Secondborn

Agent Crow stares at the menu on his moniker, selecting another option. It changes from Agnes’s profile to an image of her beaten almost beyond recognition. “The woman who came to take you from my custody was an imposter. She had a cloned moniker.” Bile rises in the back of my throat as I view the gruesome postmortem image. Agent Crow leans in close. “Thank you for the soaps, by the way. Did you know that if you wrap them in a towel, they become quite an effective bludgeoning weapon?”

I shudder. The thought that I may have provoked him is not something I can just shove away. “You murdered her. She was no more thirdborn than you or I.”

He grabs my elbow. “Careful, Roselle. Questioning the integrity of a Census agent has consequences.” I clench my teeth, knowing that there’s nothing I can do to prevent him from hurting whomever he wants, and calling it justice.

He strokes my hair. “What I find most intriguing is that this Moon-Fated Agnes would be an advocate for you. Why would a thirdborn enter Census knowing that she could be discovered?”

I shy away from his touch. “I’d imagine that she was instructed to do it. Grisholm Wenn-Bowie was particularly interested in you, Agent Crow, in my debriefing. He found the idea of sending you that basket amusing.” Disinformation. Steer him away from Hawthorne.

“The First Commander is interested in very little that happens outside the Fate of Virtues, that I can promise you. You must have made an impression on him.”

“I’ve known him for a long time. One could say I’ve left a dent in him,” I reply. “Did Agnes say someone sent her?” How much does he know? I cannot allow this to lead back to Hawthorne, Walther, or Dune. The thought of Dune at the mercy of Agent Crow pains me.

“I never got around to asking Agnes about her connections—I know it was bad form. Anger does not usually overwhelm me, but she was solely to blame for it. She provoked me at every turn. Her relentless pursuit of your release was something I found . . . personal.”

“It wasn’t personal. It was her job as a Sword advocate.”

He ignores me. “In light of this new information regarding Agnes Moon, her being thirdborn, I have some questions for you, Roselle. It’d be more appropriate to ask them in the secure surroundings of an interrogation cell in Census.” He raises his hand to my mouth. His thumb brushes my cheek, skimming over the scab there. It’s still sore from Hawthorne wrestling me to the floor. “I’d like the chance to taste your blood.” I pull away.

Four military policemen approach us. A dark blue armband, bearing an emblem of a golden sword over a black shield, encircles each soldier’s left arm. “Roselle Sword,” the lead MP addresses me, “you’ve been found in violation of code 47257. You’re ordered to come with us.”

I know the code he’s referring to. I violated it just a few hours ago. It’s called brandishing. I’m not allowed to ignite my fusionblade in noncombat or non-training situations. I don’t resist when cuffs restrain my wrists.

Agent Crow scowls at the MP. “I have reason to suspect this soldier has information regarding an investigation into thirdborns.”

“She violated code. She gets a couple nights in the cooler. You can visit her there, at the detention center, and ask your questions. Contact her commanding officer if you want to make arrangements to see her.”

Agent Crow’s eyebrows slash together. “I cannot possibly ask the kind of questions that I need to ask in your facility. This is classified information.” They ignore him. I’m relieved of my weapon by the youngest of the soldiers.

The one in charge is a middle-aged man with the lined face of someone who has seen a lot. The creases around his mouth deepen. “Then I guess you’re gonna have to wait until she gets out,” he says. “Oh, but her regiment is scheduled to go active in less than forty-eight hours.” He snaps his fingers, like the thought only just occurred to him. “You’ll have to follow her to the battlefield to get your answers.” He leans closer to Agent Crow. “But then, men like you don’t fight when your enemy has a weapon and can fight back, do you?”

Agent Crow gives him an icy stare. “You’ll live to regret this.” The dark lines by his eyes bunch together.

“I’ve lived to regret a lot of decisions, Census. This ain’t one of ’em.”

“Who’s your commanding officer?” Agent Crow demands.

“Commander Aslanbek,” he replies in a bored tone. I bet a lot of people ask him that, hoping to intimidate him. “Say your good-byes. You can see her in a few months when she gets back from active duty.”

My smile for Agent Crow is forced, intended to make him believe that I don’t fear him. Right now, it’s the best I can do. I’d been waiting for the MPs to arrive and arrest me since lunchtime, but I hadn’t known I’d be grateful to see them.

“Don’t get comfortable, Roselle,” Agent Crow murmurs.

I don’t respond as the soldiers march me out and onto a heartwood.

Chapter 12

Detention