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hall, picking the lock of each door. Inside every one, I found a small armory, but no Jocelyn.
    It wasn’t until I reached the second to last one that I finally got a clue.
    That was when I heard the scream. It was blood-curdling and I could not discern whether it came from a man or a woman. It got me moving again, fast.
    The noise was coming from the floor above, which I reasoned once I heard it again, this time intense enough to reverberate through the ministry walls.
    Whatever was happening to her, it was…
    My mind wouldn’t allow me to finish that thought. Instead, the clear, distinct words of revenge came to me.
    I’ll kill them. Every last one of them.
    The methods were already filtering through my mind.
    A third scream led me to a door on the floor above. Without hesitating, I breached the room, where I saw a knife poised over the bloodied body of a person strapped to a table. This I saw the instant I breached the room. I also caught sight of the Vire behind the door, preoccupied with another battered body. My left hand found the wrist of the Vire holding the knife at the same time as I thrust my right leg toward the other Vire now coming at me. My foot sent the one flailing backwards where he hit the wall with a thud. At the same time, I twisted the wrist I held and it cracked, releasing the knife from its grip. I caught it in midair and sent the blade into the gut of the Vire who had been holding it. The other Vire came at me again. The scuff of his feet behind me told me from which direction and at what pace. I swung around and swiped the blade across his throat just as his hand reached my neck. His fingers gave a slight squeeze and then fell away as the blood from his mortal wound spilled down his chest. The man clutched his neck, but the damage was done. He knew it, locking his eyes with mine as he dropped to his knees and tipped backwards while the life drained out of him.
    I swung around and bent over the table, searching for the face beneath the layer of caked blood. Eyes stared back at me with a mixture of anticipation and recognition, blue in color, and, thankfully, not Jocelyn’s. Relief washed over me, but only for as long as it took me to become remorseful for feeling it while taking in this person’s injuries.
    The nose and one ear had been removed. The Vire had evidently begun working on the right eye judging from the loss of its eyelid. The person’s skin was charred, remnants of an incantation that seared the outside of a person’s organs.
    I could think of no other time in which the desire to be a healer had been stronger than this very moment.
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    “Th-Th-Thib…”
    “Take your time,” I said, although he didn’t seem to have much of it left.
    He must have sensed it too because he forced the name from his lips, blood sputtering as he said it.
    “Thibodeaux.”
    The result of his effort sent him into a coughing fit, spraying more blood, which I didn’t fully register because my awareness was on his name.
    “Thibodeaux?” I repeated quietly.
    There was a reason this man had recognized me. He was the same one I went to every year for school supplies, the one whose prominent family owned warehouses worldwide of rare and distinguished artifacts, the one who had given Jocelyn The Rope of The Sevens.
    I had known him my entire life, and yet I couldn’t recognize him.
    The Sevens used various methods to accomplish what they needed, but they had their favorites. La Terreur, an extreme type of sickness that set in just before death, had been used on the penal colonies in the past; hanging was common in the Ministry’s main courtyard; and the traditional home invasion wasn’t rare throughout the provinces. But this…I had never seen this…. The Vires who had done this to him weren’t interested in making him an example, as was their usual purpose. No, Mr. Thibodeaux was a Dissident, and he had been tortured for information.
    “I’m getting you out of