He gives me an odd look. “Don’t worry about it. All is forgiven.”

A sharp stab of disappointment goes through me. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say? That I hate you?” He gives a dark laugh. “It was a long time ago, Saskia. People make mistakes.”

A stone drops into my stomach. I was stupid to think that the same apology that brought us together in my other reality would work in this one. But at least now I know for sure—my other path doesn’t matter. Bram and I are different people here.

I massage my temples. “Forget I said anything.”

He pulls on the back of his neck, and lets out a long sigh. “I’m helping you because we’re on the same team. And because your mother helped me when I needed it most. I feel terrible about what happened to her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His eyes slide away from me, and his expression shutters. “Anything else you need?” He’s not wearing his cloak and the fabric of his sleeve strains over the muscles in his upper arm, which are flexed to support the basin.

Heat prickles my cheeks, and I quickly look away.

“No,” I say, my voice catching. “I think I have everything I need.”

The prison is adjacent to Ivory Hall, in a nondescript structure that lacks all the majesty of the main building. Both are made of bone, but the prison is fashioned from rough-hewn bricks, unlike the smooth, gleaming surface of Ivory Hall, which must have taken hundreds of Masons and many years to craft.

A female Breaker meets us at the entrance. Her black cloak has thick white stripes on the sleeves that designate her as a member of the Ivory Guard.

She frowns. “It takes six of you to question a prisoner?”

“We’re supposed to be working as a team,” Talon says.

Her expression sours even further. “You won’t have long. Use your time wisely.”

We all nod our assent, and she leads us through a small side door into a decidedly mundane room. A cluster of prison guards stands in one corner, engaged in a quiet discussion. Other members of the support staff rush around shelving boxes of bones, poring over thick stacks of parchment, assembling trays of food. Only a few of them glance up long enough to notice as we file past.

“Watch your heads,” the Breaker says as she directs us to a narrow stone stairwell.

As we descend, the air chills. Turns dank and musty. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, but slowly the space comes into focus. A passageway stretches out in front of us with a row of cells on either side. A pair of Breakers stands at each end, and another paces up and down the corridor.

“Your man is the last one on the left,” the Breaker tells us. “Make it quick.”