“Or that could all be the signs of a very well-baited trap,” Santi said. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. No help from him, Jess saw. He concentrated on Wolfe.

“Sir, it’s authentic. I’ve investigated.” He swallowed and held Wolfe’s stare, somehow. “I have sources you can check.”

“And I will.” Wolfe’s voice was as soft and dry as the desert sands. “I’ll expect a full accounting of them before I believe a word of this.” But he glanced at Captain Santi, and there was something in it that made Jess play a guess.

“You already knew this, didn’t you?” That got both Wolfe and Santi’s attention, and though Wolfe was hard to read, Santi, in that moment, wasn’t. “God. You did know Thomas was alive.”

“No,” Santi said. “We didn’t. Not for certain.”

Wolfe removed all doubts when he said, “I believed that he was. And no, before you scream at me, I had no real proof, not like this book of yours. The pattern follows what they did to me: arrest, torture, prison, erasing me as if I never existed. The Archivist doesn’t like to waste talent. Thomas Schreiber is gifted, and he knows that. He’ll want to . . . use him, if he can. The greater good of the Library and all that.”

There was a bleak sound to that, and Jess felt chilled as he remembered the entries in the journal, the shock he’d felt on seeing the name Scholar Christopher Wolfe written there, early on in the book. The guard had seen Wolfe arrested and taken for questioning, but had never seen him executed.

Wolfe had simply disappeared from the records.

Just like Thomas had disappeared, taken from the safety of their student housing. Gone in a whisper.

Dead, they’d been told.

“Is Thomas being kept here in Alexandria?” Glain’s voice had gone hard and cold. She leaned forward to put her weight on elbows braced on knees. “Where did they hold you, Scholar? What happened to you when they—”

“Stop,” Santi said. It was just one word, but the force behind it—not a shout, just pure menace—made her look at him in surprise. “He doesn’t need to relive any of this.”

“He does if it’s the same place Thomas might be held.” Jess stood up, and Wolfe’s gaze followed him. It seemed black and remote, but there was something behind it Jess couldn’t understand. “Where are they keeping him? Here?”

“No. They wouldn’t keep him in Alexandria, knowing he has friends such as us.” Wolfe leaned forward, and his shackles dragged across the wood. “Let me see it.”

“No,” Santi said.

Wolfe’s voice stayed warm. Almost kind. “I know you are trying to protect me, but, Nic, I see all this every night in dreams. You can’t protect me from memories.”

Santi finally gave up. The anger and frustration radiated off him like waves of heat. He wanted to act, and Jess understood that; he’d felt the same for the past months, knowing about this tantalizing book, hearing of its list of prisoners and executions. He’d intended only to punish himself by finding out exactly how Thomas had died, but instead . . . instead he’d found hope. And hope hurt.