“I’m the one in charge, not her,” I say simply. “You talk, or I take your tongue and your left hand. I hope you are right-handed, because it’ll be the only way you’ll be able to give me my name.”
Haven sucks in a shallow breath.
My jaw grits, and I stand up abruptly. I’ve had enough of her reactions. She’s holding up worse than Knox during his first torture session. I didn’t even bring her here when Ansel was breaking him. From the looks of it, Ansel must have been busy with other prisoners, because the boy isn’t even carved up like the others. A few nails are missing, blood caking the empty beds, and bruises litter his body, but beyond that, he is in one piece.
I grab Haven's elbow, dragging her to the corner.
“You’re making us look weak,” I hiss. “What’s with the floundering?”
“I’m not floundering,” she snaps, shaking off my hold. “Maybe I should question him, and you should wait outside.”
“Not a chance,” I say. “I don’t trust you.”
She’s acting weird. Ever since I mentioned we were coming to question the rebel, she’s been uneasy, while I suspected her of being dishonest at times, and a rebel sympathizer, I never expected her toactuallybe working with the Resistance.
Her father is the High General, and she is engaged to me, the future Supreme Director.
It would be reckless. It would be foolish.
“What have you done, Warrick?” I ask, lowering my tone. “Tell me.”
“Nothing!” she says. “Why do you always blame me for everything?”
“Why does he want to speak to you?” I ask.
“Did you look in the mirror?” she asks. “You’re big and menacing. Maybe he wants a softer touch.”
“There is nothing soft about you, Warrick,” I say. “Your teeth are sharper than mine.”
Her lips tilt in a reluctant smile. Her hand falls to my palm, delicate and warm.
“Let me speak to him, Vale,” she says, thumb stroking my knuckles. “I’ll get you your answers.”
I hate that the tension bleeds from my shoulder at her touch.
“You don’t leave this room until you have a name,” I warn.
“I won’t,” she promises.
“I’ll be watching.”
“I expect nothing less.”
I look at Knox and tilt my head in the direction of the door. We enter the viewing room, built behind the glass wall.
Knox leans against the table, fingers digging into a bag of salt chips.
“Love her to death, but Haven is suspicious as hell,” he says.
I ignore his observation. Even if it is a thought that crossed my mind a few minutes ago.
“I think you know it too,” Knox says. “But whatever is going on between you two is clouding your judgment.”
“Are you saying I am willfully ignoring a threat to the regime?” I ask.
“You were grilling her, but the second she smiles and touches you, you relax,” Knox says. “She has you wrapped around her finger.”
“I thought you liked her,” I accuse.
