“It would be impossible for me to breach a royal ward, seeing as I’m not royal.” I lift my chin and mentally prepare for the worst.

“She’s telling the truth,” Nora says, tilting her head to the side. “My signet detects lies. Tell one, and I’ll know.”

My heart jolts.

Truth it is, then. After this is over, I’ll have to explain my answers—or lack thereof—to my mother. Every single word matters.

“Violet, please,” Nolon pleads, setting the journal on the table. “Just explain. Was it an unsanctioned squad challenge? Some kind of dare between second-years? They’re still trying to ascertain exactly what’s missing. Help us. Tell us, and this will go much easier for you.”

Trying to ascertain. They can’t get in.

“You’re jumping to the why part.” Varrish rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Nolon, this is why you’ve never been suited to interrogation.” His pale gaze locks on mine. “How?”

“How can you assume that book isn’t a reproduction if you haven’t verified the original is even missing?” I ask Nolon.

Nolon glances sideways at Varrish. “Markham said the coverlet wasn’t disturbed.”

“And yet we have the fucking journal.” Varrish walks a slow circle around me. “Is it a reproduction?”

He’s trying to catch me in a lie.

“I wouldn’t know, seeing as I haven’t examined it.” There hadn’t been time.

“Truth,” Nora rules.

Varrish stops in front of me, and I look straight into those pale, soulless eyes. “I’m guessing you have no proof, Major Varrish, because none of you can cross a royal ward, and no one is volunteering to tell the king that there’s been an alarm, false or otherwise. Please, let me remind you, the last time someone accused me of lying without proof, they found themselves assigned to the farthest outpost Luceras has to offer.”

“Ah, you mean Aetos.” He doesn’t even flinch. “No worries. I’ll ferret out the evidence he needs while I have you here under my supervision, since you’re proving to be combatant instead of helpful, as Nolon had hoped. Grady is such a stickler for rules, so our last encounter wasn’t nearly as fruitful as I would have liked.” He crouches, looking at me like I’m a shiny new toy he can’t wait to break. “Who stole that book for you?” He looks pointedly at my hands. “Because we both know you didn’t.”

Selective truth. That’s all I have within my arsenal to protect my friends.

“I alone put that particular book into its bag.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Nora remarks.

I glance from Varrish to Nolon. “And I’m done answering your questions. If you want to put me on trial, then call a quorum of wingleaders and do so according to the rules put forth in the Codex.”

Varrish stands slowly, then backhands me. Pain erupts in my cheek as my head snaps to the side under the force of the blow.

“Major!” Nolon shouts.

“Nora, order an immediate formation and check the hands of every cadet in the quadrant,” Varrish says as I blink through the sting. “Nolon, you’re dismissed.”

I breathe deeply, preparing for the coming pain as Varrish rolls up the sleeves of his uniform. I try to focus on a misshapen brick in the wall, try like hell to dissociate from my body.

No matter what happens in this room, they can’t change the fact that Xaden got out with Warrick’s journal. Brennan will have what he needs to raise Aretia’s wards. Whatever agony Varrish has planned will be worth it.

Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable. I cling to Xaden’s words.

“I’ll call you when you’re needed,” Varrish promises, waving Nolon off.

When he’s needed to mend me.

“Don’t worry. I’ll start small,” Varrish tells me. “And you have all the power here, Cadet Sorrengail. This stops as soon as you talk.”

I cry out when he dislocates the first finger.

Then scream when he breaks it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I pretend the sound is rain against my window, pretend the hard, unforgiving wood under my cheek is Xaden’s chest, that the arm bent at an unnatural angle in front of me, throbbing in time with my pulse, belongs to someone else.

“Sleep if you can.” The suggestion is soft, the voice so achingly familiar that I squeeze my undamaged eye shut.

You’re not really here. You’re a hallucination from pain and dehydration. A mirage.

“Maybe,” Liam says, and I open my eye just enough to see him sit on the floor beside me. He pulls his knees up, resting his elbow on the side of the bunk just beneath my fractured arm. “Or maybe Malek sent me as a kindness.”

Malek doesn’t do kindness. Nor does he allow souls to wander about. Kudos to my brain; he’s an excellent hallucination. He looks exactly as he had the last time I saw him, dressed in flight leathers and wearing a smile that makes my heart ache.

“I’m not wandering, Violet. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Everything hurts. Unending pain threatens to pull me into the blackness again, but unlike the last two times, I fight to stay conscious. It’s the first moment I’ve been alone in hours, and I no longer fear the chair in the middle of the room.

Now I know more bones break when Varrish takes me out of it.

“I know,” Liam says gently. “But you’re staying strong. I’m so proud of you.”

Of course that’s what my subconscious would say—exactly what I need to hear.

I run my tongue over the split in my lip and taste blood. Varrish hasn’t taken a blade to me, but my skin has split from his blows in so many places that I feel like one giant, open wound. The last time I moved, my uniform crunched from dried blood.

“Bring in her squad,” Nora suggests from the antechamber. “She’ll break as soon as you start on them.”

Liam’s jaw flexes, and fear knots my empty stomach.

“She didn’t during assessment,” Varrish responds. Gods, I wish I didn’t know his voice. “And bringing them in means they’ll know what’s happened, and given the relic winding around Imogen Cardulo’s arm, I doubt she’ll be willing to wipe their memories. Killing them presents an entirely different set of issues, too. You’re sure none of the cadets have hand injuries?”

“I inspected them all myself,” Nora replies. “Devera and Emetterio are asking where she is, as is the rest of her squad. She’s missed class today.”

It’s Monday.