She’ll be all right. So says Hope on the left arm of my mistake.

From the other arm, Miscalculation shrugs.

Gunshots have turned into a constant, droning beep. The spinning stops. I open my eyes.

The ceiling bulb glows behind a cage and gets farther and farther away, until it’s the size of a single star in a sky that keeps getting wider and blacker until it’s as big as the head of a pin that not a single angel dances upon.

I’m awake now.

Pain isn’t keeping me conscious, nor is the constant beeping.

It’s not knowing.

And Sarah?

And which of my men made it out?

Is Sarah all right?

When am I?

And where?

People in the room. Shuffling. Talking. Man and woman. The beeping, of course. The echo is hard and hollow. A room of solid walls. No sound from outside means no windows. Sealed door.

My eyelids resist opening all the way, showing only a horizontal blur of light crossed by lashes. Then the light is dimmed when something blocks the bulb.

“You were right, Clara.” A man’s voice. Close to my face. Older. Sixties. Stale stink of coffee on his breath. “The pain woke him.”

Sarah.

As loudly as my mind shouts, no sound comes out of me.

“Thank you, doctor.” The woman’s voice is one I recognize from another hard-walled room—a park toilet. Aunt Clara. “I’ve started the Pavulon. Should we cut the morphine drip?”

Her words aren’t keeping the scream alive.

It’s knowing.

I am trapped with the Colonia.

Nico is dead.

Sarah is in danger, and I cannot help her.

Sarah. Is she…?

“Yes. I don’t want to waste any more on him.” The light comes back when he stands away. “If I had my way, I’d just let him get sepsis.”

And why doesn’t he? Why bother healing a man they’re probably going to kill?

Sarah.

The inability to speak is a blessing. Until I know where I am and what they want, her name should not pass my lips. They’ll use my love as a weapon against her.

My vision clears. The light above me is the same bulb in the same cage. The beeping is some kind of monitor. It speeds up as I grapple for consciousness.

“I think he’s coming around, doctor.”

“Hm,” he says decisively. “I know he’s awake because he stopped bellyaching.”

“Should I fetch—?”

“You can go.” With a squeak of metal on concrete, his voice moves to my side. “Close the door behind you.”

I can’t move. Can’t turn my head or wiggle my toes.

Like a good Colonia woman, Aunt Clara doesn’t question him. She’s the kind of woman I thought I wanted. Her feet shuffle past the foot of my bed. The door closes. The doctor sits at the left of the bed. I can feel the angle and smell his breath… but I can’t turn my head to look at him.