I push ahead of the others and hurry toward the cell at the end of the passage. A man sits in the corner, shackled to the wall. His clothes are filthy, his beard unkempt, as if he’s been incarcerated for many weeks. His feet are bare, and his head is bent at an odd angle. My stomach drops to my feet. Is he hurt? But then he lets out a deep, shuttering breath and I realize he’s sleeping.

“Excuse me,” I call out. “Sir? Can you wake up?”

The prisoner stirs. Flinches. Groans as he rolls his neck in a slow circle.

“Excuse me?”

Finally he looks our direction and surprise flits across his expression. “Who are you?” he asks, and then, without waiting for a reply: “What’s going on?”

“We were hoping to ask you a few questions,” Tessa says. “We’re in charge of deciding your case.”

His jaw drops. “They’re leaving my fate to a bunch of children?”

“I’m afraid so,” Talon says.

The prisoner throws his head back and laughs. It’s not an amused sound, or even a surprised one. It’s unhinged. Like a man who knows he’s going to lose everything he cares about.

“We’d like to help you,” I say gently. At the edge of my vision, I see Jacey’s warning glance. We’re not supposed to help him; we’re supposed to judge him. But I don’t correct myself. “Would you like to tell us about what happened that landed you here?”

“No,” he says, his voice gruff and weary, “I don’t believe I would.”

The six of us exchange worried glances. What are we supposed to do if he refuses to cooperate?

“I need to get a little of your blood for a bone reading,” I tell him.

He fixes me with a hard stare. He lifts his shackled ankle a few inches off the floor and gives his foot a little shake. “I’d love to oblige, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’ll come to you.” I turn and nod at Tessa, who hurries to the end of the corridor and returns with a guard.

The Breaker unlocks the door and lets me into the cell. I crouch next to the prisoner, and pull out a needle and a small vial.

“May I?” I ask, nodding toward his hand.

“Do I have a choice?” The question is sarcastic, and I can tell he doesn’t actually expect me to answer, but I stop what I’m doing and sit back on my heels.

“Of course you have a choice,” I say. “But it will make it hard to decide your case if I can’t see what happened.”

A flicker of hope lights up his expression. “So you’re a First Sight Charmer?”