“She’s painted a picture of you. You were cooking something in this kitchen, smiling. She left the gold ring you wear on your little finger out of the portrait. I assume she didn’t think I’d notice the obvious lack of it.” Rifle in one hand, Jules began to stalk from his corner. He walked through the apartment as if the man on the couch was absolutely no threat to him. “She esteems you, Corday. Why else would she have promised her life to Shepherd in exchange for yours? And her infatuated mate has kept his word: his men watch over the Omegas, make it so they have access to supplies and clean water without ever interfering with them. You have been left in peace, your rebellion allowed to exist. Even Maryanne Cauley was not murdered for her part in Claire’s attack on the Undercroft.”

The Enforcer’s voice came out, ragged and worn. “Why are you telling me this?”

Lowering his chin to his chest, allowing a subtle sinister curl in his lip, Jules spun a perfect lie. “Claire has asked me to talk to you.”

Corday refused to rise to the bait.

Jules taunted, “You lack complete subtlety in your expressions. Five years of torment in the Undercroft would cure you of that weakness. I spent more than a decade underground. What do you think it did to me?”

Corday said nothing. He said nothing because there was nothing to say.

Jules was more than happy to fill the silence. “Many prisoners are quiet in the beginning. If they don’t talk, the nightmare isn’t real.” Jules cocked his head to the side, running his eyes over the Enforcer. “It doesn’t take long for them to learn that the nightmare is all that exists. Unfortunate enlightenment leads to despair. Despair leaches away everything else, until a clean slate is all that’s left. We were all like you once—silent prisoners. Soon you will be just like me. Leslie Kantor saw your potential and took advantage, she has done well in conditioning you to fit her needs.”

There was a thick oppression in the air, a weight that made Corday’s body feel immersed underwater. Grinding his teeth until the muscles in his jaw jumped, Corday barked, “What do you want?”

“I don’t like you. You are not a good soldier. You would be an even worse leader.” It was conversational, Jules’ admission. The man even had the audacity to cross his arms over his chest, his deadly rifle’s barrel resting against his shoulder. “The entire city will be caught up in the flames of revolution in a matter of hours, and all you can think about is your selfish need to free one woman instead of trying to protect your people.”

“I will tell you nothing.”