“Agent Endico—” A guard’s words were cut off by the crunch of bone and the sound of a gun hitting the floor. Only a faint stream of light illuminated the room, and she struggled to see in the dark. Bodies whirled around her, and the room filled with the sound of fists slamming against flesh. Someone unleashed a hail of bullets, but a cracking sound cut the assault short. The sound of a bone snapping, maybe. After a few moments, silence descended.

“Rosalind?” Caine said. “I’ve disabled them.” He handed her a bundle of fabric. “Put these on.”

Her breathing came sharp and fast as she pulled off her boots to change her clothes. It was a small mercy she could get out of her piss-soaked pants. “Did you kill them?” she whispered.

“Of course.”

She slipped out of her clothes. She was now an accessory to the murder of four humans—people who had once been her colleagues. “You couldn’t have just knocked them unconscious?”

“They signed their death warrants when they volunteered to work in torture chambers,” he said.

She’d worked in one of these rooms by Josiah’s side, an instrument of misery.

The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Agent Endicott, we sent reinforcements. Please let us know your status.”

She buttoned the new uniform as Caine began speaking into the walkie-talkie. “This is Agent Endicott.” It was an exact replication of Josiah’s voice. “The reinforcements have arrived, but you didn’t need to send them. I have everything under control. The interrogation continues. Lux in tenebris lucet.” He dropped the walkie-talkie.

“Please report to the head offices, Agent Endicott.”

“Are you ready, Rosalind?” Caine asked.

She pulled on the guard’s hat before crouching down, groping around for a discarded gun. “I’m ready. Just keep your eyes down.” A fragment of wood still propped the door open, and she pushed it.

The alarm continued to blare, and red lights flashed from the ceiling, pulsing over iron walls that stretched far into the distance. This corridor covered nearly half a mile beneath Cambridge’s streets—a dizzyingly long line of cells, each filled with a monster—or, so she’d once thought. Now, she knew ordinary people like Tammi were locked in here, too.

“You’re walking like you’re injured,” whispered Caine.

“I am injured, no thanks to you.”

She had to mask her pain, or the guards would see it in her limping walk and rasping breath. Josiah had promised to break her body, and he wasn’t far off. She felt as if she was breathing through a tiny straw, and pain ripped through her limbs.

She was out of the cell, but not ready to celebrate just yet. She was fairly certain several of her ribs were broken. She had a bruised tailbone, a wrist fracture, and she remained stuck in the bowels of an institution that wanted to torture her to death.

She swallowed hard, trying to block out the pain as they drew closer to the corridor’s end. What hellish torments had the Brotherhood unleashed behind those doors in the name of humanity?