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“But if the complete archive exists under one person's authority, capturing that person gives the empire everything.”

“Yes.”

“And I have sufficient experience with imperial interrogation to know I should not assume I will remain unbroken forever.”

The matter-of-fact statement chilled Kesta more than drama would have. She reached for his hand before deciding to. Her fingers closed around his. Dreven looked down. Then back at her.

“You don't have to be unbreakable,” she said quietly.

Something moved through his face. The words appeared to trouble him more than comfort him.

“I have spent a very long time believing otherwise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moved across the side of her hand. The contact was small enough that no one else in the room would think it important. Kesta did. Dreven glanced toward Iri, who was whispering something to Lina and pretending very badly not to watch them.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, “there are worse people to learn from.”

Kesta smiled.

“Careful. That sounded almost like praise.”

“It was an observation.”

“Of course.”

The warmth in his eyes deepened. Then Iri called across the room.

“Commander, Kesta wants the moon voice.”

Dreven closed his eyes. Kesta laughed. A real laugh, loud enough that several children joined in without knowing why. Dreven looked at her with long-suffering resignation.

“No.”

“Your choice,” she said.

His brows rose. The words hung between them for a moment, carrying more meaning than the children could possibly understand. Then Dreven's mouth curved.

“Exactly.”

That night, Kesta climbed back onto the ration-hall roof. Dreven came with her. The children made room without being asked. Iri pushed the viewing lens toward Kesta while Besh handed Dreven the clay tablet containing the names. He took it with both hands. Carefully. Kesta watched his face as he read. Returned. Dead. Unknown. He stopped at Iri's mother's name. The open circle remained unfinished. Dreven sat beside the child. He did not promise her mother would return.

He did not tell her the empire would pay or that he would keep everyone safe from now on.

Instead he asked, “What was her name?”

Iri looked up at him.

“Nessa.”

Dreven repeated it. Then he took the stylus and added the name to a fresh line in his own hand before returning the tablet. Not closure. Not rescue. A record. Kesta looked through the improvised scope toward the orbital platform moving silently above them. The empire had built machines to watch Kharon-Veil. The children had built a machine to watch back. That seemed like a good place to begin.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Dead Camp

Hallow Camp had not been attacked. That was the first thing Kesta understood when she passed through its open gate. The walls held neither impact scars nor blood. Cooking stones remained arranged around cold ash. A child’s woven animal lay beside a sleeping pallet, one leg repaired with bright yellow thread. Forty-three people had lived there three days earlier. Now even the insects were gone.