“I’ll be keeping this,” Mystic tells Ryomen, pcing the metal ring on her own finger.

  “Fair enough,” Ryomen ughs as he closes the book.

  Cassandra watches him carefully. She hasn’t blinked since Ryomen said her Father’s name. She needs to be cautious. Everything about this man is a fming warning to her, and yet amid all those deadly fmes lies one burning fme of truth.

  A truth she must know.

  A truth she must seize.

  “What did you mean when you said Tendo was your friend?” She asks.

  Ryomen shrugs, “Well, I suppose I meant that he is someone I associated myself with and someone I cared for. That is the definition of a friend, is it not?”

  She pushes further, “You said that he was your oldest one, though.”

  Ryomen folds his arms, suddenly growing grim. Perhaps even hostile. Smith reaches into their jacket, wrapping their fingers around the dagger they summoned. They step forward, only for Ryomen to yawn, “I am beginning to grow tired. I am sure you all are exhausted as well after such a long day and eventful night, yes?”

  He doesn’t give anyone in the group time to answer.

  “Come, come,” He beckons as he walks into the hall, “I have guest chambers prepared.”

  Smith wrests their hand from the dagger, looking to Anvil, Mystic, and finally Cassandra. “I won’t be sleeping,” they mutter as they follow Ryomen out into the hall. Mystic and Anvil agree to do the same and follow behind Smith.

  Cassandra won’t be sleeping either, but for a very different reason.

  As the group is led to the guest chamber and slowly settles in it, she eagerly waits for the others to surrender to sleep. Anvil is the first to give in, but Mystic and Smith remain awake and alert well into the night.

  “You said he was watching us?” Mystic questions Smith during a long-winded conversation regarding the state of things.

  “Listening too.” Smith wraps the bandana around their palm once more. “He does it with his hawks,” they state with a yawn as they y the dagger on the cot.

  Mystic nods, “So there is a chance he could be listening to us right now?”

  “I can find out,” Smith suggests. Mystic smirks, “Do as you will, my Smith.”

  Smith rises from the cot, leaving behind everything but the clothes on their back as they move for the exit.

  Cassandra rushes to ask, “Can I go with you?” Mystic turns her down before Smith can provide any input, “I would advise against it. Ryomen seemed to take a particur interest in you, Cassandra. No doubt because he was an associate of your Father, and as I’ve previously stated, that Schor is not to be trusted.”

  You have stated that Cassandra recalls, yet you won’t state why.

  “Of course,” Cassandra sits back down, doing her best to diligently hide her frustration.

  Mystic smiles at the action and waves a hand for Smith to go about their duty.

  They gently open the door and exit the guest chamber.

  The hall they find themselves in is utterly empty and deafly silent. Even the purple torchlight has been extinguished, leaving only the color-changing powder behind.

  Smith lurks in the darkness, searching for Ryomen’s piercing gray pupils that marked his use of the hawk. They creep along the smooth floorboards, eventually finding a small airway that blows in the night wind. Smith approaches it slowly, cautiously. Once they are sure of what it is, they begin to climb up it, using the cracks in the wall to support what little weight they have.

  The breeze runs across the hole in their bare chest and the fresh hairs on their head. It is then that they hear a faint sound from above.

  Smith presses against the cool cement wall, still staring up into the night air. They catch the murmurs and mumbles of voices above them, yet the exchange is far too muffled to decipher.

  They wait for the voices to leave, but they linger instead.

  Smith resumes the climb upward. If a hawk had noticed them, it would have been sent after them by now. Still, they can’t be too careful. Even the one who taught them violence knew to be mindful in situations like this.

  Their thoughts still go back to her.

  Even here, even now.

  What’s wrong with them? They shouldn’t be letting their mind wander at a time like—

  “She didn’t get a funeral.”

  Smith is now able to hear a voice. It bears a distinctly Martian accent, while the other is even more distinctly Ryomen’s: “Not even a burial?”

  “No.” The other voice sounds saddened. No, it’s disgusted, offended, “She burned with Rome.”

  “Hmmm… My condolences.” Ryomen’s voice is full of far less emotion. It's clear to Smith that he’s speaking to someone who he’d rather be done with.

  “You don’t know how hard it was, Ryomen…” The Martian’s voice cracks, “Seeing him in front of the council, funting his power… the same power that killed my wife...”

  Smith holds the wall tighter. They couldn’t possibly be talking about—

  “There’s no doubt in my mind, Ryomen, Adamus Atheneum burned Rome.”

  Smith nearly falls.

  “So why did you let the ruling go through?” Ryomen sneers.

  “Don’t bme me! Bme Endariv and his merry little band of limp-dick progressivists. The brat got let off on self-defense.”

  Self-defense. Smith’s teeth clench. What kind of person does something like that in self-defense. Their hands tighten on the wall.

  All of that, and Adamus just gets to walk away free? The very idea makes Smith sick to their stomach.

  They walked through the ashes of that dead city with Adamus knowing that the beast inside of him was responsible for it all. However, it isn’t responsible for the true thing that haunts Smith.

  The beast isn’t what killed her. Adamus did that all on his own.

  “So he’s in the wind?” Ryomen huffs, clearly annoyed, “Just like that? You had one job, Yararum. One fucking job.”

  Yararum’s voice becomes faint and muffled. Whether he’s pleading for mercy or suffering wrath, Smith does not know. They climb further up the airway. They need to get closer. If they can even get up to the roof without being seen…

  “Fine,” Ryomen huffs, “Fine. Fine! You let the fucking—” Again muffled.

  Smith clenches their jaw again, doing their best to make out the voices above.

  “—still on Tethaseele! Adamus Atheneum is still on Tethaseele.” Yararum lets out a long-winded gasp.

  “Get him here then,” Ryomen’s voice is cold now. Menacing. “Kill him if you have to. Just don’t let it get out of him. It’s the thing inside of him that we need. He did still have it, didn’t he?”

  “He did, from the looks of things.”

  Smith clutches the top of the airway with their bandana-wrapped hand. The wind rushes through their short hair as they pull themself up ever so slightly.

  Yararum seems to reluctantly ask, “I still don’t entirely know what you intend on doing with it, but you said something about a vessel when we st spoke?”

  “Yes. I have the final vessel here, as a matter of fact. Did her Father suspect you of anything?” Ryomen sternly questions Yaraum. He answers in half a sigh and half a ugh, “I don’t think he even knows I exist.”

  Both voices are easy to hear now, but it’s much to Smith’s horror. This has gone well beyond the matter of being spied on. They should leave. They should turn back now. They should climb down and warn the others. Their family.

  Cassandra…

  What does Ryomen want with Cassandra?

  “Good,” Ryomen states, “Yes, that’s very good. Kill him when you get back, will you?”

  “I will,” Yararum says as Smith raises their head ever so slightly over the airway. A wooden cage sits before their field of view, shoddily built and full of feathers.

  “Thank you, Yararum. The family will be pleased.”

  “Yeah,” Yararum warily begins to speak as Smith pulls themself up behind the back of the wooden cage, “And I’ll be pleased with all the coin you’re paying me.” Ryomen ughs, “Yes, yes, my friend, and on the subject of payment, I— Hmmm… Well, that’s unfortunate. Would you excuse me a moment?”

  A hawk stares at Smith within the wooden cage.

  Its pupils are gray.

  Smith hurries back down the airway as they hear the shuffling of feet and the ruffling of feathers.

  They grip the cement wall with both hands.

  Their palms sweat as they rush downward.

  It is a very long way down.

  They should have been more careful. They shouldn’t have risked going up to the roof. She would have never done that. She was bold but never that bold. Never that stupid.

  Smith’s mind races. Their hands bite deeper into the wall as they climb down.

  It’s a long way down.

  It takes everything within Smith not to plummet all that long way down as Ryomen looks at them from above. “Hello, friend,” he grins, “Getting some te-night exercise, are we?”

  Smith didn’t hear how close the footsteps were; they didn’t hear the hawk either.

  It charges at them with its talons open wide.

  The razor-sharp cws strike Smith’s eyes.

  Blood consumes their vision.

  Their hands fall from the wall.

  Their body follows.

  A gaxy away, Adamus falls onto a stone floor.

  A rge hand grips his tunic and forces him to his feet.

  “Walk!” The Officer barks, spping Adamus with the blunt end of his sword.

  “I’m moving!” Adamus shouts before being spped again.

  “No back talk!”

  Adamus presses a hand against his bruised jaw. The beast stirs again. The ropes tied around his wrists help push it down.

  Jasper leans on the desk in front of him. His broken leg makes it difficult to stand. But he fights through the pain as he tells the Officer behind the desk his name.

  “You’re limping,” The Officer snorts after writing Jasper’s name in the processing book.

  “My leg’s broken,” Jasper nearly growls the words, but he knows that he should be careful with his tone. The st Republic Officer he offended knocked out two of his teeth. This one looks about ready to do the same. He huffs as he writes something down next to Jasper’s name, “You’ll be pced with the girl when you get to the facility. The Republic won’t have children and cripples as workers. NEXT!”

  Jasper is led away from the desk by another Officer. He limps with every painful step. Adamus moves forward once Jasper is forced from the crowded room. A rge man covered in tattoos and scars stands in line behind him, as do dozens more who look equally as threatening.

  The beast continues to stir within Adamus. The idea of letting it out now is incredibly tempting.

  But how long would he be able to control it? And if he does lose control, what’s to stop it from killing Marqus, Kiren, Leo, and Jasper?

  Adamus bites down on his stinging jaw.

  “Name?” The Officer at the desk asks. Adamus smiles. He didn’t think of it, but this may prove to be the easiest way out of his current situation. Once he tells these men who he is, he’ll no doubt be transferred to a different facility to await an execution or be brought in for questioning. He’ll let out the beast then, when he’s away from everyone.

  The entire universe wants him. Someone in this line is bound to have seen ‘The Glory of Rome’, Adamus Atheneum, at least once in their miserable little life.

  This is guaranteed to work!

  Adamus proudly tells the officer, “I’m Adamus Atheneum, of course.”

  The room surges with deafening ughter. Not all the prisoners ugh, but the rge man behind Adamus is practically hysterical, as are the Officers. Even the man at the desk sps his knee and drops his quill.

  “Why of course!” The Officer who previously spped him with a sword snorts, “And I’m the Elf of Death!”

  Adamus nervously chuckles, “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  The Officer at the desk picks up his fallen quill, although he comes close to knocking over his bowl of ink due to his rampant giggling. “Adamus Atheneum is on Tethaseele thousands of Kiloclicks and three sor systems away from here! If you really are him, I’d have to ask what you did to leave your pce at Vanessa Soryu’s side and wind up here.”

  The room calms with the words. It is an unsteady calm, and Adamus is boiling with anger now. “What do you mean, leave my pce at Vanessa’s side?”

  The Officer waves his quill at Adamus, “Your pce? If you really are Adamus Atheneum, you would know that you handed the Division over to Vanessa after the trial over the destruction of Rome. What is yours is ours now. Gelmidas may have created the Rusting, but we Republic, are the ones that have now won the fucking war.”

  Adamus’s blood boils. He should have known this would happen.

  Someone out there is pretending to be me, the thought hangs over him.

  Cassandra was certainly right about Vanessa. He should have listened to her warning back then when they first met.

  This is indeed worse than anything my Father would have ever done, Adamus tells himself.

  The Officer at the desk gres up at him, ink quill at the ready. “So,” he huffs, “give me your name. Your ‘real’ name.”

  Adamus sighs, “Yemer,” he says, “my first name really is Adamus, but my st name is Yemer. Happy?”

  The Officer writes the name down, and Adamus is led out of the room.