“It’s what needs doing, right?” I say, with a weak, humorless smile. “Have to tie off the loose ends before we really go fishing.”

“Yes.” Still, he hesitates. “If you don’t want to do this, nobody is making you.”

“You’ve changed your tune. What, do you now think I won’t be able to do it?” Does he think I’m weak? I don’t want him to think me weak.

“No, not at all. I haven’t changed my mind in the least. But … sometimes, I wish someone had asked me that, the night before I went undercover. Asked me if this was really what I wanted to do, and given me the option to back out, without shame.” His head tilts downward. I can’t see his eyes.

“Would you have turned it down?”

“I’m not sure.”

His words frighten me. “It couldn’t be without shame. Not for me,” I say, almost gently. “I couldn’t leave my sister. I might be terrified of what’s going to happen. I might be so angry at her for hiding things from me that if she were here right now, I don’t know if I’d hug her or scream at her. But I could never just leave her to freeze. That’s not an option.”

He meets my eyes. “Good.”

Detective Nazarin plugs me into the machine. My eyes grow heavy.

I sleep.

*   *   *

Tila’s sitting at a table almost identical to the one where I saw all the Ratel people interviewed the last time I was plugged in. It’s only been a few days, but I’m shocked at the change in my sister. She seems haggard, and thinner. They’ve dressed her in a plain, dark blue uniform similar to nursing scrubs. Her short hair is frizzy instead of spiky—prison shampoo, I suppose.

The biggest difference is in her eyes. I’ve seen it before—she gets the same look when she realizes she has to either start a painting over again or ditch it entirely. The look that screams, I failed. It wouldn’t matter what I said to her. She couldn’t shake that the failure was due to something deep within her. A flaw.

Yet her strength is still there. The bright glint in her eye when she knows she has something the other person wants. I’ve been on the receiving end of those bright, tormenting eyes before. It could drive me crazy.

Across from her sits Officer Oloyu, the man with the Golden Bear tattoo. I’m half surprised it’s not Nazarin for a second; but then, he wouldn’t have had time to go see her, wherever she is, interview her, and be back to train me. Oloyu leans forward, but I can tell he’s nervous. “Tell me about the Zenith club, please, Miss Collins.”