"Does it feel good?"

Claire looked up. Dustra was sitting on the floor of her dark, barely-furnished cell, just a few feet away behind the bars. Her eyes were concealed by her headscarf, but Claire knew they were fixed on her.

"What?"

"Hurting Pokemon," said Dustra. There was a bitter and ironic note in her voice. "I thought for someone like you, that must feel good."

Claire didn't say anything. She looked back down at the map Dustra had given her, comparing it to a more detailed Town Map of the Shizo Region. She traced the border of the Tubon Plateau up to the cold, unknown peaks along the desert in the west.

"Do you ever do it just for fun?" asked Dustra, in the same detached tone, but Claire had had enough.

"Shut up!" she snapped. "I'm not like that."

"Really?" said the gym leader, leaning forward. "That is an unusual lie to tell yourself. I wonder why you do it."

"It's not a lie," said Claire.

Her voice was calm and even—that, at least, was something Claire had learned to control. But her hands were trembling. She tried to keep looking at the map, and not at Dustra, but her eyes were glazed and her vision was blurry. She took a breath.

"I have read Team Power's propaganda," said Dustra. "There is nothing for you to be ashamed of. Team Power crushes the weak, and to torture—"

"Stop!"

Claire stood up and snatched the map off the desk where she had been working.

"Oh, it does get to you!" laughed Dustra as Claire stormed from the cell. "How does Team Power feel about that? How do they feel that you are—"

Claire slammed the heavy metal door of the cell and locked it behind her. Zhang, who had been standing guard outside, raised an eyebrow.

"This is it," said Claire, shoving the map into his hands. "Get me some grunts. I'm gonna go find Rasmus."

Zhang continued to stare at Claire, but she didn't wait for him to acknowledge her orders. She was already storming down the hall, away from the cells where the former gym leaders of Shizo were kept, and towards the dormitories. She pushed past Team Power grunts as they jumped to attention, ignoring their startled expressions, and soon gained the quiet and privacy of her own room. She locked the door.

Braviary, which was nestled in the blankets of her unmade bed, looked up at the sound. Claire smiled weakly. She sat down on the bed next to Braviary and gingerly stroked its feathers. The Pokemon cooed appreciatively. Claire looked around at her room. It was messy, but that didn't matter. No one ever visited her here. Dirty clothes were piled in one corner—stacks of used Potions and Elixirs covered her dresser. Her belt of Pokeballs hung from a nail she had hammered into the concrete wall when she first moved in, but otherwise the room was bare.

Claire wasn't sure what this hideout had been before Team Power had moved in nine months ago—probably some kind of industrial facility—but she knew that she hated it. It was cold, and crumbling, and full of sycophantic grunts that whispered every time she passed. Apart from her occasional visits to the Grandmaster's office, she talked to no one. Apart from her Pokemon, she had no one.

Braviary nuzzled closer as Claire continued to stroke its white bonnet of feathers. Without even realizing it, she pulled Braviary's head up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and burying her face in its soft feathers. The Pokemon made no protest, but wrapped its wings delicately around her. Claire felt the tears welling up in her eyes, and she clutched at Braviary as tightly as she could.

But as the first tear wandered down her face and settled on her upper lip, Claire went tense. She let go of Braviary and sprang to her feet. Braviary gave a startled jerk and flapped its huge wings anxiously, knocking several empty Potions off the dresser as it tried to find its footing. Claire was breathing heavily, clenching her fists.

"No!" she said to the empty room. "I'm not weak!"

She imagined the cruel, sneering faces of the Grunts she commanded. They were laughing at her, mocking her tears.

"The Admin's soft. She can't bring herself to do what's necessary. That's why the Grandmaster doesn't trust her. Did you know she cried after she tortured that gym leader's Pokemon? She actually cried!"

Claire beat savagely at the concrete walls, gritting her teeth. But the painted faces were still laughing at her.

"Do you know what she keeps in her room? Remember that Pokemon she buried back in Jadetower? The one she threw into the pit to prove she could? She still has a picture of it! She keeps it hidden under her mattress. She looks at it when she's alone."

Claire pummeled the walls until her hands were numb.

"Shut up!" she shouted. "Just shut up!"

She stormed back to the bed and jammed her hand under her mattress. She found what she was looking for at once. It was an old photograph, taken three years ago, before they left Unova. It showed her team as it was then: Pawniard, Braviary, Blitzle… and Anastasia, her Bouffalant. The Pokemon she had thrown away last spring. The Pokemon that had turned against her at the Orphanage.

The Pokemon that now belonged to Grace Shaw.

It was that thought that finally overcame her reluctance. She hated herself for holding onto the photo, but only the thought that Grace Shaw was probably petting and brushing Anastasia at that moment gave her the strength of will to let it go. She crumpled the photo into a ball and threw it into the trash can beside her bed. The act seemed to free her. She felt her anger and panic fading away.

"Come on," she said to her Braviary, "We're gonna go find Rasmus."

She recalled Braviary to its Pokeball and took her belt off the nail. In the cracked mirror above her dresser, she carefully reapplied her face paint. The Beizo-style opera masks donned by Team Power were more than just a striking fashion statement—they were intended to conceal. Deception was something the old masters of the School of Power had valued highly. For Claire, it was an art she had long mastered.