"All right," said Doctor Miller, coming back into the room. "We've got your results." He pressed the opposite wall and a screen appeared. "There's good news and bad news. The good news is you won't need surgery. The bad news is—" He pressed the screen again and a large x-ray image appeared. "As you can see, you've got a hairline fracture of the fourth metacarpal. So you're not going to be able to use your hand for a while."

Disappointment cut through him. He looked at his hand. Then looked at the screen. There was a small white line through the long, translucent bones. He didn't want to think of the picture as his own body; perhaps there had been a mistake. How did he know if Miller was showing him the right x-ray? But then…he could still feel his hand throbbing in the same place indicated on the screen, even after the painkillers. If he took any more, he would have to sacrifice alertness for numbness.

Miller turned toward Jason. "It's hard breaking a bone. Especially for an active person. But you'll heal quicker here than anywhere else."

Jason flexed his fingers; a dull ache twined through his hand. "I need this hand."

"You're going to have to get used to using your left hand for a while. The less you use your right hand, the faster you'll heal. We'll immobilize it with a splint, so you won't have to worry about keeping it still. Just be careful to move it as little as possible."

He looked at his hand with disdain. Why did it have to break! Raul was apparently too strong for him to fight. Now he couldn't fight anyone.

He used to practice using his left hand—being ambidextrous was an advantage when you were an agent—but he'd stopped doing that since he'd quit the Agency. Hopefully it wouldn't be like starting at square one again.

Still…fighting with just one hand was a disadvantage. And he was at a severe disadvantage anyway…. He was weakened from lack of food, injuries, being trapped in a damp basement, interrupted sleep…. And the horrors he'd witnessed, pressing in on his mind constantly.

As Doctor Miller fitted his hand with a splint, he thought, There are other more effective ways of fighting than just hand-to-hand anyway. As long as I've got one hand, I can use a weapon. I just have to access one….

And I don't have to fight fair. The deck is stacked against me here anyway.

I have to escape. No matter what.

So every method is fair game.

Well… I won't go beyond some moral limits.

But I've got to think out of the box. And not be predictable. Elena counted on my 'chivalry'… I would not hurt a child. But I wouldn't hesitate to hurt a woman who intended to hurt me, take me from the one I love….

And the guards. I wouldn't hesitate to kill them if they got in my way.

They're all lost causes anyway. They're evil for being a part of this, and most if not all are perverse, hurting others for their own pleasure.

If I could somehow overdose them with the mushrooms… or the painkillers… how could I administer it…. They'd suspect me if I tried to give them something.

If I could get some weapons…. The shockrods… the electricity won't respond to me, but I could use them as blunt instruments…

What else could I use? I've got to keep vigilant…

Perhaps there's something up here.

They'll probably take me down soon.

Unless…. A shiver ran through him. Elena takes me to her room….

"Alright," said Doctor Miller. "You'll have to keep that splint on for at least three weeks. And it won't heal completely until at least a month. I'd be conservative in my estimates…because we don't want the fracture to worsen. The good thing is that the restorative will knit your bones together stronger than before, and before you know it, you'll be using your hand just like you used to." He smiled with immense self-satisfaction. "Now, I believe Elena has a surprise for you."

Jason's heart sank. Of course she wouldn't leave him alone when he came Above. She probably thought he'd come here to 'visit' her.

"I need rest," said Jason.

"You also need food. You want that, don't you?"

Jason hesitated, then nodded. He knew he shouldn't refuse a chance to eat… although it probably came with strings attached.

Two guards came for him, and he resigned himself to enduring more of Elena's insinuations and attempts at seduction.

They took him the opposite way from the residence section. He desperately hoped they weren't taking him to the sauna again. The pool room would also probably mean something similarly horrible.

Instead, they took him to the banquet hall.

It was strange to see it quiet and empty— not even Elena was there. But that didn't mean she wouldn't join him soon.

The guards left, and images of being here during Zar's party flashed through his mind—Sahara, forbidden to eat; Serhii, hanging on the wall; the awful ritual of Karim and Zakhar laid on the table like the perverse idea of a centerpiece, the guests practically eating them.

In the center of the table sat a silver platter with a lid surrounded by various fruits. He longed to eat; he hadn't had much today, and yesterday he'd thrown up most of what he'd eaten. But the ghosts of images from that time about a month ago pressed in around him, suppressing his appetite.

And he couldn't help but wonder how everyone else was doing—if Sahara, Kara, Karim, Serhii, Zakhar, Mira, Pedro, Alelu, Tim and the others were okay. Whether the Admins and guards had left them alone. He desperately hoped so. Though he couldn't count on it….

He looked at his useless right hand, bound in the stiff splint. It is a good thing I can't move it and hurt it further, he reminded himself. But it disgusted him to look at it. In trying to help, he'd limited himself and still been too late to stop the worst from happening.

He laid his left hand on the table, resenting it for being so weak. It had lost some of its functionality after he'd been tortured. What am I without hands? How can I do anything?

He flexed his hand. There was an aching stiffness in his palm from the scar tissue and a slight delay in movement of his last two fingers—probably from nerve damage. Reluctantly, he looked at the scars where the nails had been pounded through his palm. The back of his hand had rather clean exit wounds, but on the other side, the wounds were ragged—he'd been weakly struggling as Gray slammed his hand against the wall.

He touched the center of his palm; gasped at the sensitivity of it. But near the nail scars he could barely feel at all. It was an odd sensation. The skin that had grown over it could feel, but not the flesh beneath.

He curled his hand into a fist, and again there was a slight delay as if it would rather not obey the signals from his brain but decided to at the last minute.

He pressed his fingernails into his palm, willing them to slice through and force the nerves back to working order. Cut up messily, perhaps the nerves would be forced to create new connections….

The bite of pain struck reality back into him. He unclenched his fist—he'd almost created more wounds in his hand. He didn't need that.

It was more difficult than he'd thought to wrest his mind into shape… so many things tried to drag it down…

I have to keep pressing forward… if I make it a habit, it'll wear new patterns in my mind…. It'll be instinct to do the right thing, even if my body and mind protest….

He grabbed a few grapes. Then he drank some of the sparkling water in an elegant crystal glass. Thankfully it wasn't wine. Nothing to dull his senses.

Then he brought the platter toward him and lifted the lid.

Inside was a large chunk of roast and baby potatoes and carrots in garlic herb sauce. He banished the remnants of images from the last time he'd been here and reveled in the delicious meal. Despite how large it was, he devoured most of it before he felt full enough to stop.

He sat back, wondering if he should go back down. He needed to help the others, but it was nice being here, alone, in a luxurious place, no one bothering him….

The gold on his finger caught the light of the chandelier. A gentle gold, not the harsh gold that triggered flashbacks.

His wedding ring.

It was the symbol of his union with Connie. He'd hardly looked at it lately; acute pain shot through his heart. But he treasured it… his one concrete link to the one he loved. He touched its cool surface, remembering how Connie had slipped it on his finger during their wedding…

Her hands had touched him…. Brought him healing. The scars weren't as sharp after she'd traced their edges, kissed them….

He leaned his head down on the table, cradled by his arms, his whole body aching with longing. Her beautiful face looming in the dark… coppery glints in her hair, her eyes sparkling as if lit by an inner fire…

"Hey," said a voice.

His skin prickled with disdain. It was Gleb, standing in the doorway, Kent beside him. They strode toward him, and Jason stood to face whatever they had in store for him.

Gleb waved his shockrod. "Let's go."

Gleb led him out of the room, Kent prodding him forward. They took the curved hallway around the Above Cathedral, past a large arched door, halfway open. Inside was a marble floor, movement, laughter. Shifting shadows.

The snap of a whip, then a cry.

He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Karim. A low dark musical laugh after each thwack.

Jason hadn't realized he'd stopped until Kent jabbed him in the back with his shockrod. His face felt stiff, as if all the blood had drained from it.

"Get going," said Kent.

"What are they doing to him."

Kent's smirk grew wider. "That's Maylin. She loves flaying the skin off Karim's back, even though he can barely feel it anymore."

"It sounds like he can feel it."

"You want to join him? We had something else in mind, but I'm sure Maylin wouldn't mind another target."

"Elena wouldn't like it though," said Gleb.

"You're right, we've got to get him to his destination." Kent pressed the shockrod into Jason's back, this time with a mild shock as a warning, and Jason had no choice but to keep going. Whatever they had in mind, it was probably nothing good… and he wouldn't be able to help Karim anyway. But it broke his heart to hear the fading screams.

When they reached the sauna, dread burned through him, but they passed it without pause and headed down another corridor. He recognized this area; some of the darkness melted away. The light from the greenhouse filtered out, shadowy patterns hinting the interplay of branches and leaves. They passed the menagerie; in the cage near the hall, the lion paced. A large landscape of artificial hills strewn with logs and bushes rolled off into the mist. He envied the animals their generous enclosures; they might be prisoners, but they weren't slaves.

Another arched doorway opened onto a vast room floored with gray, green-striated marble. Sharp instruments glinted on the walls. Jason's heart shuddered.

But as they stepped inside, pleasant light filtered down from the ceiling. People in the center dashed back and forth in the elegant dance of fencing. Further down, on a padded floor, some people were wrestling. There was the unmistakable smack of flesh upon flesh coming from the back of the room, but it came from two figures, small in the distance, equally matched, fighting with swift strikes almost too fast to see from this far away.

Several people watched from seats along the edge. Some looked like they were resting; others seemed to just be spectators, laughing and talking together.

One figure sat several seats away from anyone else. He wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't stood and strode straight for him. It was Tamara.

He had mixed feelings about her; on one hand, she was a high Admin who ran this place for Elena and had been the annoyingly cheery voice for announcements Below. On the other hand, she'd never shown any violent or twisted tendencies, and she had protected Alelu from Lila and helped Gray after his suicide attempt.

"Good evening, Jason," she said solemnly. "I hope you enjoyed your supper."

"I did, thank you. It was very good."

"And your hand? How is it?"

"It's…okay."

"It'll be harder for you to train… but we might as well move forward. We learn to work at optimum despite our limits."

"Train?" He wasn't sure if he'd heard right.

"It's time to start your training as an agent."

"But—I haven't agreed to work for you."

"We've seen you practicing in your cell. We've seen your initiative and your prowess against a larger opponent. Wouldn't you rather practice up here? It's a much more pleasant atmosphere."

He thought about protesting, but…it would help with his goal of preparing to fight them. He needed a break from the darkness and suffering…although he felt guilty for abandoning the others down in the third circle of hell. But he had to stick to his goal of escaping—which would help them the most.

"What's the catch?"

"Nothing. Except you'll be expected to learn some of our methods. But of course, it's your choice whether you come over to us at the end."

"I thought you were going to pressure me to do that."

"I believe in gentler methods. As long as I have command of your training, I'm not going to apply any violence or force."

"What about Elena."

She looked troubled, along with a stirring of a different emotion deep in her dark blue eyes. "Elena…is in charge ultimately. She believes in some application of force… as well as… other things." The distaste in her eyes was almost subsumed by the darker emotion, targeted at him. "But I have some influence on her. I believe if we reason with you, give you the right incentives, show you who we really are, you'll come over to us willingly."

"I'll never do that."

"I don't blame you for thinking that. You've only seen the darker side of us. I…hate looking at it myself, although I have to sometimes. However, there's a whole world up here you've barely experienced."

"I've experienced enough." The sound of Maylin whipping Karim slashed through his mind. His heart burning against Tamara's 'voice of reason'.

"Why don't you let us show you? Let's start with this." She spread her arm around to indicate the room. "You're an agent, and nothing can change that."

He hated that she'd cut right through him, seeing into part of his soul. But she was fooling herself if she thought she could get him to her side. He couldn't be brainwashed. Nothing would make him want to be part of something that was based on mass suffering.

But—another possibility sparked into his mind. Perhaps he could influence her. Or at least learn things from her. If she was going to be around him, he could work on her… Perhaps she wouldn't be amenable to any sort of pressure, but being with her was more pleasant than being with Elena. At least he knew Tamara didn't want Jason in that way. According to the conversation she'd had with Lila, Tamara was in love with Elena. Which made sense why she was protective of Elena's daughter, even if Elena had discarded her. It also meant that Tamara was a slightly more decent person….

And that she might be a little compromised where Elena was concerned. If he could leverage that… She was also a high Admin and might have access to most things that Elena did.

But he'd have to tread carefully. Tamara, from what he'd seen, was a careful person, and not someone he could play for a fool…

He lifted his broken hand. "How much can I do with this?"

She lifted his other hand gently, cradled in hers. "You have this. Always focus on what you do have, not what you don't. I suppose you know that, but… living Beneath isn't conducive to positive thought." She frowned. "I'm sure you know a lot, but we'll check what you know, to the extent we can. And we'll teach you new things… and show you what you'll have to unlearn. It'll be gradual. We just want to get a head start on this. Start building your strength…. Learn your full potential… fine-tune our approach, how we'll hone each one of you according to your unique combination of skills and abilities. We'll give you space to be who you are, so you don't totally sink into darkness and lose all of it. We'll give you something to look forward to after your…conditioning is finished. A thread of your true self you'll be able to hold onto when it gets darker…"

"So you will start hurting me."

"I won't. I'm in charge of your training, and I will be afterwards. Elena's in charge of the overall approach. I'm not privy to all the details."

"What do you mean, afterwards?"

"Your Breaking."

"I thought you'd draw me to your side with reason."

"I'd like to." She looked into his eyes, distress and empathy striking into them. "I want you to see the beauty we have to offer… the grand cause that's before us. And see who Elena is besides her… harshness towards resistance. But I have to admit, it might be wishful thinking. Agents—we only take those with elite potential—are notoriously stubborn. They don't come over to our side easily. That's why some of them shatter. We have to put so much pressure on them they come apart rather than give in. Their minds unravel to the point they're unsalvageable. But I can't help thinking there's another way. A good agent should also be able to see the truth…. Have enough of a mind to know what's best."

"You think this is best." He laughed darkly.

She gave a sad smile. "There it is—that marvelous resistance Elena talks about." She looked at her watch. "I thought they'd be here by now."

"Who?"

"The other agents-in-training."

"There are others?"

"Some are further along than you." She gestured to the people practicing in the other parts of the room. "But we have several others on your level. One of them is Gray."

"How is he?"

"Better, marginally. He's… had a hard time of it. It's understandable after what he's been through. And his suicide attempt set him back further… But now he's ready to do some light training. There's only so much the psychiatrist can do until Gray gets back into the action rather than sitting in his room all day."

"Who are the others?"

"So far, just Elliot."

Jason's heart leaped. For him to be an agent rather than the dehumanizing role of Elena's slave…. It'd probably help him immensely. But he'd probably have a long road, even though he'd gotten back pieces of his former self and joined Jason's quest to escape.

"Elena still wants to keep him—"

Jason's heart fell.

"—but she acknowledges that Elliot has agent potential as well. More than she realized. He has the resilience to regain a fighting spirit even after he was seemingly crushed. And of course, he was an agent before, so he has that foundation. I…had something to do with his release, by the way."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't advocate for him if I didn't see his potential. It was a waste just letting him lounge about Elena's suite. He isn't even her focus; he has more to offer than just as her slave."

"You couldn't have seen that before?" Before Elliot was raped…

"I…tend not to pay attention to Elena's slaves. But I had to lately. She mentioned how amazing he was now… and I could see it. I drew attention to how he'd protected Gray. How the qualities that were reasserting themselves weren't just assets for a slave, but for an agent."

"Thank you."

"I believe the more assets we have, the better. Elena… doesn't always see that, because when she sees something she likes, she takes it. But I have some influence with her…." A tinge of pride threaded her voice.

An idea hit him. "What about the others?"

"What others?"

"Slaves that could be agents. There are probably a lot of them."

"We do filter most slaves through a stringent process. Most people aren't suited for such a life."

"And they're suited to be slaves?"

"They're not suited to be agents."

"If you've found one that was missed before, couldn't you find others?"

She tilted her head "Do you happen to know if any have agent training?"

"Serhii wasn't exactly an agent, but he was a soldier. He's got skills that are wasted here."

"He might be too defiant to be Broken without shattering."

"You could try."

She nodded. "Especially now that Zar is gone."

"Zar is gone?" His heart burgeoned with hope.

"He's barred from returning indefinitely. He's become too much of a liability. We may have to placate him by giving him a slave on the outside, which comes with its own set of risks…."

Immense relief flooded him to know that Zar wouldn't be back.

"We were thinking of giving him Serhii, who is technically his slave after all, but Serhii would have to be Broken before being taken anywhere else. It might be less trouble for more gain to make him an asset. Zar would probably be happy with any slave; he's not especially finicky, you may have noticed."

Jason sifted his mind for anyone else. It was probably rare to catch an agent or a potential one. But the Escape Committee had included Sahara for a reason, and some of her talents had emerged…. She could be a nascent agent… At least, if he could convince Tamara of her potential… Jason wished he could ask for everyone, but he knew that wasn't feasible.

"What about—" he began.

Tamara turned at the same time, saying, "Oh! Here they are."

Gray strode toward them, limping slightly. He was particularly pale, and looked thinner than before, cheekbones standing out noticeably.

Behind him walked Elliot, looking a bit unsure. He was pale and thin as well, but he looked in decent shape. Not worn down, his eyes not as haunted as they had been, an inner light in their indigo depths, making them look even more striking than usual.

Gray glanced at Jason warily then nodded to Tamara.

"I'm glad you could make it," said Tamara.

Gray hesitated, then said, "Me too."

Elliot lingered in the background, looking around at the vast space, as if rather overwhelmed. Then his eyes caught Jason's. A smile lit his face, and he moved closer.

"Alright," said Tamara. "Now that you're all here, we will work on some basic forms, building resilience, strengthening your bodies. We'll start slowly, working with your limitations rather than ignoring them. We'll learn from each other and learn how to mesh each of our strengths. I'll start by demonstrating a few moves, which we'll have to adapt to our injured party." She smiled sympathetically at Jason.

"Are you okay?" said Elliot, his concern laced with dread.

Jason nodded. "Just a small fracture. It's…annoying not to be able to use it." He looked down at his hand disdainfully.

Gray caught Jason's eyes, then glanced at his hand with empathy.

"There's a lot we can still do," said Tamara. "Gray, why don't we demonstrate."

Gray nodded then stepped forward. He slid his right hand behind his back. Tamara backed up, then struck at his face. Swift as lightning, Gray's left hand blocked the blow then snapped back with a hit of his own. Tamara expertly blocked it and slashed a combination of strikes at him. His arm whipped up and blocked them like an inexorable rod. He pounded some blows at Tamara, and she backed up, then shot a kick at him, which he just managed to dodge before another kick slammed him to the floor.

Tamara reached for him, and he grasped her hand without hesitation or resentment. She pulled him to his feet.

"Now let's try that with you and Elliot."

Elliot looked a little startled at this, then stepped forward. He faced Gray and gave him a nod, which Gray returned with a look akin to gratitude and empathy, which was swiftly subsumed by a semblance of his former cold indifference.

"This time," said Tamara, "you're the handicapped one, Elliot."

Elliot slid his right hand behind his back because he was left-handed. Gray gave a few rather light attacks, which Elliot easily blocked.

Tamara took a step toward them. "Remember what we talked about. Holding back is a disrespect to your opponent."

"He's new to this," said Gray.

"He's also a former agent. Yes, he may be a bit rusty, but so are you."

Gray's eyes fell.

"Let's try this again."

Gray seemed to collect himself. Elliot stood his ground, looking fiercely determined, his right fist raised.

Gray flew toward him and then dashed sideways for a surprise attack which hit Elliot in the ribs. He gasped and stumbled, off-balance but managed to right himself for another round.

Gray flashed forward, smashing some blows toward Elliot; he blocked some then more ripped in past his defenses. Elliot fell back, looking panicked. Tried to gather himself but Gray had no mercy this time and slammed a blow into his stomach. Elliot doubled over then fell to his knees.

Gray stepped away from him in nonchalant triumph and stood as if waiting for his next order.

"Good," said Tamara. She knelt beside Elliot. "You alright?"

He nodded. "I…. I haven't practiced in a while."

"This was a good start. Remember your breathing."

Elliot closed his eyes and took some deep breaths.

"Let me know if it's too much and we can scale it back a bit."

"No—I have to do this." His eyes blazed with desperate determination. "Please… I have to keep going."

Her eyes flickered downward, then she said, "Don't worry. You'll be an agent if I have anything to do with it. We just need to pace ourselves. Too fast and it'll be detrimental to your progress."

Elliot nodded.

Tamara stood; she didn't help Elliot to his feet. He stood on his own rather awkwardly with a hiss of pain. He looked apologetically at Gray, who ignored him.

"Now, Jason," said Tamara, "You and Gray."

Jason prepared himself. Gray approached without looking directly at him, then he looked at him hesitantly, shame evident beneath his ragged attempt at an indifferent mask.

"It's alright, you can hit me," said Jason.

Gray looked a bit startled at this. He stepped back, then sent a few halfhearted attacks toward Jason. Jason easily blocked them.

"Jason—you go on the offensive," said Tamara.

Jason clenched his fist; he hated its weakness and the phantom pains that warred with its numbness.

But he couldn't let it keep him from his goal; there were already enough obstacles as it was.

He sized up Gray; he was looking at Jason warily, but with a hint of his icy professionalism draped around him.

A slight chill ran through Jason as he remembered what Gray had put him through. But Gray was on his side now…. Perhaps.

Should I draw him into our plan?

I can't risk failing again… I'm not sure where he stands…. I can't let sympathy get in the way. Only if he's an asset and only if I'm completely sure if I can trust him. Otherwise… I'll have to use him if he's useful and discard him otherwise.

He hated thinking this coldly, but he had to set feelings aside when it came to the escape. Besides, if Jason brought the authorities here, Gray would have a chance to be free as long as he didn't throw in his lot with Yavesh. Jason wondered if Gray was training to be on their side, or like Jason, he was using this as a bridge to freedom….

Jason approached cautiously, then, remembering Tamara's admonition to respect his opponent, struck as hard as he could toward Gray's jaw. He dodged this almost casually; even far below optimum, about ten days after a suicide attempt, he was beyond what Jason could ever hope to be.

Another reason not to hold back.

He shot his fist toward Gray's face; the face disappeared, only for a fist to appear in its place and slam toward Jason's face.

Jason instinctively whipped his right arm up; Gray hit him in the ribs so hard it felt like a punishment. He remembered to keep his right arm behind his back then, but it was difficult. His left arm was almost atrophied, and he didn't quite get why he couldn't use his right arm, if not his hand.

I do need to get this in working order… He slammed his despised hand toward Gray, which glanced off his cheekbone.

Then another blow hit Gray's stomach—a form of revenge for the previous attack.

Gray seemed to freeze a little, his movements stiffening, slowing. He allowed the next few blows in with only weak resistance, then stepped back.

Jason stopped.

"I'm alright, keep going," said Gray, breathless.

"You're not fighting back."

"You're not respecting your opponent."

"Neither are you. You're barely fighting. Besides—you look like you need a break."

"I shouldn't," Gray bit out bitterly. He turned away, his jaw taut.

"It's your first real session since your recovery," said Tamara, stepping toward him. "You need to give yourself a break. You can't just… bounce back from what you went through. Especially mentally." She looked at Jason and Elliot. "It's the mind where the real battle lies. That's your first lesson. I know you know this… but you've got to work on accepting it. I can see we also have unresolved issues we have to unravel between each of us. Working together actively is a good way to do that. And we'll be working together for some time—it'll get worse before it gets better. But what you all have in common is that you're agents. You've got some of the same strengths and weaknesses, as well as those unique to you. We'll learn how to take advantage of both.

"Now let's try something else. Combat with physical contact can be taxing for those who've gone through the trauma you guys have." She led them over to the wall facing them. She took down some fencing foils as well as masks. "Who wants to go first?"

Jason grasped the sword, which felt strong and secure in his hand. A thrill ran through him; he remembered his college fencing class like it was yesterday. It was wonderful to imagine he was a knight from days long ago. And now it made him feel like he was going into a crusade against a greater force…. If you have right on your side, you always win.

Still… it took some adjusting. As he fought against Tamara, she showed her superior skill. And of course he wasn't in the best shape. She seemed like she was barely breaking a sweat—her movements fluid and practiced as if she did this daily.

It wasn't long before a flick of her wrist sent his foil flying. It clattered ignominiously to the marble.

"Jason," said Tamara. "I know you can do better. Pick it up."

He grabbed it and began again. But a cramp hit his hand not long after and her sword pricked his chest, thrusting through his heart.

He dropped the foil in frustration. "It's this." He flexed his left hand, vexed at its faulty machinery.

"That's your healthy hand."

"It's… still damaged." He held it out to her.

She cradled it, lips pursed. She touched the center of his palm lightly and he flinched and yanked his hand away.

"What does it feel like?" she asked, unperturbed.

"Part of it's numb. I can't always grip correctly. It…hurts."

"You're not giving it enough credit. There's a lot of strength to it, if you'll only give it a chance."

"But it'll never be whole."

"It's also still got a lot of functionality, and you'll have to let it get to its optimum by removing the blocks in your mind. Okay?"

"Okay."

She swept slightly sweaty bangs back from her forehead. "I think that's enough for today. We have to start slow… work up to the astonishing agents you'll be." She smiled. "Now if you'd like to follow me to Snax for some refreshments…."

She handed her fencing equipment to an assistant at the side. Jason followed suit, wondering if the relatively pleasant treatment would vanish as soon as he stepped through the door.

But no guards leaped out of the woodwork. Instead, the room to the left of the doorway had a few tables, some vending machines, a sink set in a counter along the left wall along with some cupboards, a microwave, a fridge, and a large screen on the opposite wall which was playing a game of polo. Shown from a distance on gently rolling hills with mountains in the distance, the game looked soothing and pastoral.

Elliot stepped closer to stare at the screen. Jason stepped beside him.

"I haven't watched much polo," said Jason. "I'm not sure if I get the rules…"

"I can tell you everything about it," said Elliot rather dreamily. "I used to play…" Intense longing hit his voice; Jason had an idea it had to do with being in the beauty of the outside world as much as enjoying something he used to.

"It's popular in Muldavia," said Tamara, standing near the first vending machine, Gray lingering near the door. "If you'd like something from these—" She tapped the machine— "I'll get it for you. Next time, I can give you a Swipe."

"What's that?" said Jason.

"It's like a credit card. We use it for extra purchases. Sometimes it's just to keep track of what's taken out; sometimes we have debits we need credits to cover. Most Admins can 'purchase' anything they want; guards more often have fewer credits for extra things. And less leniency for violations. It varies for those in between. Slaves don't usually have cards. But since you're agents, we might be able to make an exception…. Otherwise, you can take anything out of the cupboards or fridge that isn't labeled."

"Thank you," said Jason, reluctant to appreciate anything they gave him.

Elliot reached for the fridge door hesitantly. Then he opened it.

Inside were some cheese slices, fruit, milk, small containers filled with something. Jason looked in the cupboard and found some bread, chips, and bags of popcorn. He wasn't especially hungry after his large supper, but he was hungry enough to eat. He grabbed the chips and bread. Elliot took out some cheese and fruit.

Tamara set water bottles at each of their seats and sat down, pushing her chair back from the table a little.

Gray sat down a little reluctantly, looking despondently at the faux-wood grains in the table.

Jason made a sandwich and he and Elliot shared the chips, grapes and clementines. Jason offered them to Gray; he took a clementine and began methodically peeling it.

They ate in silence; Jason felt exhausted. He wanted to speak to Gray, but he didn't want to bring up the topic of his suicide attempt, which loomed heavily in Jason's mind, blocking out other topics.

He also wanted to know how Elliot had been doing, but that was a sensitive topic too.

Something occurred to him he wanted to know that bound all of them together.

"How is Alelu?" he asked Tamara. "Have you seen her lately?"

Tamara shook her head. "But I know she's doing well. I've watched her and checked in with guards to make sure no one's bothering her."

"Thank you."

"Now that Lila's access is restricted, Alelu can live freely."

"I hope…you can keep your guardianship of her."

Tamara looked a little startled. "I… will."

"I wish I could be there for her," said Elliot. "Couldn't I…go back down and stay with them?"

"That's up to Elena."

"But— I'm going to be an agent."

"That remains to be seen."

"I thought I might… have the privilege of an agent in training."

"You have the privilege of being with Elena until she says otherwise."

Elliot paled. Then he looked at Tamara with a version of indignance. "With that kind of pressure… I won't be able to do my best."

"Agents thrive under pressure."

"Not that kind."

"I can perhaps speak with Elena about this. Tell her to take it easy on you."

Elliot nodded, his cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

"Thank you for your help as well," Gray said. "I…wouldn't be here if not for you. And you, Jason." He shot Jason a look of sincere gratitude though it was tinged with shame.

"I see good things in you both," said Tamara. "I wouldn't advocate for you otherwise; I don't do anything lightly."

"I've gotten that impression," said Jason. "You seem like a decent person, even if the rest aren't."

"You'd be surprised how many decent people there are here," said Tamara. "They tend not to go Below."

"Maybe they should. They'd see what was happening. They might do something about it."

The door on the opposite side of the room, to the left of the screen, opened.

Ali stepped inside.

The room faded a little. Last time Jason had seen him… hadn't been pleasant. But Ali had been helpful since. He'd sent food and meds down… assured there were no strings attached… admitted his guilt… He'd sent Zar down to him, with the pretext of using Jason as bait… It wasn't Ali's fault that had gone badly.

Ali stopped short when he saw Jason.

"I –um… thought you'd be done by now…"

"They're having a little break," said Tamara. "They've earned it."

"How did it go?" Ali stepped cautiously closer.

"Working within our limits has been an interesting challenge."

"I know how that is." He rubbed his leg, looking warily at Gray. "I'm only just recovered enough to train in earnest rather than… being practically disabled. I'm not sure if I'll ever be back to how I used to be." This time his glance toward Gray held a guarded resentment.

Gray gazed at him impassively.

Ali's gaze fell to Jason's hand. "What happened," he asked softly, his deep brown eyes concerned.

Jason lifted his hand, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. "Just a minor fracture. Nothing to worry about. I just have to avoid doing anything too strenuous."

"Such minor limits don't seem like they should stop us as much as they do…. How did it happen?"

"He was trying to protect a little boy," said Tamara.

"That sounds like Jason." Ali smiled, though it was more subdued than usual. "You are…doing okay otherwise?"

Jason nodded.

"I was worried after I learned… what happened. Horrible things happen down there." His face looked pained.

"I'm fine. It is quite horrible down there, but… what I go through is nothing like… what the others go through."

Ali seemed to gather himself. "Well—I'd better get going. Need to get my training in before bedtime." He flashed a grin. Then he headed through the arched doorway.

Tamara stood. Looked at her watch. "I think it's time we get back to our respective rooms. Gray, Elliot—I believe you know the way. Jason—I'll have to get some escorts for you." She called someone and to Jason's chagrin, Gleb and Kent reappeared. They prodded him through the doorway and back into the elevator.

Dread filled him as he descended, but in a way, he was relieved to be going back. He wanted to have the chance to do something for the others, no matter how limited he was now. And he also felt like he belonged among them. He belonged with agents too, but Above, no matter how pleasant it was or how wonderful it was to act like an agent again, was the territory of the enemy. And he could never be drawn to what they had, no matter how enticing they made it feel.

Filled with exhaustion, Jason longed to throw himself into bed.

Instead, they brought him to the interrogation room.

He didn't feel as much dread this time, since the interrogations had been more like conversations lately. And Raul was nowhere to be seen.

But then, when he stepped inside, he saw someone hanging from his wrists in the center of the room.

It was Serhii.