I frown. As much as I want to believe we can trust our own people, this could be a trap. My mind flashes to Uwe’s death, the dirty-faced child in the sewer. After a moment, I gesture over my shoulder.

“Daniil, with me,” I say. “Everyone else stays here.”

Daniil is at my side in an instant, his weapon drawn. Out of the lot of them, I know he’ll be the least eager to fire his blaster, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it if necessary. And, if it comes down to it, he’s also talented at forcibly extracting information. The man hesitates for another moment, but eventually nods and leads us into the room, shutting the door behind us.

The bedroom is dark enough that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. It’s a tiny room, with one bed and a small dresser. The man steps around the bed while Daniil and I exchange a glance. What could he have to hide in this room?

“It’s okay,” Hort says in a soft voice, gesturing. “Come and meet our guests.”

On the other side of the bed, two small, pale figures rise. One is a boy—nearly a young man—with narrow shoulders and a mop of scraggly hair. The second is a girl, younger than him by at least a few years, with fair curls and a round face. Both look at us with wide eyes, the resemblance to their father clear.

“I’m sorry,” Hort says, standing beside them with a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “When we heard a knock at the door so late, I didn’t know what to expect. And then…” He hesitates. “As I said, I’m happy to provide. But I know soldiers can be… rowdy.”

I sigh, holstering my blaster, and gesture for Daniil to do the same.

“You could have gotten them shot,” I snap at the man, who bows his head. “Never do something so stupid again.”

Despite my harsh words, I can’t blame him for hiding his children. I know exactly the sort of rowdiness the man speaks of. In fact, I’ve probably heard more accurate—and much worse—tales of soldiers’ deeds than he ever has. Some people have no better ways to let off steam. And as much as I want to tell him that my team isn’t like that, the words stick in my throat. I glance at Daniil, who shrugs at me, and Hort, who is staring down at the floor with his hand still protectively gripping his young daughter. My mind flashes again to that child in the sewers.

“Daniil, check them for weapons,” I order. Hort’s mouth opens, but shuts again, and he steps away as Daniil moves to pat them down. Once he’s done, he nods at me.

“All right. They can stay here as long as they remain quiet. Now get us something to eat.”