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Sunglasses Guy, two inches from my nose.
    “Sit,” he says, and I dimly feel a fleck of spit from the
T
at the end of the harsh word. “Stay.”
    He rises to his feet and he looks even taller from where I lie crumpled on the floor. As he walks away I fight to stay conscious, but the pain is overwhelming and it’s a relief when I slip away.
    I have no idea how long it is before I wake, but the pain is even sharper than last time. My ears are ringing—probably from the noise of the bomb exploding—and my entire body is sore and achy. I try to take stock while cradling my head in my hands. Throbbing, puffy lip; I probably bit it. My shoulder is still tender. But the worst is my wrist—it’s swollen twice its normal size and purple bruises are starting to form. I move it and cringe. It’s either broken or very badly sprained. I’m stiff from sleeping—well, lying unconscious on the ground—but that particular discomfort is so minor in comparison that it barely registers.
    I push up onto my knees with my one good arm and peer blearily around. I don’t care what I look like to them. Not this time.
    I’ve been relocated into a much, much smaller room. The walls are the same glaring white, same bleachy tiled floor, but probably half the size. Worse, the tiny box is lined with an even smaller cage of bars. That’s what I must have hit when I was literally thrown in here. There’s another two-way mirror, but it’s on the other side of the bars, where I can’t even attempt to reach it.
    My mind is having trouble thinking clearly, but I know I’m missing something. Something is wrong. Something big. I close my eyes and rub hard at them before I remember.
    Logan.
    He’s not here.
    I have a feeling I’ve just been put in Reduciata solitary confinement.

SIX
    The hum of the air conditioning unit kicking on pulls me from my stupor.
Ah, new tactic then.
They’re going to keep me cold, stiff, and devoid of energy.
    Sunglasses Guy did warn me they weren’t stupid.
    The Reduciates seem to want me alive, but the state I’m in is apparently unimportant.
    I push myself off the hard floor and start pacing to keep myself warm. I’m guessing it’s been about an hour since they separated me from Logan. I rub at my temples, willing the throbbing to go away. The stark halogen lights hurt my eyes and make it hard to think. But thinking’s all I’ve got at the moment. I reflect on what I’ve figured out thus far.
    They want something—something in my head. A secret.
    The memories of whatever the secret is come from Rebecca.
She
knew. And if my dreams can be believed, Sonya knew too. But for some reason it remains locked inside my brain, dancing away like shadows from a flickering candle whenever I think about it. How do the Reduciates think they’re going to get it out of me when I can’t get it out of myself?
    I had assumed they were trying to get Logan and me to resurge—even Mark had said that was the key. But why? I’m certain Logan doesn’t know. That it was too dangerous to tell him. I’m
sure
of that. But since they’ve separated us apparently our re-awakening is no longer a priority for them.
    Here’s the thing, though: it
is
a priority for me. I’m officially done playing their games. I’m not going to get less tired or hungry as time progresses.
    It’s now or never.
    For the first time, I wish I were a Destroyer. I could simply make the prison around me disappear.
    My mind latches on to that idea. It seems like I should be able to do
something
like that. I consider how I change my face into my mother’s when I’m in public. I mean, her nose was longer than mine, so I guess you could argue that I’m creating cartilage there? But my eyes change color too.
    Maybe it’s simply a matter of creating one thing that replaces what was there previously.
    Could I
replace
a wall with created air? Is it all about the way you think about it?
    I certainly have nothing to lose by trying. And
everything
to gain.
    I pull