No one moved. Jess raised his gaze from the book to meet each of theirs in turn.

“There’s another name in here. Thomas Schreiber’s.”

Glain took in a breath, then slowly let it out, and bowed her head. “Does it say how he died?” she asked. “What they did to him?”

“It has a record of Thomas’s arrest,” Jess said. “And they did . . . they did hurt him.” He didn’t want to think about that. He’d read the entries, forced himself to do it, and he’d hurt for days after, like his mind and body had been cut and torn by it. “But Thomas wasn’t executed.”

None of them seemed to quite grasp what he’d said at first. Not even Wolfe, who was usually so quick off the mark. The silence stretched, and Glain finally said, in a hushed and muffled voice, “Then how did Thomas die?”

“He hasn’t died at all,” Jess said. “He’s still alive. Our friend is still alive. And that means . . . That means we still have a chance to save him.”

He should have predicted that Glain would be angry, but, for some reason, he underestimated the speed of it, and when her fist hit him square on the left side of his jaw, he didn’t have time to duck. It was a solid punch, with considerable muscle behind it, and when the red haze faded, he was lying on the floor on his back, and Santi was holding Glain from behind by the elbows. From the absolute fury on her face, she was ready to haul Jess off the floor and give it another go.

“Thomas is dead!” Glain shouted, and it sounded raw and full of anguish. Tears glittered hard in her eyes. “They took him from our house, they tortured him, and they killed him! They told you to your face!” She launched into a blistering stream of Welsh that he was sure called everything from his manhood to his parentage into question, and didn’t stop until Santi whipped her around and shook her.

“Calm down, Squad Leader! That’s an order!” Maybe it was his stern presence or her awareness that she couldn’t hit a superior officer, but Glain stopped cursing and went still. She breathed fast and hard, but after a moment of silence, she nodded sharply. Santi let her go. Glain sank back down on the bench and balled her hands into hard fists that Jess watched warily as he got up.

Santi turned on him, and there was violence in him, too. Just better controlled. “Jess. How do you know this book isn’t a fake?”

“Because absolutely no one wanted me to have it,” he said. “I stumbled over the existence of it only because I was working my way through”—he caught himself in time; regardless of how much he trusted these three, his family’s business matters weren’t to be shared—“through an errand for my father. I overheard a reference to this book, and when I tried to follow up, I was blocked at every turn. It took me months just to verify the news of the guard’s suicide, and even longer to make contact with his family to finally pay for the book. They’ve got no love for the Archivist, believe me.”