Nathan didn’t speak to me as we walked through Edgewood. I wanted to ask questions, to understand where we were going and what role I would be playing, but Nathan was walking quickly and seemed deep in thought. Surely we would have time for my questions when we got to where we were going.

Besides, I was lost in my own cluttered thoughts. I couldn’t believe that Nathan and Corona knew where Corona’s daughter was. It had only been a few days since I had found out Hope’s location, and the wait was already killing me. How long had Corona known where her child ended up? How had they survived that type of torture? Would I survive it if I was never able to reunite with my daughter?

I walked briskly to keep up with Nathan. People were milling about on the cobbled streets of Edgewood. I could see children running and laughing in the playground behind the school. It was another picturesque day in Edgewood, but as I followed Nathan on our mysterious journey, I was feeling less sure of our presumed peace and safety. Where were we going? And why?

We approached a building that sat on the opposite side of the dormitories. It was a slightly darker color than the rest of the buildings on the street, and thick green vines covered one of its sides. Whereas most of the buildings nearby were buzzing with people coming and going, this building was quiet and still.

I noticed that several obvious security cameras were aiming down at the street from the building’s eaves and gulped.

Nathan sidestepped the front door of the building and turned down a narrow alley to its side, and I followed closely, the security cameras swiveling to point at us as we passed underneath. Just what kind of building was this? In the alley, a short stairwell led down to what appeared to be an external basement door. Nathan began to descend the steep concrete steps, and I stayed close behind him while I continued to peer up at the security cameras. They were still pointed directly at us. At the bottom of the stairs, Nathan placed his hand on a security pad and I heard a beep. The basement door opened with a hiss, as if it had been sealed, and Nathan stepped into the basement.

I entered behind him, shielding my eyes from a sudden blinding light. The inside certainly wasn’t what I had expected. It was bright white in the basement, lit mercilessly by strong overhead bulbs, and a row of white computers almost blended in with the white floors and white walls. I blinked hard to adjust to the sight.

A few people were walking back and forth inside, stopping occasionally to look at screens and write down data, and I became aware of a low, rhythmic beeping sound filling the room. It almost sounded like sonar. All along the wall I could see video feeds from within and around Edgewood: the woods outside the projection, the main street, the school, the dining hall…

It was the surveillance room.

Piper strode up to Nathan from an office in the corner.

“Second floor,” he said to Nathan, ignoring me entirely and speaking quietly enough that I assumed he was trying to keep me out of whatever he had to say.

But Nathan took a step back so that we were standing side by side, his body language subtle but clear: She is a part of this conversation, too.

Piper looked me over. Was he sizing me up? His eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he put on his trademark smile.

“Robin, if I recall correctly,” he said in a charming tone.

Nathan patted me on the back paternally. “She’s here to help,” he said with a wink.

I looked over at Nathan. What was I here to help with? Surveillance? I knew nothing about any of the tech in this room. And I certainly didn’t have any new information to share with them. What were they getting at?

Before I could ask, Piper and Nathan had turned to walk away, and I was left trailing in their wake.

Piper led us through the white room into a more muted hallway. It had looked like a compact building from the outside, but the inside took advantage of every square inch of space. Monitors lined the walls outside the main surveillance room as well. Busy-looking team members milled around here, too, studying the monitors and writing down reports. An elevator sat waiting for us at the end of the hallway with its doors open, and we squeezed inside and were on our way to the second floor.

I felt like I didn’t belong there with the two of them. Why was I in the surveillance building with two of our most senior leaders? I got the impression that Piper was wondering the same thing. He leaned over to Nathan at one point as if he was going to whisper something to him. But Nathan stepped forward to speak to me instead.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

I was puzzled. I wanted to ask what was happening, but I had a feeling that I would know very shortly. So instead I simply nodded.

Then the doors opened on another unremarkable hallway. Or at least I thought it was. Stepping out of the elevator, I was surprised to see large mirrors running down both sides. This walkway was nothing but mirrors, with a single door at the end. It felt like some kind of corporate funhouse.

We walked through the corridor and to the door at the end, where Piper laid his palm on a security pad. The door slid open for us, and we slipped through, all of us silent.

A woman turned to face me with a warm smile.

“Good to see you, Robin,” came Corona’s sing-song voice.

She was seated in front of a dozen or so video feeds. Several of the feeds were blank or pointed at a single chair in an empty room. But six or eight feeds showed people sitting at empty desks in rooms by themselves.

I managed a polite greeting for Corona, but then began studying the screens. The people were all dressed similarly, in plain clothing. They were in various states of repose, some with their heads down on their desks and others just sitting back in their chairs. They looked very bored and exhausted, and were a mix of men and women, all seemingly middle aged. And they looked familiar.

“The executives,” I said. I didn’t need confirmation, but Piper provided it anyway.

“Yes, seven executives and six semi-successful interrogations. They’ll be taking their leave from Edgewood soon.”

I turned quickly to look directly at Piper.

“To where?” I asked.

Corona stood from her chair in front of the monitors and stepped closer to me. “Don’t worry, Robin,” she said. “They’re going home today. Or at least, their journeys home will begin today. We’re not in the business of taking innocent lives when it can be avoided.”

“But won’t the government come for them? Will the Ministry know that we had them? Will… Will these people be interrogated by the Ministry because they were held here?” I asked, my voice breaking a bit at the thought. How could they risk Edgewood that way? How could they risk these people? These people had probably seen Piper face-to-face, if he was in charge of the interrogations. Sending them home—where the Ministry would find them—seemed like a massive liability to security, particularly at a time when Piper already sounded concerned about security at Edgewood.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve used these interrogation rooms, Robin,” Piper said to me, a hint of condescension in his voice, as if I had asked a stupid question. “They get a special injection right after their interrogations and then”—he held out a fist and flicked all of his fingers outward at once—“poof! The memory of the interrogation doesn’t take hold. They’re drugged any time they are outside of these rooms. The only information they’ll be able to provide the government with is a description of the inside of the interrogation room.”

“The drugs are gentle on their system,” Nathan added, knowing I would be uncomfortable with the thought. “We provide them with food and a bed and all of their basic needs. It may not be fun being here, but their main source of discomfort is probably just boredom.”

“And we try to get them back to their homes and families as quickly as possible,” Corona said. “We try to make interrogations concise for that reason.”

“How do you explain their absences?” I asked. How could Little John make sure these executives were safe when they got back home? Wouldn’t the Ministry come looking for them? Would they be subject to even more interrogation from their bosses?

“The government might suspect that they’re coming here,” Nathan said, flashing a mischievous smile. “It’s figuring out where here is that they haven’t mastered. And we don’t intend to allow them to do that.”

“Then why am I here?” I finally asked. What did I have to do with any of this? I had helped capture the executives, sure, but several of us were involved. I didn’t do anything special. I had nothing to offer here.

Piper pursed his lips as if he was wondering the same thing.

“Well,” Nathan started, “Corona made an observation and we came to the conclusion that you might be the right person to help us talk to the last executive who is holding out.”

“Talk to?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Interrogate,” Nathan corrected himself, looking slightly abashed.

Me? Interrogate someone?

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” I told him, turning to face Corona as well. “But I don’t know anything about interrogation. I can’t help.”

It was strange actually saying that aloud. Ever since joining Operation Hood, I had pledged to help where I could and in any way I could. I had risked my life, been shot at, been pulled into moving airships, broken into government buildings, and been labeled a suspected terrorist. I had given up my home and the precious little security I had in life because I believed in Operation Hood’s cause. I had even killed people. But I knew nothing about interrogations. Nathan and Corona had made a mistake. I couldn’t help here.

“This is why I preferred not to call it interrogation,” Nathan said.

“There, we’ve heard it from her,” Piper interjected. “Now we can put this behind us. That woman isn’t going to talk.”

Nathan looked over at Corona, cueing her.

“Robin,” Corona said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’re not going to ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. And we would never ask you to go in and intimidate or bully this woman for information. We’re just asking you to talk to her. Just talk to her normally and see where it goes.”

I shook my head in confusion. “But why me?” I asked. Surely any one could just “talk” to this woman. The explanation seemed incomplete.

There was a muted crashing sound behind Corona, and we all turned to look at the screens. One of the executives was standing with her metal chair in her hand. As we all watched, she slammed her chair into the long mirror in her room. The chair bounced, temporarily throwing her off balance, but she reared back and slammed the chair into the mirror again. The reflections in the mirror wobbled as shockwaves flowed through the glass.

“Don’t worry, she can’t—”

But before Piper could finish, one last whack with the chair left a long spider web of cracks across the length of the mirror.

The woman threw her chair across the room and then cast an angry glare directly at the camera.

I stepped closer to the monitors to get a better look at the woman. I remembered her. It was the female executive in red to whom I had spoken back in Smally. A slight smile tugged involuntarily at the corner of my mouth.

She had kind of reminded me of… me.

“We thought maybe you’d connect with her on a personal level,” Corona finished, bookending the drama we had just watched unfold.

“You two definitely have the same spark,” Nathan added, smiling.

I exhaled deeply. The woman in Smally had been aggressively inquisitive, sure, but she had also been exhausted after a long day awaiting her transfer team, and probably scared for her own personal safety. But this woman looked like she had nothing to lose. She looked like a cornered viper, coiled and prepared to strike.

“She’s the government liaison, Robin,” Nathan said abruptly. “None of the other executives seem to know much of anything, or at least not anything that can assist us. But this woman was in constant communication with the regime. She may very well hold the key to how we should be using Artemis. If she gives you any information, our search can start there. Otherwise Artemis isn’t much use. The more we search aimlessly, the faster we’ll be discovered and then digitally blocked out.”

I exhaled slowly. We had done so much work to put Artemis in play at Smally. Savannah and Ajax had died for it. If we didn’t find anything before the government discovered the virus and put up additional firewalls to block it, the mission—and the lives of our teammates—would be for naught.

“We’ve tried everything. But if you could just connect with her—disarm her—maybe she’ll reveal something of value,” Nathan finished.

“Yes, the trick isn’t to interrogate her, Robin,” Corona said. “We have a whole specialized team for that and it didn’t work. The trick is just to get her to talk.”

“And to stop destroying my two-way mirrors,” Piper added. He looked annoyed and displeased with the whole situation.

I looked back at the angry woman standing in the interrogation room.

“Okay.” I sighed.

The thought of Savannah and Ajax dying for nothing was too much for me to bear. Artemis couldn’t fail. If that meant going in to talk to this woman, so be it.

Nathan and Piper walked me back through the door into the mirrored hallway, where a mirror on the far-right side was splintered with cracks. We walked up to the mirror, and Piper placed his hand against it. It suddenly morphed into a window, as if someone had flipped a switch, and we saw the woman inside picking her chair back up and sitting down at the desk. She was in off-white linens and socks. I guessed they had been offered food and lodgings since their arrival, but she looked exhausted and frail, as if she had been stubbornly denying both. She didn’t look at us or react when the glass changed, leading me to believe it was a one-way mirror, offering us a window into the room.

These mirrors were the same as the ones in the video feeds, which meant the executives’ rooms were lining this hallway. But, I realized, there were no doors leading in.

“If at any point you seem to be in danger, we will immediately intervene,” Nathan said reassuringly. “And remember, we’re not expecting you to interrogate. We just want you to talk. Be yourself. Let’s just see where it goes.”

Piper took his hand off the glass, and it switched back to a mirror. Then he placed his hand on a narrow patch of wall adjacent to the two-way mirror. The wall seemed to soundlessly crack open on four sides, until a door had formed. It had been so perfectly sealed that it was almost invisible.

Piper looked at me and nodded. I took a deep breath and stepped in, the door sealing shut behind me.

The light inside of the interrogation room was uncomfortably bright. It buzzed overhead like an incessant housefly. The walls were a dingy gray color. The room contained only a desk and a single chair, and felt cramped and tense. I felt all of the comfort drain out of me as soon as I entered. It must’ve been a tactic to get people to talk; a person would probably do anything to get out of that room.

I knew I would.

The woman sat stonily in her chair, her hands balled in her lap, and glared at me, her eyes narrowed.

What on earth was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do?

Luckily, she quickly broke the silence.

“Looks like they’ve really sent in their big guns,” she sneered mockingly.

I scanned the room for weapons or projectiles. I had already seen what she could do with that heavy metal chair. I didn’t want to run any other risks.

Finding the room otherwise empty and thus (somewhat) safe, I stepped closer to her.

She stood quickly and walked behind her chair, grabbing the back of it with both hands.

Uh-oh. I had only been in the room for a few seconds, and it looked like she was about to start swinging.

“Torture?” she asked. She spat the word out, but I could tell she was afraid.

“Torture?” I repeated, slightly confused. Then it hit me. “No, I’m not here to torture you. We’re not like that.”

Her face contorted with contempt. “Oh, how noble of your terrorist organization,” she replied.

I cast a glance at the video camera in the corner of the room. I thought this lady wasn’t talking? So far she hadn’t shut up.

But, I thought, maybe if I can keep her talking it will work to my advantage. After all, I needed her to slip up and say something, anything that we could use Artemis to dig for in the government’s systems.

“Would you like to sit back down?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice calm and level. I had to remember that this woman was the enemy, yes, but she was also tired, maybe hungry, and obviously scared. We weren’t going to get anywhere like this.

“Why are you here?” she asked, unmoving.

“I know you’d be more comfortable if you sat,” I said, as compassionately as I could muster.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?” she boomed.

The sudden noise in the small, insulated room sent a bolt of pain through my head, and I looked hard at the woman. I was beginning to feel certain that this would be a pointless exercise. If she wouldn’t even sit, how was I supposed to get her to calm down or give me anything valuable? She was scared and tired and she thought we were terrorists. I wanted to help Little John actualize the Artemis Protocol, but unless this woman had a sudden change of heart, I was going to fail at this.

Be yourself, Nathan’s voice echoed in my head.

Well, that was a thought. Besides, what did I have to lose? I slumped down and sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Honestly,” I replied to the woman, “I have no idea.”

The confession seemed to surprise her. She loosened her grip momentarily on the back of the chair, but then her eyes narrowed, her knuckles turning white as they squeezed the back of the chair firmly again.

I tried to think about what I would say next if I was just being myself. But, seeing as I so rarely had conversations with government hostages, I didn’t have a very good basis for comparison.

“I’m Robin,” was the sentence I eventually settled on. I felt stupid the moment I said it. No wonder Piper didn’t have much faith in me. I wasn’t really a natural.

The woman shifted awkwardly.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” I assured her gently. “But you should sit. You look tired.”

She stared at me for a moment longer, but then she walked around her chair and sat down.

We sat quietly for a couple of minutes. Then, to my surprise, she broke the silence again.

“I’m Mica,” she offered silently.

“I’m sorry you’re here, Mica,” I said. “I’m sure you’d rather be home.”

Her eyes misted over with tears. “When are we going home?” she asked in a small, strained voice.

“Today,” I answered quickly. “I just asked, and they said you and your team would be leaving today.” I considered for the first time that maybe going home today was a condition of whether or not she talked to me. But Nathan and Corona hadn’t given me that impression.

She broke into a sob, placing her face in her hands, and I watched her for a moment, watched her shoulders shaking as she cried. Then I stood and walked over to her and, surprising even myself, placed my hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m not telling you anything,” she said resolutely.

“I don’t expect you to,” I replied.

I wondered how well Nathan, Corona, and Piper could hear our conversation through the monitors. If they could hear us well enough, surely they were wondering what I was doing. But I was being myself. I wasn’t going to interrogate a tired, terrified woman. If anything, I just wanted to make her feel less alone. This was a frightened and vulnerable woman who thought she was among enemies. I didn’t want her to feel any worse. And the closer we got, the likelier it was that she would share information with me.

“I remember you,” she said, her voice gaining back its strength. “You were part of the team that took us hostage to begin with. You lied to me. You’re a kidnapper.”

I backed away from her. Kidnapper. I hadn’t heard the word used against me before. I hadn’t even thought it myself. But I realized suddenly how it must have looked to Mica and her team.

“I did lie to you,” I said earnestly. “I’m sorry for that.” I sat back down on the floor. Maybe I was saying too much, and maybe I was saying all the wrong things. But talking to Mica had begun to feel slightly cathartic.

“What are you guys even trying to do?” Mica asked.

I chuckled slightly at the question. Who exactly was interrogating whom here?

“We’re trying to keep families together,” came my answer.

“At the expense of the children,” she said with conviction. “You’re trying to keep helpless, vulnerable children with people too poor and uneducated to properly care for them. How can you think that’s the right thing to do?”

I had heard that line of reasoning before. When I approached my adoptive parents with the knowledge of my “adoption,” they had used very similar talking points. But I had been so removed from that type of thinking for so long that it was shocking to hear it again.

Unlike when my parents had said it, this time I had a rebuttal prepared.

“Then why not help the parents? Why not provide them access to better wages and better opportunities? Why just rip their children away?” I asked. I wanted to keep our conversation flowing, so I tried to use a calm, nonthreatening tone.

“You can’t educate people like that. You have to put the needs of the child first,” she replied haughtily.

“Why can’t you educate them? If their children can adapt to higher society, why wouldn’t the parents be able to learn?” I countered. I was beginning to feel angry and defensive, but I was trying hard not to show it.

“That’s why you have to remove the children. Keep them around the poor for too long and they’ll be poisoned. I’ve seen it firsthand,” Mica said.

Poisoned. Would Nelson have poisoned her child with love and affection? Would I have poisoned Hope by loving her unconditionally?

“Then pay the parents more! Allow them time away from work to relax and take up hobbies. Allow them to purchase food for their families! Give them the opportunity to be parents!” I was raising my voice now. I couldn’t help it. She was saying that we were all lesser people, that we couldn’t even succeed with support. That we were inherently bad.

“You can’t teach people like that to be parents,” she responded coldly.

And then, against my better instincts, I really became myself.

“They were already parents. I was already a parent when they ripped my daughter away from me. And I always put her needs first… which is why I won’t ever stop looking for her,” I replied, tears beginning to form in my eyes.