in a commanding voice.

“Screw you. If you think those guns will stop me, your gravely mistaken.”

Minerva made sure to emphasize the ‘gravely’ word to get the guards on their toes a little bit more. Not that she’d ever attempt to escape, but it was fun to watch them squirm at the feet of a 19 year old girl. She got up from the bed and walked between the two guards out of the cell and into the hall. All Minerva could do was think of Riya.

There was a table here, surrounded by chairs. The left wall was transparent from the ceiling to three feet from the floor, and the lighting in the room was low to reduce glare. Beyond the clear pane was the interrogation chamber, far more brightly lit. It contained a metal chair and table, both bolted to the floor. The chair was not occupied; the single occupant of the room was pacing back and forth furiously, pausing every now and then to scowl at the camera or the mirror the window appeared to be from the other side. It was Captain Quistin, as ordered, unharmed and awake and very much in control of his faculties.

Katera tensed next to him, and he embraced her reassuringly. Quistin had been relieved of his weaponry, but he remained a powerful man. He did not share her concern, but he understood it. He knew Katera's file better than he knew his own. Quistin had taken his misery out on his daughter from the day she was born. To an average adult, Quistin was an imposing man; what would he have seemed like to a little girl?

Tonight he would let her see she never had to fear him again.

He kissed her cheek and left her there, and the door closed behind him. The last of his tenderness vanished and he met the eyes of the guard opposite the door. "Lock it." The guard immediately carded the manual lock closed and returned to his position. "No one in or out until I'm done. No exceptions." "Yes, sir."

He didn't want any interruptions, not even from Katera, and she would be safe, no matter what happened. Even if she didn't want to be.

This taken care of, he turned and entered the interrogation room.

His head throbbed and he glared furiously at whatever came into sight; the wall, the tiny red blinking light of the camera above him, the two-way mirror that ran along the length of one wall. If only the MPs would return. It had taken four of them to retrieve him, and had he not been secreted in his office and preoccupied with the documents returned to him, four would not have been enough. Instead of some more rational action, he had thrown himself at them, armed only with the knowledge that his transfer request had been rejected, and he could not control his daughter.

He did it. He did it to prove he could. He cannot have her.

If he couldn't rule his own daughter, then no one would.

The door slid open and he had barely registered that it was Terrence before he stormed forward, ready to curse, to demand to see Katera, to threaten the boy who was taking his command. Then Terrence actually struck him, and with the same raging astonishment he had felt when Kat fled from their fight, he could only stare and imagine what would be a very enjoyable death.

"Do I have your attention, Captain?" That voice. He remembered it from Command School, when he had come upon them. Jaxen. No, it was Terrence. "Terrence, sir." She had been hurt then. She lied when she said that this boy had not been the one to do it. Robert clenched his hands into fists and started to shake as he looked to the mirrored wall, looked to the camera, and narrowed serpentine eyes to hiss with bared canines.

With those three words, Quistin summarized the entirety of his rage, and the source of it was evident in his speech pattern. A loving parent, concerned with the welfare of his child, would have spoken those words differently. A loving parent would be more concerned with the word daughter.

Quistin just wanted what was his.

Disbelief covered his features and he could do nothing to regain his composure. Terrence's wife. Kat had... she had...

No.

She would not. Katera had killed Jax when she was only eight. Now she was older, she was stronger, and she knew better. Terrence was blind. She would kill him too. She would. It was what he, Robert, would have done; thus, she would follow suit. She was his daughter. They were too alike.

She is not his.

"I understand you are interested in relocating, Captain. I am pleased to inform you that your request has been granted. Your shuttle leaves in forty-five minutes, and I've arranged to have your accounts transferred to a reputable bank Earthside so you can enjoy your retirement. Of course, that will prevent you from accessing them until you get there, but the IF will take excellent care of you until you arrive."

"You might also be interested to know," he continued in the same conversational tone, "that there was a request rejected for a similar transfer for Denali Katera Quistin. I didn't want you to think I'd...interfered. Your temper has earned you a reputation." Another ghostly smile flickered across his lips, disappeared. "The computer rejected it. There is no Denali Katera Quistin currently employed by the IF...and Denali Katera Terrence has no wish to resign."

He stared at the ring and tried to accept the fact, but disbelief continued to reign. How could she have done such a thing, after all that had happened? She had moped around after Jax's death, but she hadn't tried to kill herself, only others. The magnitude of her pain was so much greater this time around, yet... she married this one, this Terrence. Even the thought made him cringe and glare furiously at the man before him. His precious little cat, betraying him for that.

Yes, betrayed. Robert clenched his fists again and began to shake, his fury leaving little room for rationality or even truth. He was beaten, but he would not go down without a fight. He would not submit without causing the man who had taken everything from him to suffer just one last time.

"Take her," he hissed venomously, his eyes the bright, angry gold that overtook Katera's whenever blood was in the air. "Take her, because she only kills. She killed my wife, and she would have killed me... and you can have her, because she'll only kill you. At least someone will do it."

The mirror that ran along the wall shook suddenly, as if fists were being pounded against it, and the realization that Terrence had brought Katera along with him made Robert smile. He turned to the mirrored wall and took a step closer, smirking the shark smile that she wore, that Jax had worn, that Terrence would wear. He smirked and pressed a hand against the shaking glass and growled.

"Look, she can hear me. She knows I'm right." He turned back toward Terrence and hissed again. "I told her you were dead. It would all have been easier if you'd just listened to me and left. Vaisou should have listened."

Quistin blocked his first punch, and for the first time since his fight with the Creche twins at Command School, Nathan was knocked back as a powerful fist landed squarely on his jaw. The pain woke him, brought his adrenaline into play, and he knocked the next aside and yanked Quistin forward to slam a tight fist into the older man's stomach. The air left the captain in a rush, and Nathan was caught by surprise when Quistin tried to headbutt him. He threw his head backwards and to the side to avoid it and took the reduced impact on his cheek instead.

Sensing an advantage, the captain drove a knee into Nathan's stomach and shoved him away, preparing to finish him off.

Nathan drew in a single sweet lungful of oxygen and attacked.

Robert Quistin was broader than he, but he was younger than Katera's father, and faster, and after the first few solid blows to the head and throat, the captain was much easier to deal with. Nathan was silently methodical. Bruises bloomed on Quistin's face like flowers, the green eyes slowly swelling shut, the slack lips split, and yet he maintained consciousness. Nathan always let him try to rise without interruption. He wanted Quistin to feel the damage he'd done. He always waited until he got to his feet before he knocked him down again.

He had to hold the man up to deliver two last vicious uppercuts to his midsection, and this time when he fell, he did not rise.

Nathan shook his head to clear the sweat from his brow and knelt next to the fallen man, taking his right wrist in a merciless grip and pushing the cuff back. Quistin began to stir more strenuously, but he paid little attention, unsnapping the sheath and pulling the dagger Nathan had insisted the guards not remove during the search. The swollen eyelids fluttered, trying to open, to see what he was doing, and he calmly placed a hand on the captain's throat to hold him still.

"Katera's mother...was this what it was like? Did you beat her the way you beat Katera?" Quistin growled and tried to break free, and Nathan struck him in the face with the hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. The man's entire body twitched, and his breath came in wheezes and gasps through his swollen throat as he tightened his grip a little, enough to cause pain but not enough to put him out.

The captain was still conscious when Nathan drew a line in the swollen skin above his cheekbone with the sharp point of the dagger. The skin split, blood welled, and Quistin hissed in as best he could, trying to bring a hand around to lay it on Nathan, to make him stop.

When he was finished, Nathan threw the dagger away from them, across the room, and pulled Quistin up by his uniform a foot off the floor. The man was heavy, dead weight, and he shook him to make sure he was awake. One eye, only able to open a fraction, half focused on him.

"Your wife is dead, captain," he said quietly. "Leave mine in peace."

He released his grip and stood, and Quistin fell to the floor with a groan. The guards snapped him attention, and he paused at the door but did not turn. "Get him to his ship. Ask for Dr. Alvarado." The sedative she would give him would keep him under a good forty eight hours, and he would be out of port and well on his way to Earth.

They would never see him again.

She matched her father in his pacing as she stalked around the room in circles, nails carving bloody half-moons in the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists. The words she could almost ignore, but even by sheer force of will, there was nothing that could keep the betrayal and truth in her father's voice from reaching her ears.

"Take her, because she only kills. She killed my wife--" I didn't mean to, Daddy... "--and she would have killed me--" Only because you were trying to kill me, by taking him from me... "--and you can have her, because she'll only kill you."

No, no no no, no I won't...

She forgot the pane of glass was just a mirror on the other side, and pressed herself to it, her hands growing bruised as she pounded and screeched her rage at the man who smiled at her from across the barrier. Mode didn't have the right to be in that room; it should have been her in there with Robert. He was hers to kill, hers to make suffer for all he'd done to her over the years. It was not fair.

The glass refused to break, and she rushed to the door, calling out to the guards and throwing herself against the metal until the sounds of a scuffle caught her attention, and she looked up to watch her father and her husband fight for her.

That should be me.

With her eyes closed, she refused to watch the rest, knowing by words and sounds that her father was beaten. She made no move to stand when the door slid open, and as Mode entered, Kat sat huddled in the far corner of the room and looked up to him with eyes that would have been entirely golden if not for the tiny hints of hurt emerald around the edges.

She didn't want to see him, nor touch him. When he came close enough for her to see the bruises on his face and smell the blood on his uniform, she hissed and swiped a taloned claw at him, before pulling away to bury her face in her arms.

He sat back on his heels, his eyes fastened on the coppery curls that concealed her face from him, and tried to stay calm, tried to understand. His hands were aching, his uniform stained with blood and sweat, her father's, his own. The smell of it on him made him feel ill, and in the face of her inexplicable angry rejection, he felt used. Should I have let him take you away, Katera? Did you want me to leave him for you to kill so they could take you away instead? No. I did what I had to, and now we are safe, and you will be pleased with me, Kat.

Please?

A fierce desire for tenderness held his frustration back, and he reached out to push her hair gently away from her face. She yanked away from his touch, and his hand hovered there near her cheek before that frustration broke free.

I wanted to hurt him so he couldn't hurt you, not sit here helpless and watch you bloody one another when it should have been me in there...

She pushed away and watched him from behind her curls, the tangled veil doing nothing to hide the conflict in her eyes. He was injured. She should be comforting him, like he so recently did for her, but the thought that someone else had taken his blood infuriated her, and she wanted nothing more than to claw and cut and reclaim him.

A long moment passed in strained silence before she reached out to him hesitantly. When he didn't pull away, she dug her nails into his arms and pulled him to her sharply, and he was enfolded in her arms before she dipped her head and bit him lightly on the back of his neck. The points of her canines grazed his skin, and as she tasted the blood and sweat she could only shake and hiss her furious relief and kiss him gently.

It's over. It's finally over. Quistin is gone. Wick is gone. Solenis, Gabriel...Dante...no one will ever bother us again. Someday, Vaisou will slip, and then we will truly be free. Or close enough. Until then, we'll be watched...but we will have peace.

Why am I not happy?

The answer came from within.

Because as much as you want to be, you are not blind. You know Katera too well to think she might actually be happy this way - but I bet that's not what's really bothering you, Nathan. I bet what's really fucking with you is that you know you won't be happy like this, living under Vaisou's thumb, constantly watching your back for the next knife and hoping it's not K

Nathan closed his eyes, and the thought did not complete. He felt her teeth graze his neck and shivered, locking his hands around her waist to lift her with him as he stood. She did not let him go, and so he lifted her instead, her little hands fastening behind his neck as he kissed her.

The guards said nothing and did nothing to stop them when he took her out of the interrogation room, back through the IA compound towards the barracks. They spent the night in his room, forgetting her father and Vaisou and everything that had stood between them for the past four years. Lying next to her in the dark, listening to her even breath, the voice remained silent, and he slept.