"That's what we're going to find out."
She doesn't ask more questions. Good. I can feel her attention on my face. Studying. Trying to read what I'm not saying.
I'm not saying: I want to press you against this wall and make you scream my name in front of all these witnesses.
I'm not saying: I want to put my hand over your mouth and feel you breathe against my palm.
The final staircase opens into a corridor lined with iron doors. Cells. Most empty. The one at the end has guards flanking it. Armed. Blank-faced.
They step aside without a word.
Inside.
Small room. Stone floor with a drain in the center. No windows. A heavy chair bolted to the floor.
Taren is in the chair.
Younger than I remembered. Brown hair. Thin. His wrists are bound to the armrests with iron cuffs. His face is already bruised—someone started without me.
His thread is spasming. Dark and frantic. So many lies tangled together I can barely separate them.
I position Iowyn near the door. Out of the way. Where she can see everything but no one can reach her without going through me first.
"Watch," I tell her. "Don't speak."
Her jaw tightens. But she nods.
Good girl.
I turn back to Taren.
He's already crying. Wet eyes. Snot building at his nose. We haven't even started.
"Taren." I pull a knife from my belt. Small. Sharp. Not for killing. For taking my time. "You've been with Discord six years."
"My lord—"
"Don't." Low. Quiet. "Don't call me that. Don't beg. Don't lie. I can see your threads. Every single one." I crouch in front of him. Eye level. Close enough that he can see exactly how empty mine are. "So let's skip the part where you tell me you'reinnocent and go straight to the part where you tell me who you've been talking to."
His face crumples. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"
The knife opens a line across his forearm. Shallow. Just skin. Just a taste.
He screams anyway.
"Who."
"Please, I have a family, I have—"
Another line. Parallel to the first. I like symmetry. It's soothing.
"Who."
The threads are writhing. I watch them pulse and twist. There. That dark knot near his chest. That's the one I need.
"You passed information through the eastern tunnel two weeks ago." My voice is pleasant. Conversational. "Who received it?"
"I don't know what you're—"
