“It was a backward and bloody time, and it lasted far longer than it should’ve. And it’s the duty of the Planning Cadre to ensure that those days and that way of thinking and living never return. That is why Crache has no rulers, at least not in name. That is why, as far as the people know, all decisions are made by faceless councils and committees. No one has ever gathered torches and pitchforks and set themselves upon a committee.”

“But I thought… you said you solve everyday problems.”

“We do. Some are more… pressing than others, that’s all.”

Dyeawan feels a deep sense of dread encroaching upon her guts, worming its way up through her body.

“People… people now… they’re not supposed to know these things, are they? Any of this that you’re showing me and telling me?”

“Oh no. The knowledge in this room would unravel the very fabric of Crache. That’s why our friend from the Protectorate Ministry was so up in arms before. They believe this should all be burned to ash.”

“Why am I allowed to know it, then, Edger?”

“Because you belong here. And because the only people you’d tell are our people.”

That’s the truth, Dyeawan knows, but it’s not the whole truth.

She decides to simply say the rest for him: “I’m never allowed to leave here, am I, Edger?”

“My dear, where would you go if you could?” he asks, which is just another way of saying ‘yes’ to her.

Dyeawan is surprised to find in that moment her reaction is mixed. The dread is still there, heavy in the pit of her stomach. There was panic, too, but that’s fading. In its place she recognizes an eerie calmness, an acceptance. She knows she should be angry, even furious, at the suggestion of such captivity.

The emotions simply aren’t there.

It’s because he’s right and she knows it. Dyeawan has long understood a fundamental and gnawing fact of her existence: She shouldn’t be alive. Cast out alone and small and frail, and then losing the use of her legs, she never should’ve survived in the streets of the Capitol. She should’ve been scooped up by Aegins or murdered by other dregs like her.

She was smart enough. That’s all. When those times came, the ones that would’ve and should’ve ended her, she always thought of a way out. And every time, she knew the chances of her succeeding the next time grew slimmer and slimmer.

Her life is an accident with a date of expiration, and it wouldn’t be long before she woke up to find that day had come, at least out in the streets.

“Thank you for telling me the truth” is all she says to him in the end.