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My breathing stutters, and I reach out a shaking hand to the table to steady myself. I look back at Keenan, who refuses to meet my eyes. Traitor. Had he always known that Mazen didn’t mean to help? Had he watched and laughed as the foolish little girl went off on impossible missions?

Cook was right the whole time. I never should have trusted Mazen. I never should have trusted any of them. Darin knew better. He wanted to change things, but he’d figured out it couldn’t be with the rebels. He’d realized they weren’t worthy of his trust.

“My brother,” I say to Mazen. “He’s not in Bekkar, is he? Is he alive?”

Mazen sighs. “Where the Martials took your brother, no one can follow. Give it up, girl. You can’t save him.”

Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks, but I fight them back. “Just tell me where he is.” I try to keep my voice reasonable. “Is he in the city? In Central? You know. Tell me.”

“Keenan. Get rid of her,” Mazen commands. “Elsewhere,” he adds as an afterthought. “A body won’t go unnoticed in this neighborhood.”

I feel as Elias must have felt only a short time ago. Betrayed. Desolate.

Fear and panic threaten to strangle me; I knot them up and shove them away.

Keenan tries to take my arm, but I dodge him, pulling out Elias’s dagger.

Mazen’s men rush forward, but I’m closer than they are, and they aren’t fast enough. In an instant, I have the blade at the Resistance leader’s throat.

“Back!” I say to the fighters. They lower their weapons reluctantly. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I have no fear in this moment, only rage for everything Mazen has put me through.

“You tell me where my brother is, you lying son of a whore.” When Mazen says nothing, I dig the blade in deeper, drawing out a thin line of blood. “Tell me,” I say. “Or I’ll slit your throat here and now.”

“I’ll tell you,” he rasps. “For all the good it will do. He’s in Kauf, girl. They shipped him there the day after the Moon Festival.”

Kauf. Kauf. Kauf. I force myself to believe it. To face it. Kauf, where my parents and sister were tortured and executed. Kauf, where only the foulest criminals are sent. To suffer. To rot. To die.

It’s over, I realize. Nothing I’ve endured—the whippings, the scarring, the beatings—none of it matters. The Resistance will kill me. Darin will die in prison. There’s nothing I can do to change it.

My knife is still at Mazen’s throat. “You’ll pay for this,” I say to him. “I swear it to the skies, to the stars. You’ll pay.”

“I very much doubt it, Laia.” His eyes dart over my shoulder and I turn—too late. I catch a flash of red hair and brown eyes before pain bursts in my temple and I fall into darkness.

When I come to, my first feeling is that of relief that I’m not dead.

My next is of blunt, consuming rage as Keenan’s face swims into focus. Traitor! Deceiver! Liar!

“Thank the skies,” he says. “I thought I’d hit you too hard. No—wait—”

I fumble for my knife, every second I’m conscious making me more lucid and, thus, more murderous. “I’m not going to hurt you, Laia. Please—listen.”

My knife is gone, and I look around wildly. He’s going to kill me now.

We’re in some sort of large shed; sunlight seeps through the cracks between the warped wooded boards, and there’s a jungle of gardening implements leaning against the walls.

If I can escape him, I can hide out in the city. The Commandant thinks I’m dead, so if I can get the slaves’ cuffs off, I might be able to leave Serra.

But then what? Do I go back to Blackcliff for Izzi, lest she be taken by the Commandant and tortured? Do I try to help Elias? Do I try to make my way to Kauf and break Darin out? The prison’s more than a thousand miles away.

I have no idea how to get there. No skills to survive a country swarming with Martial patrols. If, by some miracle, I do make it there, how will I get in? How will I get out? Darin might be dead by then. He might be dead now.

He’s not dead. If he was dead, I’d know.

All this passes through my mind in an instant. I jump to my feet and lunge for a rake: Right now, what matters most is getting away from Keenan.

“Laia, no.” He grabs my arms and forces them to my sides. “I’m not going to kill you,” he says. “I swear it. Just listen.”

I stare into his dark eyes, hating myself for how weak and stupid I feel.

“You knew, Keenan. You knew Mazen never wanted to help me. And you told me my brother was in the death cells. You used me—”

“I didn’t know—”

“If you didn’t know, then why did you knock me out in that basement? Why did you just stand there while Mazen ordered you to kill me?”

“If I hadn’t gone along with it, he’d have murdered you himself.” It’s the anguish in Keenan’s eyes that makes me listen. For once, he’s holding nothing back. “Mazen locked up everyone he thinks is against him. ‘Confining them,’ he says, for their own good. Sana’s under full guard. I couldn’t let him do the same to me—not if I wanted to help you.”

“Did you know Darin had been sent to Kauf?”

“None of us knew. Mazen played the whole thing too close. He never let us hear the reports from his spies in the prison. He never gave us details of his plan to get Darin out. He ordered me to tell you your brother was in the death cells—maybe he was hoping to goad you into taking a risk that would get you killed.” Keenan lets me go. “I trusted him, Laia. He’s led the Resistance for a decade. His vision, his dedication—those are the only things that kept us together.”