The security camera feed ran for a handful of seconds without any movement.

Kiem focused on it like the mountainside under his falling flybug.

The screen moved, and two distant shapes came into view. Kiem’s stomach lurched as he recognized Jainan’s slim, straight figure again. Beside him was a man the same height in a gold-braided uniform with close-shaven hair—Taam.

Even though there was no sound, it was clear something was wrong the minute they came in the picture. Taam was saying something with his face distorted into a scowl, and the expression Jainan wore was completely closed-off. Kiem checked the time stamp in the corner—late at night. Both of them were in formal dress; they must have been coming back from an event. Jainan said nothing as Taam pressed in close to him, clearly angry from his jerky strides down the corridor. Taam seemed to grow more and more irritated as they drew closer to the camera, and finally something he said seemed to resonate with Jainan, who turned his head and replied with something short and clipped.

In the next second, Taam had grabbed Jainan’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him against a wall. Jainan said something else. Taam backhanded him across the face.

Kiem’s fingers clenched on the insubstantial sides of the projection. He froze it with a violent, instinctive jab, but then couldn’t move his hand again. It felt like he had ripped a scab half off.

In the frozen vid, Jainan’s expression was one of pure shock. He wasn’t even looking at Taam but past him, to the corridor where they’d come from. He was checking if anyone had seen.

The prickling down Kiem’s spine wasn’t going to stop if he didn’t get this over with. He unfroze it.

Taam said something only inches away from Jainan’s face. Jainan was fully focused on him now: he held his head stiffly and said something in the gap between whatever Taam was saying—from the shapes of his lips, and because he was expecting it, Kiem could make out public and not here. Jainan jerked his chin to the door opposite.

Taam stopped. His lips drew back from his teeth, but Jainan had carried the point. He adjusted his grip on Jainan’s arm—Kiem let out an involuntary hiss—

and shoved him toward the door. Jainan put up little resistance, only shook his arm as Taam let go as if dislodging something unpleasant. The door opened and he stepped through it. Before Taam followed, he looked around, and his eyes fixed on the security camera. Kiem had the urge to draw back, as if he’d been seen. But he carried on watching as he saw Taam call over Jainan’s shoulder to

someone already in the room. That—delete—Kiem couldn’t make out any more.

Kiem recognized the place now. That must be their rooms.

The vid—the security camera footage Taam had called out to delete—ended and shrank back to a dot. That was it. The data coin held nothing else.