I ignore her insult. “Judge me all you want. But at least I’m not a hypocrite. At least I don’t use a code that suggests I’m fighting the Lions when what I’m really doing is getting in the way of those daring enough to try.”

Her eyes narrow and she jabs the point of the dagger under my chin.

But I don’t back down.

“When I found out I was Strategia, I hated it. The last thing I wanted was to be part of this power-hungry, murderous secret society. But then there was something else, something about Strategia that made me reconsider—that they do everything in their power to stop history from repeating itself and to avoid the types of tragedies they know can happen. And so here I am looking for my dad, when I realize something…I can’t go back. I can’t ever have the life I used to have before I knew I was a Strategia. But I do get to make a choice, a choice about what kind of Strategia I want to be. And even though I don’t know much, and even if I’m ‘base’ like you say, I know that Jag is a tragedy worth stopping. And despite what sentiments some Strategia preach, no one is actively opposing him. But I am.”

She pauses, her dagger still pressed into my skin, and her expression shifts. For the first time I get the sense that I’ve said something that caught her attention.

“What makes you think you can stop Jag?” she says. “When you can’t even save yourself from me?”

I grip the wood with all my might, trying not to move, lest she decide to slice me open. “Because everything and everyone I love in this world depends on it.”

She grunts, and for a long couple of seconds she looks like she’s trying to decide something. We stare at each other, each moment stretching out in unbearable silence.

Then suddenly she pulls back the dagger, sheathing it on her belt.

I don’t dare speak, for fear that anything additional might make her decide to chop me up for parts.

She pulls a slender vial from a pouch. “Drink this,” she says, with no explanation.

I stare at the vial, hesitant.

“I would drink it if I were you, unless you plan on crawling out of here,” she says in an impatient tone.

I take a deep breath, cross my fingers, and chug the shot of acidic-tasting liquid. It burns my throat all the way down and I gag and cough like my throat is on fire, wondering if she’s really poisoned me this time. But almost instantly I stop feeling so wobbly. My legs stiffen under me and the fog in my brain clears. I no longer feel the urge to blabber my every thought at her.