“Sooner it is.” Rousseau offered one of the smiles he gave in place of praise. “Thanks for carrying so much of the load today.” He reached a hand to R.J., the other toward Katja. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we have new info. Your place, next time?”

“Before you go . . . !” Daniel called from behind, striding up fast. “You need to hear this.”

I struggled up, set my feet on the floor.

“More bad news?” Katja asked him.

“The worst.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen a face so transformed by outrage. It tightened the skin around his eyes, sharpening his cheekbones. Like he’d taken in all the terror and anguish his Macy kid had poured out and transformed it into hard, bright purpose.

Spunk loomed out of the shadows and slid onto the other end of my bench. “Alerted da watch,” he told Rousseau.

“Good man.”

Daniel leaned back against the table, letting the others gather around. “My kid is good. Even while he was being beaten and abused, he kept his eyes open. He says the Adders are doing the expected to all the girls and the prettier boys, even the youngest ones, but keeping the strongest kids for slave labor. The weak, the small, or the ones they’re done with, they’re selling off to the Storm Worshippers!”

“Selling?”

“Seems they’ve some kind of . . . agreement.”

“But these are children!” Rousseau blurted. “Children!”

“And mostly clueless,” added Daniel. “Not a lot of organization. Perfect targets.”

“Dey’ll be da lucky ones,” muttered Spunk.

Will nodded. “The Stormies’ll take them in to swell their numbers. BlackAdder probably bought into the rumors of human sacrifice.”

Rousseau looked up. “Definitely not true?”

“Threats and talk, but our embed’s never actually seen it. You don’t gain world dominion by burning up your congregation, after all. This new leader is counting souls.”

This is what comes of the dens not talking more, I thought. We’ve each been living in our own ill-informed bubble.

“They’re not all clueless,” Daniel went on. “The smart ones ran for it when the attack started. Some, Hawk picked up. Others hid, may still be hiding, in that big building, trapped in their own den. The few old enough to fight back were killed. And now . . .” He paused, as if this was the part that put him close to the edge. “The Adders are partying.”

Spunk growled deep in his throat.

“A few more slipped away once they got too drunk on rape and Macys’ raw brew to notice. My kid? Says he’s seven years old. Stole his jailor’s hunting knife and slit his throat, then cut a bunch of his denmates free and took off.”

For a long moment, we all stared at the floor. Better than staring at each other and seeing the horror all over again in each other’s eyes.