“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t,” Fiearius growled, “Who are you? How long have you been — “

But he had no chance to find out. The next person to yell was Leta.

“Fiearius, no!” she cried. “Let him go — I know him!”

Shocked but compliant, Fiearius released his hold on the intruder, but none too gently. The man dropped to his knees with a thud, freed but groaning in pain and annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Leta demanded of him. “Why are you following us?”

“Put your guns away and I’ll tell you,” said the man darkly, massaging his bruised neck and throwing a dirty look toward Fiearius as he rose up to his feet. “Look, sorry I startled you. I didn’t want to follow you. I’ve been ordered to.”

“By who?” said Ren, while Fiearius growled, “Enough excuses, who the fuck are — ”

“All of you, calm down,” Leta snapped, brandishing a hand in the air. She stepped in front of Fiearius, effectively blocking him from —

“His name is Liam Andrews,” Leta sighed. “He’s a war journalist here on Vescent.”

Fiearius narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing him. He looked to be in his young thirties, with overgrown brown hair and a beard. His clothes had once been upscale but were faded and weathered, like he’d been traveling a long way or hiding out. And even though Fiearius was the one with the loaded weapon in his hand, Liam was watching Leta most attentively, and suddenly the pieces clicked together in his head.

Fiearius snapped his head towards Leta. “This is your journalist?”

“What? He’s not my anything,” she scoffed. “What are you doing here, Liam?”

“I said, I didn’t want to follow you, it’s my job to watch over this part of Vescent. I camp out here, away from the base, to see what the rebels are up to. My editor makes me follow anyone suspicious. Trust me,” He grinned wryly. “It’s not exactly my ideal scenario either, but no one worries about the safety of a war reporter. Leta, I saw you out here, and honestly thought you were being forced here, that you were in trouble.”

“That’s usually a fair assumption,” said Leta dryly. “But no, I’m fine. Liam, this is Fiearius — “

“I know who he is,” Liam snorted.

“And this is Ren. And now you need to leave. We can walk you out, but then you’re on your own, and we’re going to pretend this never  — ”

But Fiearius held up his hand to interrupt, his mind suddenly racing. He’d been here the whole time? Had he heard about the journal? The code? Had he heard Ren mention the plan to assassinate the Councillors? A feeling of dread started sinking through him. Those plans–so much of the war rested on those plans remaining secret. If word got out that Carthis, that Fiearius, had found the trail of the Society Council, it would be for naught.

“How long have you been following us?” Fiearius demanded.

Liam lifted his eyebrows. “Not long.”

Fiearius dropped his voice to a dangerous growl. “How. Long?”

He hesitated, and then said, “I caught up to you right after you left the Carthian-secured area. I heard you were heading to the library.”

Which meant he’d heard it all, Fiearius realized with horror. Everything they’d said since they walked in those doors. The book, the cipher, the plan, all of it. A journalist had overheard them. He could think of no worse scenario.

“Listen, Admiral,” Liam continued, his voice steady, “if it’s a matter of what I’ve heard, we can discuss it.”

But it couldn’t be discussed. This man wasn’t just an intrepid reporter chasing a lead, he was a liability. A huge liability that could cripple all of Fiearius’ efforts. It could put the Councillors out of his reach entirely. Victory, out of the rebellion’s reach.

This was Fiearius’ job, wasn’t it? Why Gates had brought him into this war at all. It was his job to make the hard choices, act quicker and more decisively than Carthis could manage. Deal with things others would not. This man, or this man’s boss, had made an unintended mistake, that was true. But it was Fiearius’ duty to ensure that mistake never left this room.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, tightened his jaw and lifted his hand, but before his fingers even brushed the grip of his gun, Leta’s voice broke through his daze.

“Fiear!” she snapped sharply and when he met her stare, blazing on him intensely, he knew that she knew exactly what he was thinking. They watched each other for a long, tense moment, neither of  them speaking a word, but understanding one another clearly. And suddenly he knew he couldn’t do it. Not with her standing there. His hand dropped back to his side.

“Liam,” she said quickly, turning towards him. “What you heard tonight…You have to understand, it can never get out, alright? It’s–it’s vital to the war effort. If anyone ever finds out, it could be…more disastrous than you’d imagine.”

“I won’t say anything, Leta. And I swear I won’t write about it. I have some integrity, and besides … I value my life — I’m not stupid enough to go up against you two.” He jerked his head toward Fiearius, his eyes still resting interestedly on Leta. More playfully, he muttered, “But, uh, does this mean you’ll agree to an interview?”

Leta sighed, half defeated, half amused. “Yes. Pretend none of this ever happened, and you’ll get your interview. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Apparently satisfied, Leta turned back to Fiearius, her mouth twitching toward an exasperated smirk. As if everything was okay now. All fixed. But as she said, “Let’s head back,” Fiearius couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was okay, nothing was fixed. As he brought up the rear behind them, he could only hope that his weakness here and now wouldn’t give way to a landslide later.

“It’s less where and more how,” explained Ren. “Most of it was readily available. Just not…clear what it means. It’s like a puzzle. And once I found a few pieces, I couldn’t resist finding the rest.”

Fiearius watched the back of the man’s head, wondering just how good at ‘puzzles’ someone has to be to figure something like that out. And then Ren let out a laugh. “I wrote it all down thinking that one day the information would just end up in some tabloid no one would believe. Never figured it’d be used to assassinate the Society Council.”

Fiearius grimaced, but Leta smiled at him encouragingly.

Most of the wooden circulation desk was broken and crushed into the floor, which dampened Fiearius’ optimism that the book could be intact, let alone findable. But Ren led them past the desk and into a back room that, judging by the overturned furniture, had once been an employee’s lounge.

“I used to work here while I was in law school,” he explained, “and we had storage lockers to keep our things in. Over here.”

Ren crouched to his legs and started to type on the keypad of a small metal locker.

“You remember the passcode?” said Leta in amazement, and Ren’s mouth twitched toward a wry, sad smirk.

“Your birthday and an anagram of your name, Leta? Yeah, I remember.”

Shifting awkwardly on his feet, Fiearius wished he could have waited outside for this part, but then the locker door creaked open. Ren seized a dusty journal and stood to his feet, giving it over to Leta.

Looking startled but hopeful, Leta grabbed the book and skimmed through the pages, frowning at whatever was written there. Fiearius watched her, but his eyes were drawn back to Ren who had immediately averted his eyes the moment she cracked open the spine. He was clearly roiling with nervous energy, his arms crossed over his chest, fists clenched, his foot tapping on the ground.

“Ren–this is–,” Leta began, sounding conflicted, but as soon as she saw the man who had taken to pacing small circles a few feet away, she clamped her mouth shut and clamped the book shut. “Thank you. This will help a lot.”

“I hope so.” Ren was already turning towards the exit doors, apparently eager to get out of this place. Fiearius fell into step beside Leta and raised a brow at her. She didn’t look pleased.

“Fiear,” she whispered. “This book–it’s nonsense. Farming techniques, baking recipes, history essays…”

Fiearius sighed through his teeth. Leta had said Ren’s codes were complex. “Just have to hope Carthis’ team can figure it out.”

But she was shaking her head. “I don’t know, Fiear, remember how long it took them just to crack the Verdant-encoded message you sent me?” She frowned. “About fancy cheese…”

Fiearius let out a chuckle. “I had just found out my chip could do that, I thought it’d be fun.”

“And a waste of resources,” Leta corrected. “This though–” She lifted the book. “This could take years.”

Fiearius eyed the book uneasily. She knew as well as he did that there was no way Ren would agree to even look at the code, let alone translate it for them. Nor was he in any condition to, frankly. A year on the Baltimore had done his mental stability no favors.

“Well what do you suggest?”

But it was Ren who answered. “There’s a cipher,” he said from up ahead. Both Leta and Fiearius looked at him in surprise. “I can hear you two, you know.” He gestured at the high ceilings. “It echoes in here.”

Fiearius glanced nervously at Leta and then asked, “Where is it?”

A small smile came to his face and he tapped his temple with his index finger. Leta stepped towards him, the book in her hands. “Ren, we can’t ask you to–”

Ren’s eyes darted to the book in her hands and instinctively he took a step back, eyes widened in alarm. Leta tucked the book behind her back and he clenched his eyes, gaining control of himself. “I said I would only lead you to the journal. But…you’re right. It’s useless if you can’t unlock it. Let me talk to your best code-breaker. I’ll–get them started on writing the cipher. As much as I can.”

Leta crossed the space between them and grasped his arm. “Thank you, Ren. Thank you. This is really going to make a difference.”

Ren flashed her a brief, weak smile, and then they started back through the library, back to the exit, picking their way over broken shelves and chairs. Fiearius knew logically he should have been relieved — they were about to close out this job successfully — but instead, he felt his insides sway with uncertainty. He slowed to a stop between the shelves, scanning the room. The back of his neck prickled.

Leta paused, turning back to him. “What is it?” she pressed quietly.

Fiearius held his finger to his lips to quiet her and tilted his head behind him. They were being followed.

He had no real evidence, but somehow Fiearius knew it to be true: years of clandestine, less than legal operations gave him a sense of when someone’s gaze was on his back. Ren’s eyes widened, and Leta nodded once, silently withdrawing the gun at her hip. Fiearius jerked his head indicatively and they all stepped into the hallway between bookshelves, pretending to keep walking when instead they were waiting, not breathing.

Seconds later, and sure enough — there was the unmistakable crack of glass underfoot. Fiearius watched as a figure draped in shadow moved into view, visible between the slanted books on the shelf, and then he appeared before them. Leta exhaled sharply with fear, the figure yelped in surprise, and Fiearius launched himself at the intruder, throwing his forearm around his neck, crushing the man’s Adam apple. With his other hand he pressed his gun hard against his temple to force him to the ground.

Moonlight threw shadows over the man’s face as he struggled; he wasn’t showing the Society librera, nor military greens, and there was no red band around his arm that indicated he was a rebel. “Stop!” the man gasped, clawing at Fiearius’ forearms, kicking free and knocking books off the shelves. Fiearius tightened forearm against his neck savagely as the man wheezed, “Fuck, don’t shoot!”