Shon looked over the man’s shoulder to see the two guards behind him, walking slowly toward him with a bound, solemn soldier between them. He was dressed in worn, filthy clothes—practically rags—but his bearing was proud, and his link carried no hint of fear. He stopped in front of Shon and bowed his head, unable to salute with his arms cuffed behind him.

“My name is Samm,” said the prisoner. “I need to talk to you.” The man’s resolution was so strong across the link Shon felt himself waking up.

Shon looked at the messenger. “You’ve frisked him?”

“No weapons,” said the soldier. “All he had were the clothes on his back, and this.” He held up a bottle of bourbon.

Shon looked at Samm. “Is that why you’re here? You’re drunk?”

“It’s still sealed,” said Samm. “Call it a peace offering.”

“Are you joking?”

“It’s a sign of goodwill.”

“You’re not really going to talk to him,” said the messenger.

“No, I’m not,” said Shon, staring at the prisoner. “After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I have anything to say to a traitor that a bullet couldn’t say a whole hell of a lot more efficiently. But.” He took a slow breath, sizing him up. Samm’s link data carried the basics of his entire dossier—his rank, his unit, his history, his place in Partial society. He was an infantryman, like Shon; just like Shon, he’d fought in Zuoquan City in the final days of the Isolation War. He’d helped to take Atlanta, and he’d served under Dr. Morgan. This was a man who’d been through hell, who’d done his duty; this was a man who knew exactly what it meant to abandon your army, fight for the other side, and then turn yourself in. Shon shook his head. “No, but I have to admit I’m curious as to what could be important enough to make him throw away his life like this. So even if I don’t talk, I do admit that I am willing to listen.”

The messenger linked his surprise and couldn’t help but link a tiny bit of disapproval, but Shon ignored him and stepped aside, inviting the prisoner into his office. The guards tried to follow, but Shon held up his hand. “Stay out here and put guards outside. They have at least one assassin in their group as well, and I don’t want her climbing through that window halfway through this conversation with a dagger in her teeth.” He plucked the bourbon from the messenger’s hand and closed the door.

Samm stood in the center of the room, shivering slightly in his wet, snowy clothes. Shon held up the bottle. “You realize this is a fairly hollow gesture.”

“I was only trying to be polite.”