“Why are there so many doors?” Haven asks.
“That is classified information.”
We pass one room where the door isn’t fully latched. It cracks open just a fraction, a mistake someone will be punished for later. I exchange a look with Knox, and he nods. He’ll look into it for me.
Haven’s gaze wanders inside before she can stop herself. But there is nothing to see except for concrete walls and soundproof panels. The soldiers wouldn’t be so neglectful as to give a prisoner a chance to escape. That would result in more than a reprimand. Heads would roll for that error.
This is my least favorite area in the Forge. It brings back memories of when Knox and I had to torture our first prisoner. Knox looked like he’d faint. His face had turned pasty, and sweat had dotted his hairline. I took the lead so we would pass the course.
Haven swallows hard, and I resist the urge to grab her hand and fold it in mine. I cannot let this newfound affection for her cloud my judgment.
Haven is here because she chose to become a soldier and to serve New Foundry. If she wanted to be a perfect little wife, she would be at my house right now. She can stomach this, and if not, then she is not going to make it far in our line of work. Even Knox outgrew his fears.
The Forge is great at beating out one’s weaknesses.
“Toughen up, Warrick,” I say icily. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Her shoulders straighten. I expect a retort, but she instead braces herself for what lies ahead.
The prisoner is already waiting when I punch the code in the keypad.
The rebel is young. Bruises circle his eyes, spreading a purple tint across his brown skin. His nose is broken, tilting crookedly and bleeding profusely. A red line drips down his cheeks from a gash.
Ansel spent a few hours with the kid. He’s ready to talk now.
“He is one of our kidnappers,” Knox says to Haven.
Haven’s eyes widen at the revelation.
“What’s his name?” Knox asks.
“Idris,” she says.
My head snaps towards her. Eyes narrowing into thin slits.
“You’re on a first-name basis with a rebel?” I question.
“That’s what they called him,” she says defensively.
“Not as cocky as when we last saw him,” Knox remarks. “You know, he wanted to leave me for dead when shit went left?”
Knox glares at him, but Idris doesn’t flinch.
“I wish I did,” Idris says. “Wouldn’t be listening to you right now.”
I drag out the chair opposite him, letting the metal legs screech on the floor. I flip it around and sit down, folding my elbows across the top. His chestnut-brown eyes lock on mine, startlingly clear despite what he’s been through. He was captured four days ago, and Ansel did not take it easy on him. Down here, Ansel can let his cruelty run rampant. This is his playground.
“So,” Idris rasps. “The Director sends his pup.”
“I don’t care for small talk,” I say. “Ansel said you know the traitor. Give me their name.”
He smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching where the skin stretches tight from an old cut. His eyes lock on Haven, who is leaning on the wall, arms wrapped protectively around her midriff.
An emotion races across his eyes, something dangerously close to hope.
Does he think she will protect him because she’s softer than Knox and me?
“You want a name?” Idris asks. He juts his chin at Haven. “I’ll tell her. Alone.”
