The Justice Building was, once again, defended as if for war. Rye passed by several tanks, the crews huddling miserably inside, as she showed her pass and went inside. Anna Goldfield was ill today, so she would sit in on the Electrical Works trial instead of her and keep an eye on things.

Almost no press was present, save for a hardcore few who were that interested in the trial. The audience, too, looked slightly irritated at missing out on the reading of the judgement at the key criminals' trial. They would be even more miserable tomorrow, when the actual verdicts and sentences would be pronounced.

Today, at least, there would be a diversion. As Rye sat down, she noticed that the tables of the defense counsel were strewn with the latest copy of the magazine Alligator - and they were all open to a page showing a rather mean cartoon of the defense lawyers. The title read 'At the Business Trials', but it was obvious that it depicted the Electrical Works trial. Several lawyers, drawn looking like some sort of vultures in baggy black suits, circled around a small group of defendants that were obviously currently sitting in the dock and also commiserating with their lawyers. The caption at the bottom read:

We will pass off atrocities

As normal business practices

But we make no guarantees

Aside from the sizes of the fees.

It was no surprise that, when the presiding judge called the courtroom to order, Jason Nelte stepped forward. Before his clients at the Peacekeepers' trial had even been sentenced to life and death, one of the Electrical Works defendants had snapped him up.

"Your Honours," Nelte began. "I have no hands."

"We can see that," Ayokunle said mildly. One of the unfortunately named attorney's sleeves was pinned up, as his arm had been amputated just below the elbow, and out of his other sleeve, a wrist stump peeked out.

"And yet," Nelte said, "in this cartoon, I am depicted with hands."

At least this was going to be more interesting than yet another complaint about procedure.

"How do you know that you are represented, and not merely an abstract lawyer?"

"Your Honours, you can clearly see that the defendants pictured are all sitting in the dock in this courtroom. The cartoon is very clear about that. These are not abstract defendants - or abstract lawyers. I am the only blond lawyer out of all the counsel that has appeared in this courtroom so far, and the fact that the blond pictured in the cartoon is also male, tan-skinned, and has epicanthic folds makes it rather obvious that it is supposed to represent me. Just like Dr. Poe is the only person with dark skin, long coily hair plaited into small braids, and a prominent facial scar, and Dr. Xhanari is the only one with blue eyes, in addition to being a woman with brown skin and straight hair."

"Perhaps the cartoonist did not sit in the courtroom long enough to notice that you have no hands," Ayokunle suggested charitably.

"That is not the issue here," Nelte said. "The issue is that I do not have hands, and this cartoon depicts me with hands, implying that I have the ability to skip the queue for prosthetics. Your Honours, this is slander against the IDC. This cartoon has the potential to make readers think that trial staff can cut ahead in queues, a dangerous suggestion when we are already paid, clothed, supplied, and housed on budget money."

Ayokunle nodded. "The Tribunal condemns any attacks upon the defense counsel's character," he said. "Dr. Nelte, I know how much not having hands makes your work difficult, and I hope that production of prosthetics increases soon."

"Thank you, Your Honour."

"Is there anything else?"

"No, Your Honour."

In his place, Rye would have complained about the ditty, but it would have been a losing battle. While one lawyer and an assistant or secretary were assigned to defendants on budget money, the business defendants all had bank accounts in the names of distant relatives (or cats, as the joke went) that had avoided seizure and were now being used to hire more lawyers for a hefty sum. And, of course, passing off atrocities as normal business practices was simply good lawyering.

A prosecutor, a new arrival from Thirteen who had spent the past year searching for evidence, stepped up to the lectern and began to recite who had been paid how much. Less than two metres away from her, one of the defense lawyers was flicking through a copy of Alligator with an inscrutable expression on her face.

Thumeka did not envy the defendants one jot. It was stressful enough for her to sit through six hours of reading the judgement and then go back to the billet in anticipation of today's verdicts, she couldn't imagine what it was like for them. She watched the twenty-four be led out together for the final time and take their seats in the dock. A few looked completely calm - how did they manage to keep such iron control over themselves? Thumeka was sure her own stress was written on her face for all the world to see. Granted, her stress was caused by the fear of unreasonable acquittals or rubber-stamped death sentences.

Next to her, Mikola was half-heartedly playing on his phone. "Did you hear they'll let us cover the executions?" she asked him. The news had arrived less than an hour ago, when they had been on separate buses. The courtroom was packed to bursting.

"Yeah. Are you going to?"

One person from a news outlet would be allowed for a maximum of ten press witnesses, and a strange rule had been implemented that only those who had spent over a hundred days in the courtroom would be allowed, probably under the assumption that someone who knew the defendants decently well would be less likely to write sensationalist garbage. "Of course. You?" she asked her two friends.

Jiao nodded easily - she, too, had covered plenty of deaths in Europe - but Mikola looked less certain. "I was told by my boss I need to write an article," he said with a sigh. "When push comes to shove - I think I'll do it."

"All rise!"

They rose as the judges filed in. The court was called to order, and Sanchez immediately launched into the individual verdicts.

Dovek was, as predicted, found guilty on all counts, but Oldsmith was acquitted on Counts Three and Five. A whisper rose up before being snuffed out by Sanchez demanding silence.

So there would be some variability, at least. Thumeka felt as if a load had fallen off her shoulders.

Mary hoped that it was the strength of the prosecution case that resulted in the series of convictions, not bias. As it was, there were many partial convictions - Count Five was the most acquitted on - which gave her hope.

"Defendant Marsia Bright, you are found guilty on Counts Three and Four."

Acquitted of Counts One and Five, then.

"Defendant Alan Lux, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, Four, and Five." Acquitted of Two.

"Defendant Ereza Cotillion, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, and Four." Acquitted of Five. Mary and her team had done their best to prove the involvement of various segments of the top leadership of starting the armed conflict, but the judges were defining it more narrowly.

"Defendant Rhea Blatt, you are found guilty on Counts Three and Four." Acquitted of the rest. The wily Blatt had managed to wriggle out.

"Defendant Septimius Verdant, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, Four, and Five." Convictions down the line.

"Defendant Caius Best, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, and Four." Retirement had saved him from Count Five.

"Defendant John Krechet, you are found guilty on Count Four." But acquitted of conspiracy.

"Defendant Cecelia Talvian, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five." Anything else would have been an outrage.

"Defendant Antonius Chaterhan, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, and Four." But not Three and Five.

"Defendant Donna Blues, you are found guilty on Counts Two and Four." Acquitted of conspiracy.

"Defendant Quintus Lark, you are found guilty on Count Four." Shit. How harshly would the judges be willing to punish for that alone? He had been acquitted of Counts One and Two.

"Defendant Romulus Thread, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, Four, and Five." Convictions down the line.

"Defendant Simon Ledge, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, and Four." Acquitted of Count Three.

"Defendant Charlotte Brack, you are found guilty on Counts One and Four." Acquitted of Counts Two and Five.

"Defendant Prima Dijksterhuis, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five."

"Defendant Alexander Pollman, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five."

"Defendant Livonia Toplak, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, and Four." Guilty as charged.

"Defendant Diana Kirji, you are found guilty on Counts One, Two, and Four." Another win for the prosecution.

"Defendant Carolus Lee, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, and Four." Convictions down the line.

"Defendant Theodosius Coll, you are found guilty on Counts One, Three, and Four." But not Two.

"Defendant Aquila Grass, you are found guilty on Counts One and Four." Just as Mary had asked.

Sanchez took a breath and began to read the judgement against Slice. Mary instantly noticed something off about it, and indeed, he eventually conceded that she had been nowhere near as powerful as one could have expected from her position. It was no surprise to her when Slice was acquitted.

As a prosecutor, Mary was disappointed that she had been unable to score a conviction, but as someone who spent most of her time politicking, she was glad for the acquittal. And twenty-three out of twenty-four certainly wasn't bad.

Sanchez adjourned the court. Amusingly, Slice took a wrap from her pocket and began to eat as the defendants shook hands and said goodbye to each other, possibly forever.

"If I were her, I wouldn't be so happy," Reed said to Mary.

"Why not? Depuration court's not going to try to hang her." Of the acquitted at the Peacekeepers' trial, three had been re-arrested, and the same was practically guaranteed to happen to Slice.

"I guess when the death penalty is an option, anything else's a good reason to be happy."

Slice seemed to have come to the same conclusion. As the other twenty-three exchanged fake smiles and wished each other good luck with seeming sincerity, she balled up the paper and shoved it into her pocket, glum-faced.

Less than an hour left, and it would all be over. That was what Stephen told himself as he stood rigidly by the dock, waiting for Dovek to be brought in to hear his sentence. Despite his requests, the cameras were rolling and the audience section was packed with people lucky enough to get a ticket for today - or those who had bought one from the winner of the draw.

It was all planned out. After hearing the sentence, the death row would be taken to cells on the third floor - the POW workers had been relocated - while those sentenced to prison would be put in their old cells until it was time to transport them to the Supermax. Paylor still hadn't made up her mind about clemency for the former Peacekeepers, but hopefully the likes of Best and Thread wouldn't cause her nearly so much headache.

Dr. Mallow was standing on the other side of the dock, notebook in hand. She looked as tense as Stephen felt.

The door opened, and Dovek stepped out, flanked by two guards. A hush fell over the courtroom as he walked up to the microphone.

"State your name," Sanchez said in a voice devoid of any humanity.

"Publius Dovek." There was something of a smile in Dovek's expression, like an actor unable to hide his satisfaction at playing a role well.

"Publius Dovek, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

The smile became frozen now as Dovek nodded and walked back out, back straight and nose in the air.

Oldsmith was next.

"Defendant Menares Oldsmith, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

Oldsmith started, shocked, and then sagged, looking completely lost. The guards had to lead him out as the audience whispered. Many a person had bet on twenty-three executions.

Bright stood at attention in the dock.

"Defendant Marcia Bright, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Stephen thought she would salute, but Bright merely nodded sharply and marched out of the courtroom, fury showing on her face.

"Defendant Alan Lux, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Resigned, Lux turned around and walked out, shoulders slumped.

"Defendant Ereza Cotillion, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Cotillion's shoulders bowed but she kept her head high, jaw tense.

"Defendant Rhea Blatt, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

More whispers, but Blatt didn't seem to notice them. She sighed with relief and walked out more confidently than she had walked in. What did she think this gave her? Was she just glad to live, or convinced she'd be let go early?

Verdant limped into the dock and had to be held up.

"Defendant Septimius Verdant, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

With difficulty, Verdant stood at attention and nodded.

"Defendant Caius Best, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

Best looked deeply unhappy - Stephen knew he would have rather simply died.

"Defendant John Krechet, on the count of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Krechet crumpled, looking terrified, and tears appeared in his eyes. He looked at Stephen for support, but all he could do was nod reassuringly, as if that helped the man.

"Defendant Cecelia Talvian, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Talvian didn't bat an eye, simply turning around and walking out.

Antonius had worried that the guards would need to drag him out of his cell, but to his own surprise, his feet carried him to the door and down the corridor, flanked by guards. He felt an increasing desire to throw up and he felt cold.

The door was suddenly in front of him, and it was open. The microphone was adjusted for his height. The lights were blinding and he felt small and alone. Sanchez was speaking.

"Defendant, state your name."

"Antonius Chaterhan," his lips spoke.

"Defendant Antonius Chaterhan, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Stephen was surprised to see the fury in Chaterhan's eyes. For a second, he looked ready to attack the guards, but the moment passed, and he stalked out of the courtroom like an offended cat.

Blues looked slightly overwhelmed by the attention.

"Defendant Donna Blues, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to twenty-five years' imprisonment."

An audible murmur went up in the crowd. Blues looked helplessly at her lawyer, who looked back open-mouthed. When she walked out, it was clear that she was very relieved. Stephen was not surprised by the light sentence.

"Defendant Quintus Lark, on the count of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Lark whirled around and stormed out of the courtroom, muttering something under his breath.

Thread stood at attention, face completely blank.

"Defendant Romulus Thread, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

He bowed and turned around, straight-back and still blank-faced.

"Defendant Simon Ledge, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

Ledge wobbled and clutched at the low wall.

"Defendant Charlotte Brack, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Brack sighed and shuffled out, eyes on the floor.

"Defendant Prima Dijksterhuis, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Dijksterhuis looked up suddenly, eyes scanning around the courtroom for support. Her lawyer looked back, eyes sad.

"Defendant Alexander Pollman, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Pollman stood frozen and had to be prodded into walking out of the courtroom.

"Defendant Livonia Toplak, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Toplak projected an air of serenity, but Stephen could see the panic showing through the cracks.

"Defendant Diana Kirji, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Kirji slumped, nodded, and turned around.

"Defendant Carolus Lee, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to death by hanging."

Lee looked sick. He began to raise his hand, as if to protest, but dropped it and filed out, mute plea in his eyes when he looked at Stephen.

"Defendant Theodosius Coll, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to twenty-five years' imprisonment."

Coll sagged like an empty sack. He turned around and suddenly collapsed. A few people chuckled as Stephen dragged him to his feet. The lowest sentence of them all, and he fainted! "Are you a man or a child?" Stephen hissed at Coll as he tried to regain his balance.

"Sorry, warden," Coll whispered, holding on to one of the guards.

Grass was the last one.

"Defendant Aquila Grass, on the counts of the indictment on which you have been convicted, you are sentenced to imprisonment for life."

Grass took that as her due and filed out with her chin in the air.

"That concludes the task of this Inter-District Military Tribunal," Sanchez said, banging his gavel.

Everyone instantly began to talk, but Stephen didn't hear it. Fifteen death sentences had been pronounced. Stephen couldn't help but feel bad for them, even though, had he had the choice, even more would have gone to the gallows. Now, his mission was to make sure all fifteen would reach it.

He needed Angelo. Stephen's mind felt as if it was melting. These fifteen needed to die, as well as the thirty-one former Peacekeepers, and Paylor was still thinking about them, and he had never presided over an execution and had zero desire to, and-

And he needed to just do his job. Once everyone left, he would go settle the death row into their new cells. Until then, he had a few seconds to catch his breath.

"Well, then," Raymond said, sitting down in an armchair. "That is that."

"That was horrible," Rose said, head in her hands. "I didn't realize it's so- so-"

"We killed them," Daniel said simply. His hands were lying, twisted, in his lap. It was not surprising that he had a flare-up today. "Do you think it was right?"

Rose tilted her head this way and that. "It was in accordance with the law."

Despite the gloom, Dora smiled. "I'm sure many a legal scholar will disagree."

"But are you fine with it?" Sean asked intently. "Are you okay with the fact that most people will assume it was unanimous?"

"Until I croak, that is," Daniel said, tapping the pocket where his notebook was. Dora fervently hoped she would be already dead when the world found out about Moira and Sean nearly getting into a fight over Slice.

"Well, that's what I signed up for, isn't it?"

Dora shook her head. "If one of their children or spouses came up to you and asked - how did you vote? - would you be able to say 'I killed them and I would do it again because it is right'?"

To that, Rose could not think of an answer so quickly. "No. Not even with Talvian."

"Well, looks like someone isn't going to preside over capital cases in the future." Raymond smiled.

Rose's head whipped upwards. "You think I'll still be a judge?"

"Of course!" Raymond sounded as if no other option was possible. "You'll have to take a few steps backwards, but I'm sure you'll be back on the bench soon enough."

Dora wasn't willing to look forwards - at least, not yet. Mentally, she ran through all of the cases, wondering if perhaps she had made a mistake anywhere. She couldn't think of anything, and in any case, the decision had been made as a collective. Her voice had only been one-thirteenth of the decision.

Had she done justice? Dora had no regrets about how she had voted, and even if she had been outvoted a few times, she was willing to sign under the judgement. Whether that and justice was one and the same would be argued for a very long time to come.

"Wow," Zoe said when she saw the crowd. "I didn't realize so many people would show up."

"Yeah," Danyal said, craning his head to see the Justice Building better. As soon as Slice had been acquitted, Leon and his friends had known they'd need to show their disapproval, and Nilofar had found out a protest gathering was going to happen. They had deliberately not taken their lunch break until very late, so that they could go down to the Justice Building. Leon and Nilofar's roommates had also decided to join in, even if it meant missing an hour or two of work.

Leon was still angry about the acquittal. He remembered Slice appearing on the television to tell everyone to fight to the last, and now she was being considered innocent? Absurd. And twenty-five years for Coll? That was just asking for him to pull some strings and get out in ten, or even five. He should have been executed instead. That, at least, was final.

"What's even the point?" Sebastian asked, arms crossed. "They're not going to suddenly make the sentences harsher."

"We're just telling the criminals what we think of them," Nilofar said confidently.

"But Slice has been re-arrested already!"

"There's the others." She huffed. "It's absurd. What's even the difference between Slice and Lark? A little bit of polish? Less slurs?"

"Further from the feeding-trough?" Leon offered. "More attractive?"

Nilofar chuckled. Leon looked around, taking in the crowd and the banners. It still felt a bit unnatural to participate in a rally, but also normal. He felt for a moment as if it was self-evident that people could gather to protest, but then he realized it wasn't, and that felt strange.

"Me," Inge said, "I'm just worried they'll get clemency."

"That's exactly why we're here," Nilofar said. "To show them what we think of clemency."

"I guess," Sebastian conceded. He looked bored, as if political rallies were really an everyday occurrence. To him, they were. "Are we gonna do this after every sentencing?"

Leon was certain that this rally wouldn't change anything, but he was still glad he had shown up. Even if it was fruitless, it would remain a fact that people had spoken up. That he had spoken up - or rather, milled around the streets.

If he was honest with himself, the sentences were, aside from Slice's acquittal, not too catastrophic. Executions down the line would have smacked of the traditional kind of political trial. The real issue was that Leon didn't want any of them to slip out early. Twenty-five years - even he would be fifty years old by that point. Blues and Coll would be beyond sixty.

Wait, only sixty? Leon did the mental math. Yes, they were both thirty-seven, so they'd be sixty-two. Only now did he realize that Blues and Coll were only a decade older than him. No wonder they had received low sentences - someone of that age could have only ever been a puppet.

Still, twenty-five years would only be good if it was fully served. The conviction would mean nothing if they were released in five years. And the lifers? They were on the older side, but they could easily live for forty years. Leon had no illusions. The sentences were good, but whether the implementation of the sentences would be just as good was a question with an obvious answer.

And, of course, there was the issue of clemency. If clemency was actually announced for anyone, Leon was willing to riot.

The newly-minted lifers varied in their outlook. Blatt and Grass were convinced that, one way or another, they would be released early. Ledge was completely crushed by his sentence and could barely string a few words together; when he could, he was caustic and angry. It was as if the gossipy man had been replaced overnight. Oldsmith was lost at first but soon regained his anger. Verdant was torn between being glad at not being executed and being terrified of the prospect of being entombed alive. And Best, oddly enough, insisted he wished he had been sentenced to death instead.

Before, Miroslav had never heard of people wanting to be executed instead of a life sentence. It made sense that a suicidal person would remain suicidal no matter the circumstances, but Best was not suicidal. He did not want to kill himself. He wanted to be killed, and in an honourable way. Such behaviour didn't fit into any pattern Miroslav knew of. The other former Peacekeepers, even the ones of similar age, were nowhere near as disdainful of life.

Once he had talked to the lifers and jotted down his observations, it was time for the two given a quarter of a century. Miroslav knew he was dodging his greatest responsibility - the death row - but he placated himself with the thought that another psychologist was already with them, one who had worked with the condemned before.

Twenty-five years, by the measure of a human life, was a very long time. Miroslav was forty-three; if Blues and Coll served their time fully, they would get out when he was sixty-eight. Whether they believed they would serve their time fully was what Miroslav was going to find out now.

Blues seemed to not know what to think. Distant and quiet, her thoughts were all over the place. Granted, Miroslav was hardly finding it easier to concentrate. When she asked him for some time to think, he accepted the offer gladly.

Coll was more emotional. "I'm going to live, Doctor," he said, wiping away tears. "Can you believe it? I never thought I'd get out of here alive." He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

"What do you think of your sentence?"

"I don't know," Coll said, choking on his words. "I'm just so happy I'm not going to die. I'm not going to appeal."

Less than half an hour later, he was raging about how old his children would be when he was released. Unlike the lifers, Coll's hope for early release was more calm and reasoned. "Perhaps in a decade or so, once passions have cooled," he mused, eyes still red from crying. "That's also a very long time. Primus will be an adult by then. But I'm not going to appeal. It'd make me look ungrateful."

Calculated gratitude - Miroslav was not surprised.

In the corridor, a guard ran up to him to announce that Krechet really needed to see specifically Miroslav. He nodded and followed the guard, gritting his teeth from worry. What if he said something wrong?

Much to Miroslav's surprise, Krechet looked calm - eerily calm, in fact. "I got a message from someone. About my eldest boy."

"What is it?"

"One day, when Norm was little, he came back from playing outside barefoot and wearing only a large T-shirt. He claimed someone had taken his clothes while he was in the swimming pool and he had gotten the T-shirt from a nice uncle. Helena and I decided to believe him. But today, a girl - a Covey - wrote to me to say that Norm had given her his clothing because she had only a torn slip to wear, and then took her to school, because she hadn't been allowed to go to school while obviously dressed like a Covey. He gave her his lunch every day, and she'd bring it home and say it was the day's earnings. The roundup in Little Slovakia happened while she was sitting in a classroom."

"So he saved her."

Krechet nodded, tears appearing in his eyes. "Norm was six years old. When I was six, I wouldn't have given a piece of moldy bread to anyone. But he was so generous already then. And Rachel - Peter is HIV positive, you know. He was abandoned at birth and grew up in an infectious-diseases ward. They painted 'AIDS' on his back with red paint and washed him while wearing thick rubber gloves. He was adopted by a volunteer when he was five, and he was literally rotting alive by then. The volunteer died when he was ten, and he went to a Community Home and was left to die. When Rachel bandaged his legs and carried him, she was touching a biohazard with her bare hands. She carried a bleeding child with AIDS with a massive open wound of her own! Meanwhile, when I was that age, we threw rocks at a classmate who had been diagnosed with HIV because we didn't want to touch him." Krechet wiped his eyes with a sleeve. "I don't know why my children are better people than me. But that has to mean I did something right. Right?" he pleaded.

"You raised your children to be nothing like you. For that, you deserve to be commended."

Krechet flapped his hand. "You know, I don't even care about dying anymore. I did achieve something, in the end. You can say I sold my soul to the devil, but at least I got three lives in exchange. Five now, I guess. My children - they're good people. I wish I could be around to see what else they'd do. But I have to console myself with the knowledge that they already did more for the world than me." He then buried his face in his hands and cried.

In her chat with Barrow, the main topic of conversation was how Bao was trying to come to terms with Spot's existence. There was no point in talking about the sentencing. Lee would hang. Rye had led the case against him. Was it her first time? No. Just one more person deservedly ascending the gallows.

"Has Mitch given up on walking Spot yet?" she asked.

Barrow shook his head. "Oh, no. He's gotten into jogging."

"At six in the morning in February?" Rye asked incredulously. Mitch was hardly lazy, but he was fourteen.

"I know. I'm shocked, too." Barrow shrugged. "I'm not complaining that I don't have to do it, but I can't help but think he has ulterior motives."

Rye could only think of one. "I'm sure there are better ways to sneak out for a date. Who goes for dates before the sun's even up, anyway? And why would he need to sneak around? He's seen Billie drag in a new person every week."

"Maybe he just feels too awkward?"

"Maybe. You think he might be?"

"Honestly, no idea. Though his marks have gone up. Never thought I'd see the day when he got a B in math."

Implying, of course, that the mysterious date was helping him study. "Well, if he's walking Spot and his marks have gone up, I think we should just let him do whatever he's doing."

"That's what I was thinking."

"And how's Flora?"

"Started reading the news. She tried to pester Mitch about what it was like to be eligible, and he's struggling to explain that he never cared."

Mitch had never gone down to the Reaping field, thanks to the Quarter Quell. Rye had never felt so relieved in her life - Billie aging out one year early, and Mitch being spared for a year. Her children hadn't inherited her and Barrow's anxiety, thankfully; Billie had never even paused to think about the possibility of being chosen. "Honestly, I don't want to talk about this."

"Me neither," Barrow said, leaning closer. "Anything interesting happen recently?"

"No, but there's going to be a big party soon."

"Even bigger than usual? You'll have to keep me updated."

That, Rye was going to do come hell or high water.

Thumeka's optimism had served her well. The press had generally been more accurate in their predictions by dint of having actually paid attention to the trial, but a couple of well-made predictions put quite a bit of money in her pockets. The money had been blown on cheap trinkets for Yemurai and her family.

The trial was over, but Thumeka's assignment wasn't even close to ending. Not only would she cover the key criminals' execution, but her stay had been extended - up there had liked her coverage and wanted her to stay until the end of the IDC trials. Since this would give her a pretty good shot at being the permanent correspondent in Panem (which would let her bring in Yemurai), Thumeka was all for it.

There would be some time until the execution, however, and there was something else she needed to do today. She had managed to arrange for an interview with the executioners in a restaurant.

When she slipped into the booth, five minutes early, they were already there. Arif and Heather Young were perhaps a few years older than her, but probably younger than forty. If someone from the phenotypically diverse Panem could be considered generic-looking, it was Heather Young - she had light-brown skin, dark eyes, and short-cropped wavy black hair. Arif was a little bit lighter and his hair - a little bit curlier, but what drew the eye about him was his massive facial scarring. It looked like he had been burned or suffered from an acid attack.

"Good morning," Thumeka said, shaking their hands. They echoed back the greeting. "Thank you very much for coming here."

"It's no issue," Heather said. "I know everyone's going to be curious about us. You'll get the scoop."

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Thumeka offered.

Arif nodded. "Oh, yes, that would be very welcome, if you don't mind. We haven't registered yet, so we're not eligible for rations."

Thumeka was also quite hungry, as she had missed breakfast in her hurry to get here. She ordered them all coffee and extremely overpriced oatmeal. "So," she began, recorder on the table. "How did you come to have such a job?"

Heather ate some oatmeal and put down her spoon. "We're from the biggest city in Eight," she said, "and all the hangings were carried out in the same place. The District Peacekeeper HQ was right across the street. Never thought I'd be hanging Bright of all people." She chuckled. "Anyway, I never had much in the way of empathy."

"Neither do I," Arif said, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. "I never understood why some things are simply bad. I had to come up with these convoluted ideas. 'Don't hit the annoying kid, because they'll get their older sibling to beat you up.' Or, 'Don't steal, because it's too scary wondering if you'll get caught'. Granted, things I thought were inconsequential took a longer time to shake. I was an adult when I finally realized that constantly telling lies was too much of a headache - it's hard to keep everything straight for so long."

"Your lack of empathy is why you can execute?"

Heather nodded. "Sort of. I don't like hurting anyone - or anything. I don't want to be seen as cruel. When I was a child, I would mistreat animals out of curiosity - I wanted to see what was inside - but I learned pretty quickly that's an easy way to get the blame for unsolved murders and get shot. Anyway, just because I have no empathy doesn't mean I'm a sadist. I can kill, that doesn't mean I want to." That still sounded sinister, though Thumeka and her marginally funny jokes while standing on top of a pile of bodies couldn't judge.

"Same," Arif said. "Causing permanent harm - logically, I know the consequences of that, every cell in my brain rebels against destroying a life. I mean, why would you ever do that? What good does it do you? But I can shut that off. Kill without batting an eye."

"How did you meet?"

Heather chuckled. "It was a stroke of luck. To make a long story short, thirty years back, the city government decreed that people found guilty of capital sexual crimes would be publicly hanged instead of being shot in the basement like everyone else. For the executions, they'd dragoon locals into assisting. Nobody wanted to do it, but I didn't grasp why. Everyone talked about how glad they were that rapists were executed, they cheered when the person was hoisted up on the rope, but nobody wanted to take part. I was interested in seeing death close up like that. I was fifteen. Arif was also fifteen. He also offered to do it in place of someone who was reluctant. We talked after the execution, got close, and ended up becoming the semi-official city executioners."

"Still are," Arif said wryly, "even if I got acid thrown in my face for working with the government." So that explained the scars.

"You don't think you did anything wrong?"

Heather spread out her hands. "All we did was unchain the bodies from the post and drag them to the casket. Sure, we participated in the process. And what? If everyone had been reluctant, they'd have gone back to the shooting wall. If you don't like what we did, you better be an opponent of the death penalty, or you're a hypocrite."

Thumeka was an opponent of the death penalty, so no inconsistency there.

"Are you worried you may have participated in the executions of innocent people?"

"Of course we executed the innocent," Arif said with a chuckle. His oatmeal was already gone; Heather ate the last spoonfuls of hers. "We're not stupid, we know how it worked. I remember before we were working there, a ten-year-old was executed for raping another child at knifepoint. Anyone with half a brain knew that kid needed help, but no, he got tape over his mouth and a bag over his head and a crowd cheering for his death. Heck, even now, I'm sure some of the people we dispatch shouldn't have died. Do we bear the blame? I'd say it's stupid to focus on us and not the ones in the cabinets."

"We campaign for the abolition of the death penalty." Heather looked inside her cup as if expecting to find something other than coffee there. "But before that happens, someone's got to execute people. Since we're not affected emotionally by taking lives, why not have it be us?"

Interesting. "You only helped out for most of the time. What was it like transitioning to actually executing people?"

Arif held the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Oh, it was such a pain," he said, voice tinged with amusement. "We never went to school for a day and we had to calculate the drops - can't blame them for switching to hanging, it's more humane for the executioner, though I'm sure we two could shoot people all day if we had to. Got used to the calculations eventually, but there were a couple of times when the person strangled or had their head ripped off. Learning how to tie nooses was simplicity itself by comparison. We just looked at the pictures in the book of knots and imitated them."

Learning how to tie nooses was simplicity itself.

"What do you think of your current assignment?"

Heather shrugged. "It'll be weird seeing Bright again. You think the newspapers will publish insulting cartoons of us?"