“It’s the past,” he says, darting a glance around. “Let it be in the past, please.”

I nod to appease him, but I can’t. I can’t just let it go. My people looked to me for answers of what to do, a plan that would work.

They trusted me to lead them.

And I sent them to their deaths.

I try to fight the tears that come as we fly up a flight of stairs cut into the wall. The wails grow louder. I sniff, trying to shove off the weight, the guilt, the shame, but it’s a stain I could never erase. How many of them survived? Kai, her girls… but who else? I want to ask her. But how do I even word that without it sounding insensitive? Why would she even tell me? I put some space between us, guilt worming its way deeper into me. I just need to see for myself.

We hurry down the hall, past cells, toward the exit. I look for a familiar face. Bri? More Ghizoni? But the cells are all empty. My insides twist. Bri… where are you?

Magic tingles my fingers, waiting and ready, as we slip past a window. The room is empty, but I freeze, my father’s dying stare flickering in my mind like a candle that won’t blow out. The hope and promise he saw in me grating against the sallow, thin, weak person who stares back in the glass. This is not what he died for. For me to fail our people like this.

“Jelani, let’s move,” Jhamal says.

I tear myself from the quicksand of my guilt as we spill out into a dimly lit corridor where a Patrolman is standing sentry. His gray skin is a sickly yellow in the hall light. I recognize him; he’s one of the ones who escorts the server who brings us our midday meal. He glances at a door at his back when another wave of wails ripple through the air. I blink and see smoke. Away. I blink again, and thank god the image is gone. Focus, Rue.

“There should be more guards,” I say under my breath. Jhamal nods in agreement.

With endless time on my hands, noting the rotation of the guards in our cell corridor became a hobby. They operate with a particular decorum, even just standing duty. They stick together in groups of five, always. One in front, two in back, and one on each flank. The onyx stones fused to their wrists glow, as if they’re hungry to strike anyone who might buck up against them. And one of the rear guards usually carries a blade.

But this guy’s all alone.