“Four days is enough to get started,” Kiva said. And enough for the rebels to arrive, even if there had been no sign of them yet. Sending him a reassuring wink, she added, “And I can continue investigating after the next Trial is over.” If she was still there.

His gap-toothed grin brightened her night, bringing a warm, sweet feeling to her chest.

“How will you do it?” Jaren asked, leaning his hip against the bench near her. “Investigate, I mean. Do you have a plan?”

Since he’d been there scant seconds ago when the idea had come to her, Kiva had to bite back a sarcastic retort. Instead, she thought about it and said, “The first prisoners to show symptoms were quarriers, so I’ll start there. I can circle around the outside of the prison, checking the farms, the lumberyard, all those outer places, before looking into what’s happening inside the walls.”

Realizing that she was forgetting something important, Kiva turned to Naari and, with slight hesitation, said, “Do you—uh, would you mind asking Warden Rooke for permission? I can’t leave through the gate without an escort.” Normally Kiva would have approached the Warden herself, but she hadn’t seen him since the night of her first Ordeal. She’d awoken the next morning clearheaded enough to be horrified by how assertive she’d acted while on the poppymilk, and thought it best to avoid another conversation with him so soon.

Unlike Kiva, the guard wasn’t hesitant at all, and gave a confirming dip of her head.

“Naari should go with you,” Jaren said.

Kiva turned back to him, barely repressing the urge to anxious-laugh. “I won’t get to choose who my escort is. That’s not how it works.”

Jaren looked at the guard. “You should go with her.”

Kiva’s heart stuttered. Amicable though she might be, there was no way Naari would allow Jaren to get away with talking to her as if they were on equal footing.

“I’ll speak with Rooke,” the guard said.

The breath whooshed out of Kiva. She was certain she looked like a stunned owl, blinking with shock at what had just transpired.

At the very least, Naari should have warned Jaren to remember his place. He was a prisoner, and he had just made a request of a guard that sounded close to being a command. Kiva had seen prisoners executed for less.

Eyeing them both, Kiva wondered if perhaps Jaren already knew all about the “favored” inmates. He was young, fit, attractive . . . and Naari was the same. Aside from a handful of occasions, Kiva rarely saw Jaren without Naari, as if she had taken it upon herself to oversee his movements within the prison, even during his free time. That level of attention . . . of dedication . . .

“What’s with the look?” Jaren asked, squinting at Kiva.