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“Thank you, Disciple Thomas. I appreciate the help.”
I don’t.
Eyes gawk at me as we continue down the hall and we step through another set of doors onto a dirty, chipped cement floor. The temperature drops, and I shiver.
I’m led into a side room, cameras looking down on us from every corner, and Alexander seats me in a cold metal chair. “My family…” I whisper.
“They’re fine. They won’t be harmed,” he promises. He pulls over a cart holding a computer and boots it up. Opening a few drawers, he takes out a package and sets it in my lap.
I stare at one camera pointing down at us while Alexander types, feeling the unease prick at the back of my neck.
“It doesn’t work in this room,” he whispers.
My gaze jolts back to him while my jaw hangs slack.
“But that doesn’t mean,” Alexander says, pointing to the door, “that someone can’t hear you.”
I nod, understanding his warning. There are a million questions I want to ask, but I don’t have time to think by the time he starts an interview, typing in all the information as we go.
My name is the only answer I stutter over.
Alexander is hesitant about what to input, and I think I know why. These small things could sway the AOE to save me or send me out into the storms, and I believe he cares about that, about me. He may regret saving me, but that was a lot of effort just to feed me to the wolves. There’s a reason he came back for me, even if it’s as small as a split decision he regrets, or a familiar face that reminds him he’s human.
We decide on A. Rowan Lawson Rivera. It covers every base I can think of except my true surname. That feels like another life, anyway.
“What direct ties do you have to the Assembly?” he asks.
I curl my fingers over the ropes at my back, scratching my nails across the twine, lowering my eyes. “They wouldn’t be here,” I reply without emotion.
“What are their names?”
I stop breathing and think about that field, about my sister, refusing to say the words, but I snap myself out of it. I’ll throw myself back to that place if I’m not careful.
“Rowan,” he sighs. “You shouldn’t trust me. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”
“You’re selling this well,” I say.
He runs his hand through his thick hair and rubs his neck. “I just wanted to get that out of the way. Don’t think I’m your ally.”
Alexander is strength and muscle, topped with a military uniform and an AOE title that tells me I should run. I should find a way to break these ties and kill him and find my family, but every fiber of my being tells me the opposite. Despite what I see with my eyes, I know he’s our way out. I sense it.
I study him, curious about his story and unsure what to make of him. What events brought him to this place, to this room with broken cameras, trying to create a profile that won’t get me killed?
Everyone has a past.
“Could they trace you as a follower? A deserter?” he asks.
“My brother-in-law.” I swallow hard, fighting the pull of my mind that tries to yank me back to the field. It takes all my will to stay in this place and time. I’m too weak to fight the visions that threaten to take over or stop myself from slipping back into my past. “He was an adherent. He took the swim with my sister.”
Alexander’s brows crease. “He took the swim as an adherent? Did he disobey? Was it a punishment?”
I don’t understand his question and wiggle in my chair, arms aching from the awkward position. “I thought almost everyone took that order,” I bite out. “Obviously, I was wrong by the looks of this place.”
Alexander taps his fingers on the keyboard, not stroking any keys, and stares at the screen. He asks for his name, which I give with a sneer, hating the words that fall from my lips.
“Fuck it,” he says, and types. Images on the screen resemble mug shots more than photographs. My sister with a bandage on her arm and my brother-in-law, smiling and sweaty. When he scrolls and I see the picture of BeLew, my heart misfires, thudding manically in my chest. He notices my breath catch and stops, reading the paragraphs next to their blonde heads, the print too small for me to make out. I lean forward, not hiding that I’m trying to see what’s written about my family.
“They weren’t ordered to take the swim,” Alexander says. His words don’t make sense, and I shake my head at him, disagreeing with choking sounds rather than a response.
