Page 10 of Origin (Deridia #13)

They were not alone the whole of the day. She’d been right about the guards that passed by the window, their faces startling. Solid and unmoving, their eyes black as pitch. Hana didn’t see, because she kept working at the desk.

Then there was the meeting. Which meant making room in an office that suddenly felt a great deal smaller.

He hated the buzzing of the translator in his ear. Hated more how Hana had to stand when the guard was present. She kept her head bowed and her hands clasped together, and he wondered if he should take the same posture. She had said nothing, and she was usually so good about that, but he compromised with standing behind her, back against the wall.

Ready.

Just in case.

She needed to get her papers worked up. Seven prisoners would be relieved from their roles in the tunnels.

He didn’t say anything more. Just rattled off a list of numbers. Didn’t give time for her to ask for them to be repeated before he turned to leave the room. There must be something sharp at the base of the foot that pierced the carpet, because there was a strange clacking sound as he moved. Unsettling, to be sure. Practical for some purpose, but a reminder that their outer casing was strong and well suited for inflicting as much damage as possible to an opponent.

Hana delved into the desk for a pen. A sheet of paper already littered with doodles. He peered over her shoulder. No, that wasn’t right. Notes. Tidy and orderly, written as small as she could to make the paper last as long as possible. She hastily scribbled out the numbers she’d been given, the tension not leaving her until they were all written down.

Then she pulled out more sheets. Only four. Which she then folded neatly. Over and over.

So many times, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t experiencing some sort of fit and he came around the edge of the desk to get a better look at her.

But before he could ask if she was well, she carefully pulled along the fold. Tearing it in half. “What I wouldn’t give for a cutter,” she explained, shaking her head. “But that’s dangerous.” It was the first hint of bitterness he’d heard from her, and he was almost relieved to know she was capable of it. “They even make them for children!” she complained, working on another fold. It wasn’t completely clean. The paper was ragged, protesting the action. Not like the crisp, tidy lines of the cuts clearly made by a blade. Or perhaps a laser.

“You’re doing a fine job,” Ellion soothed. He did not add that he highly doubted anyone would truly mind if one came out torn and ragged. They would be thrilled to receive their next order if the conditions were as dismal as she described. What would they care if the edges were straight? If the ink smudged.

But she cared. That much was obvious.

And he wouldn’t diminish that for anything in the world.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Made another tear. “We’ll be going later,” she explained. “To the tunnels. I won’t ask how you are with dark, confined spaces. Unless you know already?” She glanced at him, and he thought of the pod. The burning. The panic.

“Love it,” he answered, trying to keep as serious as he could. “Can’t imagine anything better.”

Her lips curled, so he’d done his job. “Me too,” she played along. “Absolute best.”