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No, he’s asleep. On his belly on the hard floor with his head pillowed on his arms. I understand that level of exhaustion, so I quietly tip-toe over and spread the blanket over him. Then, I set the towel and soap on top of the pillow next to him.

When I leave, I quietly close the door and see four people staring at me. I try to ignore them for as long as possible, but Mal interrupts that process.

“He gets a blanket and pillow while the rest of us do without?” I can tell he’s trying to make a joke out of the comment, but his voice is strained as if he can’t tell how the question will be received. Who would havethought that the rage-filled dragon would be so sensitive to emotion?

I shrug and meet his eyes, trying to smile and probably failing. “His bank accounts are probably hacked by now if not totally depleted. I’m sure you don’t have to use a bank to access money. I doubt he has that option.”

“Hacked?” Mal asks in surprise.

“Yeah,” I frown back at him. “You know. Box him in? Remove access to his funds so he has nowhere to go that isn’t a familiar routine to him?”

He stares at me blankly.

“It’s literally the first thing the Delegates did after my arrest. Ten years’ worth of savings, gone.” I’m still pissed about it. “No money plus no outside contacts equals a sitting duck if I escaped. They would expect me to go to you guys forhelp.” I emphasize the last word with finger quotes and an eye roll.

Mal and King look at each other with matching frowns.

This is what I’m working with. I’m doomed. “Guys, it’s not brain surgery.”

I walk into the room between Mike’s and Ben’s to retrieve the copies I made of the missing person reports, just in case. Never hurts to have duplicates. I bring it back to the table and move Ben’s normal seat to the head of the table before dropping it and sitting down.

“Where are the folders Mike brought?” I ask and look at Mal and King. I kind of feel superior right now, sitting at the head of the table. Like they’re my minions, and I’m the supervillain boss demanding status reports. I’ll take any confidence boost I can get.

“You want to see them?” King asks warily.

“Yeah. I noticed something.” I stare at him pointedly.

“I wouldn’t think you noticed anything,” he mumbles, not entirely under his breath.

“Just because you’re having a panic attack doesn’t mean you can’t retain information,” I quote. The Old Man went over that extensively when he began locking me in the basement to find ways out without panicking.

King hesitates as he looks at me and nods once. He goes into the room directly across from Mike’s and picks up the folders to bring back.

“What did you notice?” Mitri asks, and I shrug without looking at him. I don’t want to talk to him, and I don’t want to see him right now, logic be damned.

“Maybe something, maybe nothing,” I reply while my lip curls without consent, “I’m not sure yet.”

King brings them directly to me, lingering momentarily at my side with his hand hovering near my shoulder. I stiffen even though I can tell he’s trying to decide if I’ll accept the comforting pat he intends to give. He withdraws at the reaction and goes back to his seat.

I take a second to organize my thoughts before I open the first one. I try not to see the pictures, but it’s difficult. I flip the page and focus on the typed-up reports instead. I refuse to look at the names because they aren’t real without names. They’re little figments of my imagination.

First up, a witch. Specializing in hexes. The report doesn’t say what type, just if it was a pass or fail in whatever procedure they were trying. Most of them are failures.

Next, a werewolf. There is no label for what kind of testing, just failures and punishments. There are a few other werewolves as well. All failed.

Three different Mages were brought in to create portals. Two of them pass and get transferred to an unlisted facility. The third fails and dies.

Psionic. Mind reading and moving objects with the mind. All passes, but this one died too. Suicide, unassisted. They actually noted that down, assholes.

A warlock. The male version of a witch. This one can nullify powers. All of his procedures passed whether he was conscious or not.

The Berserker. Given some sort of serum daily to study the effects. His tests passed, but his general attitude and the destruction he caused while there are noted in vivid detail. He also had been building up a resistance to the unknown concoction even when they doubled and then tripled the dose.

“Mages,” I ask out loud. “What do they specialize in?”

“Transportation,” Mal’s lip curls.

“Is that it?”