175 A.B.

(34 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

I didn't know that I loved her. At least, not at first.

She wasn't my type. Although, to be fair, no one was exactly my type. At twenty years old, I was more likely to find solace in one of the library's old pre-Burn history books than in the arms of a girl.

That's where I first saw her, in the library. I was conducting research on Darwin's evolutionary theory, engrossed in a thick textbook, when a high, tinkling sound caught my attention.

She was across the room, sitting at one of the tables, leaning back in her chair as she laughed uproariously. Normally, someone disrupting my most precious study time would cause me to grumble and stalk off to a quieter corner, but something about this girl was different.

I watched her for a few minutes. She had a habit of tossing her long, auburn hair over one shoulder, and a marked seriousness whenever she leaned in close to one of her friends. I marvelled at the way she slid easily between unbounded joy and calculated thought. I couldn't make out the conversation, but I was enraptured, nonetheless.

I wasn't worried about being caught watching her. No one ever took much notice of me. Mousy old Spencer Harmen, always the quiet one, the bookworm. There was nothing interesting about me and as someone interested in primarily academic pursuits, that suited just fine.

But, for some reason, I wanted this girl to notice me.

Eventually, I slammed my book shut and pulled myself away from the scene. Clearly, today has been a waste of time. I may as well find those last books I need and bring them home with me. Reluctantly, I sidle from my chair and enter the reference section, my practiced fingers scanning the beautiful, ratty book covers. I have become so engrossed in my search that I fail to notice someone else standing in the aisle, until I have collided with them.

"Sorry about that." I murmur, stooping to gather my fallen books.

"No problem, it was entirely my fault." She hands me my textbook and I finally look up.

It's her. It's the girl.

"Are you all right?" Her brows are furrowed as she looks at me.

She's looking at me. Really looking at me.

"F-fine." I manage. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure." We straighten. She's still looking at me. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"No." I say, too quickly. No one ever knows me.

"Yes, I do." That instant smile alights her freckled features. "From the Outer City Academy. You work there, don't you? I've seen you around."

For a moment I am too shocked to reply. "Research." I say, finally. Gods, research? Why did I say that? How boring does that sound? I should say something else, anything else.

But nothing comes to mind.

"Research." She echoes. The smile doesn't waver from her face. "I'm a student, at the OCA."

"What do you study?" I ask.

"Meteorology."

Something must have shown on my face because she laughs, that amazing, tinkling sound.

"I take it you haven't met many people silly enough to study the weather." She teases.

I have been teased before, but those jests were always intended to hurt me. This is different.

"I'm writing a paper on environmental impact." I hear myself say.

"Ah, right up my alley." She takes the books from my hands with an easy familiarity and begins flipping through the titles.

Don't stare, Harmen. I cross my arms, let them dangle listlessly at my sides, cross them again.

"The Origin of the Species." She glances up at me. "What's that saying? Only the strong survive?"

"Survival of the fittest." I correct her. "It's a theory meant for the evolution of animals, but I'm trying to relate it back to the development of human society. We really aren't so different, when you think about it. Humans who work together as a team will survive, and those who don't will perish. It's quite simple."

She stares at me, her caramel-coloured eyes stretched wide as she searches my face. Gods, why did I say all that? She probably thinks that I'm a total freak. This is the first pretty girl to talk to me, and I behaved like a complete creep.

Remarkably, a tentative smile breaks out over her face.

"You're strange." She says, tilting her head. "What's your name?"

"Spencer."

"I'm Lucie. It's nice to meet you, Spencer."

That was when I knew that I liked her.

* * * * *

Lucie drew me into her circle of friends. They were all so comfortable around one another, and they made me feel welcome. Lucie and her comrades were interested in ideas, debate, change. Most of the people I knew were scholarly types like me, content to read history but unwilling to make any.

Lucie and I grew close. We spent hours talking, oftentimes well past the library's closing hour. On these late nights we would be shooed away by the exasperated librarian, sent out into the City streets where we would take refuge in a darkened alley, laughing with our heads bent closely together.

"It isn't that late." She remarks, looking up at the sliver of moon. "Want to go get a drink?"

"Okay."

"Come on. My place isn't far from here."

The alley is narrow, and I enjoy the way it forces us to walk closer together. She smells like the library, with a hint of something else, something indescribably Lucie. I watch the way her hair bounces off her shoulders as she walks, expelling a hint of that 'Lucie' scent with each step.

She leads me into the Fragment district. I'm surprised at first, but then I remember that rent in this area is less expensive. As a student, Lucie must intend to save her money for tuition. She is careful with her allowance, unlike most Intacts, who tend to take their status for granted.

"Here we are." She unlocks the door of a nondescript building and leads me up the tight little staircase towards a flat on the second floor.

I notice a slip of parchment on the ground and pick it up, turning it over. It's been sealed with the Academy's crest.

"You've got some post from school." I say, handing it over.

She grimaces, taking it from me and pushing open the door of her flat. "Great. It's just more bad news."

"What do you mean?" I trail her into the room, standing in place awkwardly as she removes her scarf and kicks off her boots.

"Tuition's due and I haven't figured out how I'm going to pay it, yet." She sighs. "They cut back my hours at the laundry and I haven't been able to find another part-time job."

She finally notices me still hovering near the doorway.

"Well, don't just stand there, Spencer. Come in, make yourself at home." She tosses the unopened parchment on a rickety table and disappears down the hallway.

I take a tentative step inside, looking about as I swing my satchel off of my shoulder and place my shoes neatly by the entry. This is her home. This is where Lucie lives.

It's small. Much smaller than my own, modest flat. The walls are cracked and the furniture is worn. Something suddenly occurs to me.

"Here you go." She materializes and hands me a glass, motioning for me to follow her.

We sink down onto her small bed, which I guess doubles as a couch. I take a sip of my drink, wrinkling my nose at the bitter taste. Lucie doesn't seem to notice, gulping most of her spirit down in one go and reclining back against the cushions.

"So what is it that you want to do exactly, Spencer?" She asks, peering at me over the rim of her glass.

"Do?"

"Yah. You know, as an occupation. You can't mean to stay in school forever." She tilts her head at me. "Or maybe you do."

"I...I don't know." I take another sip of my drink. It goes down a bit easier this time. "I hadn't thought."

"Really? That's all I ever think about." She unfolds her legs, laying them out across my lap. I freeze, willing myself to stay as still as possible so that she won't want to change position.

Eventually, I manage to speak again. "What do you want to do after school?"

"I'm going to open my own laboratory." She says, without hesitation. "I've got it all figured out. Once I have my credentials from the Academy, I can publish my environmental research and hopefully get enough rich backers to agree to let me work on getting our planet back." Her eyes shine brightly as she relates this to me but I find myself frowning in confusion.

"Why?"

Her face falls and I immediately regret my question. She pulls her legs off my lap and I regret it further.

"Don't you get it, Spencer? We can have things back the way they used to be, before the Burn. It can't happen right away, but over time, we can get it back." She grabs the bottle of spirit off the floor and refills her drink and mine. "You know what I'm talking about, this is supposed to be your area of expertise."

"My expertise is survival."

"Right, survival. That's what I'm saying. We can't support a growing population in these desert conditions. Eventually, we are going to have to try and get the rain back. Get the trees back. The lakes, the oceans." She tilts her head at me and a lock of red hair brushes against her arm.

"That time is over, though." My words are a bit thick in my mouth. "We had the lakes and oceans, and now we have this, the desert. Now we have to survive this. That is the whole point of us having two factions."

"Yes, but why does it have to be this way forever? Why must we simply survive, Spencer? Why can't we thrive? Why can't we dream bigger?"

I swallow the last of my drink, staring into the empty bottom of my cup. Dream bigger. I hadn't ever really considered what the world would be like years from now, decades from now. Only two hundred years after an apocalypse we have managed to hold together a society, I have always maintained the importance of that accomplishment. From my research, I have found that survival is based on a species' ability to adapt to an environment, and now Lucie is claiming that she wants to move past these basic, animalistic instincts and actually change the environment.

I look back up at her. She is watching me intently, perched on the edge of the couch as she waits for my response.

She's waiting for you, Spencer. Say something. Don't screw it up, again.

"I think that you could convince anyone of anything." I say, eventually. "You won't have any problem getting funding for your laboratory."

She grins, tapping her glass against mine. "Thanks, Spencer. You're a good friend."

Friend.

I smile, reaching to refill my drink and offering her a top-up, being mindful not to spill.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway." She sighs, slumping down against the cushion, again. "If I can't pay my tuition, they'll kick me out of the Academy and then it's bye-bye laboratory. Bye-bye future."

"Lucie?" She glances up at me when I say her name. "Are you a Fragment?"

She blinks, and I half-expect her to take offense. Instead, she laughs. That beautiful, tinkling sound that once filled the cavernous library now fills the cramped flat.

"Of course I am! You didn't know?"

I shake my head and she laughs again. "Oh, Spencer. You can be so innocent sometimes." Something must have shown on my face because she moves closer, patting me fondly on the leg. "I don't mean that in a bad way, I think it's wonderful how unassuming you are. It's endearing."

I look away. "No it isn't."

"Yes it is, really." She smiles again and I find myself smiling along with her.

My cheeks pinch but I don't mind. The room is small but I don't mind. Lucie extends her legs again and I certainly don't mind.

"How did you pay for school if you don't have an allowance?" I don't mean the question to be rude, but I am genuinely curious as to how a Fragment can afford an Intact education.

"My mother saved the restitution we were given after my father died in the Wastelands." She says, matter-of-factly. "It was my parents' dream for me to get an education. I'll be letting them down if I can't figure out how to come up with the rest of the money." She sighs again.

I've never met a Fragment before. I study Lucie carefully. She's even prettier now that I know she is a notch below me.

"Spencer, you like me, don't you? I mean, we're friends." Lucie's voice interrupts my thoughts and I start.

"Yes, we're friends." I say.

"Then can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course." There is nothing that I would refuse her. She re-crosses her ankles and twists the end of her hair. I watch her long fingers intently, forgetting for a moment that she had a favour to ask for.

"Could you loan me some money?"

My eyes flick away from her hair, momentarily startled by the question. "Money?"

"Yes. I would never ask, it's just that...well...you've been so nice." She looks shyly up at me, her long lashes fluttering. That's strange, she's never been shy around me, before. "It wouldn't be to keep, just to borrow. I'm hoping to cover for a friend at the laundry. I'll pay you back as soon as I can, I promise."

"I don't have any money." I say.

She blinks. "Really? But... you're an Intact."

"I'm a research student." I explain. "I don't get paid. All of my allowance goes to tuition. I only need enough to keep reading my books."

"Oh." She looks crestfallen and I feel immediately sorry. I've said the wrong thing, again. I would say anything to keep Lucie from looking so sad.

"I can earn some money." I say. She perks up and I continue, happily. "My professor offered me an administration job with the royal guard. I could work there for awhile, and loan you the money you need."

"Really?" Her eyes shine in the lamplight. "You would do that, for me?"

"If I did, then you would stay?" I swallow. "At the Academy, I mean."

She giggles, all traces of sadness wiped clear of her porcelain features. 'Yes, then I would stay."

She changes position on the couch. At first, I'm sad that her legs are no longer on my lap, but she instead scoots closer and leans against my shoulder. Her hair brushes against my cheek, tickling me. The smile that pulls at my face feels tight and uncomfortable, but I know what it means. It means that I'm happy. I can stay happy, so long as Lucie is happy. Even if she is a Fragment, I am evolved enough to not hold that against her. It isn't her fault, after all. Despite her major flaw, she is still the most beautiful and interesting person I have ever known.

She sighs and nestles against me, sipping her drink slowly. I concentrate on taking long, shallow breaths, scarcely believing that this girl would talk to me, let alone touch me. I want to do everything I can to keep her with me. I want to help her. She needs my help.

That was when I knew that I adored her.

* * * * *

"I'm glad you changed your mind, Spencer. I think you're the perfect fit for this job." Professor Watson claps me on the shoulder and steers me in the direction of the gaol.

I glance about, blinking up at the great, glass Palace looming above us. I have never seen it so close and regret that we have to hurry past. I would like to stop and admire the craftsmanship, perhaps even get a glimpse of the newly-crowned King Frances. It's only been a year, but the young King already has a reputation for a short temper and a swift sense of justice.

"What's the job, exactly?" I ask. We step up the the barred door of the gaol and a guard pulls it open for us, nodding at Professor Watson and stepping aside.

"Oh it's very prestigious work. Very prestigious." The Professor carries on in his usual chatty manner, raising his hand in greeting to the few guards lounging about the room. He keeps a firm grip on my shoulder, gently hurrying me along.

Another guard opens a second, smaller door for us, revealing a narrow set of stairs. A deep, endless darkness stares back at us, but I don't feel afraid. Whatever this job is, it already appears to be infinitely more interesting than what I expected. I figured mousy Spencer Harmen would be put to work keeping ledgers or some other bookish chore, and now I'm incredibly curious to find out what the Professor really has in mind for me.

Professor Watson hands me a torch, wordlessly taking up one for himself, as well. In the eerie glow he appears older, ghoulish. I wonder how I look.

We descend the silent staircase, the flickering torches providing our only source of light. I feel the air grow colder and colder the further we push underground, and I'm glad that I thought to wear my heaviest scarf and boots. It pays to plan ahead.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I sweep my torch around, trying to get an idea of our surroundings.

"This way." The Professor brushes past me, turning left and striding down the hallway.

There is a little more light down here, but still nothing interesting enough to catch my eye. A couple heavy, wooden doors dot the wall to my right, but I don't see any people. The passageway narrows again and several more doors appear to either side. It is completely silent down here, but for our footsteps and our even breaths.

"Here we are." The Professor takes my torch from me, placing it in a sconce on the wall.

I look about curiously. The passage has widened here, ending in a semi-circular shape. More doors patch the spaces between the dirty black bricks.

"I'm sure you've guessed by now, Spencer, that this job won't involve much bookwork." Professor Watson is watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

"Yes, Sir."

"The time has come, Spencer, for me to apprentice an Inquisitor." He enunciates each word, as if to make certain that I am paying attention. I am. "Do you know what an Inquistor does?"

"He extracts information from traitors." I say, without missing a beat, pleased that I know the answer.

"That's right." He nods approvingly. "It is a very important role, one that the King values highly. I considered a great many of my best and brightest students to apprentice me, but you are the only one who could really shine at this job."

"Why is that, Sir?"

"Most people don't have the stomach for what I do, Spencer. They fail to see the beauty in maintaining balance, but you do. You understand that order is the key to our survival." He speaks gravely and I draw my shoulders back. "You don't take this City and it's King for granted."

"Thank you, Sir." I say, proudly.

"I'm going to show you what we do. Pay close attention, my boy. Remember, the King himself is considering you for this honoured position."

Wow. The King. I draw my shoulders back further and stand up straighter, waiting as Professor Watson withdraws a heavy brass key from his pocket and inserts it in the lock of an unassuming door. The latch lifts with a satisfying click and he pushes the door open, using our one remaining torch to light the way.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the inner room, but when they do I am not surprised at what I see. A lone man sits in a uncomfortable-looking chair in the middle of the floor. He is bound tightly, his arms pulled behind his back and his ankles lashed to the legs of the chair. As we draw closer, I can make out a bruise swelling one of his eyes shut, the side of his face purpling from the contusion.

"Spencer, this is Jak." The Professor nods towards the man as he makes his way over to a table against the far wall, shrugging off his jacket and folding it neatly. "Jak, here, has made the most unfortunate choice of speaking out against our King. You tried to organize a strike down at the quarry, didnt you, Jak?"

"Five of my men died in a rockslide last month." Jak's voice is raspy. He spits onto the ground. "It took two full days to dig them out, and the King never bothered to send anyone to help us. Their grieving families never got an ounce of compensation for their loss. Tell me, how is that fair?"

"As I've explained many times, Jak, fair is a relative term." The Professor motions for me to take a seat.

I find a wobbly stool and sit off to the side, watching the Professor work with abject fascination. He is completely at ease and I admire the way he instantly holds dominion over the room.

"The King is a very important man." The Professor continues speaking, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "You can't expect him to leap to attention every time there is a little rock slide. The loss of life is unfortunate, but on a grander scale of things, relatively minor."

"They're people." Jak struggles in his bonds, grimacing.

"They're Fragments." The Professor corrects, coming to stand in front of the chair. He holds a long, wooden club in his hand and makes a show of adjusting his grip. "Spencer?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I want you to pay close attention."

* * * * *

Lucie's eyes light up when I turn up at her apartment and hand her the sack of coins.

"You earned all this in one day?" She marvels, stepping aside to invite me in.

"Yes. Is it enough?"

"Enough to keep the Academy off my back for awhile." Her smile is stretched wide across her face and I smile back.

"I am going to earn more." I tell her. "A lot more. You'll be able to stay in school and do all of the environmental research you want."

She laughs, throwing her arms around my neck. "Oh, Spencer. Thank you so much! You are an absolute life saver."

I hesitate for a moment, shocked. She doesn't move away and slowly, I wrap my arms around her back, giving her a tentative squeeze. She is small and warm, light and full of that indescribable Lucie scent. The smile stretches even wider across my face, feeling more natural than it ever has before.

That was when I knew that I loved her.

* * * * *

Professor Watson took me under his wing and I thrived. The work wasn't difficult, and the Professor encouraged me to express myself creatively. He said that the King was pleased with our results, and that my future as an Inquisitor looked very promising.

I could feel myself becoming more confidant. Mousy Spencer Harmen no longer, I now laugh confidently with Lucie and her friends, looping my arm around her shoulders as I take healthy sips from my ale. My pockets overflow with my earnings. It makes me happy to be able to buy a round of drinks at the pub, or to treat Lucie to a special dinner.

It makes her happy, which makes me happy. She wears the pretty new clothes that I buy for her and moves into my flat. She enjoys finding us new furniture and inviting our friends over, flitting about sociably as she releases that beautiful, tinkling laugh. In our new, posh surroundings, you could never suppose that she came from such humble beginnings.

For a long time, she doesn't ask what it is that I do for work. We don't talk about me very much, but that's alright. I don't mind. I'm happy just to watch her. Up here, I don't mind fading into the background. There is a place down below, a secret, special place that very few people have the privilege of visiting. That is where I am the most important person. That is where I am the centre of attention. That is where I cannot be ignored.

It isn't until she finds one of my linen shirts in the laundry that she starts to wonder.

Lucie comes out into the main room, her freckled brow furrowed as she holds out the bit of clothing.

"Spencer? What is this?" She asks.

I look up from my book and remove my spectacles. "My shirt." I say.

"Yes, I can see that. Why is it covered in blood, Spencer?" She displays the red-stained front, thrusting it towards me. I don't know why, I can see it fine from here.

"Because I wore it to work." I tell her, picking up my book again and searching for the passage I left off at.

That was a particularly messy session, but the Fragment laundresses can be absolute wizards with their soap. I'm hopeful that they will be able to wash the blood out, I quite like that shirt.

She doesn't say anything and I assume that she has returned to the bedroom, but when I look up she is still rooted in place, staring at the garment.

"What's wrong?" I ask, keeping my finger poised over my place in the book.

She draws a shaky breath, tearing her eyes away from the shirt to look at me. "What is it that you do for work, Spencer?"

"I have a very important job." I don't wish to brag, but I want to be honest with her. "Professor Watson is apprenticing me as an Inquisitor. If all goes well, I will be Head Inquisitor in just a few years."

She has paled and her freckles stand out prominently. "An Inquisitor? What does that mean?"

"I work in the gaol."I explain, patiently. "I extract information from traitors. The King himself is overseeing my contributions."

The blood-soaked shirt flutters to the ground. It isn't like Lucie to be clumsy. She makes no move to pick it up and instead clutches her knuckles to her mouth, staring wide-eyed.

I look once over my shoulder, confused. Seeing no one, I fold my page to mark it and place the book on a side table, sitting up to give Lucie my full attention.

"You...you torture people?" Her voice is barely audible.

"I enforce the word of the King." I clarify. "I only hurt people who have broken the law."

She shakes her head. "You can't. Spencer...my gods."

"Why are you so upset?" I ask. "You wanted money, and I found a way to get it for you."

"Yes but, Spencer, I didn't want it like this." Her caramel eyes dart back and forth across my face. "This is wrong."

I start, confused. "It's not wrong. I'm maintainng balance. Professor Watson and I are contributing to the survival of our City."

"Torture isn't survival, Spencer." She is looking at me as though she is seeing me for the first time. "It's barbaric, it's...it's inhuman."

"Not at all." I stand up, moving to the bookcase to retrieve something. Lucie twitches when I pass her. "Quite the contrary, in fact. Our methods of interrogation have a long and illustrious history. Look here," I hold up a textbook on ancient Greek and Roman civilzation. "As early as the 2nd century AD, we were using pain as punishment. Humanity has relied on my work for two thousand years as a way to maintain the status quo."

I grab two more books, piling them into my arms before I turn back to face her, extending one for her to look at. Her arms dangle listlessly at her sides and she make no move to grab it.

"You're sick." She says. A single tear falls down the side of her perfect nose. "You really don't see a problem with what you're doing."

I glance down at the stack of books in my hand and back up at her. "I have a very important job. I thought you would be proud. I thought you liked the money, the dresses. Now, you can stay in school and get your laboratory. You can do all those things that you talked about."

Another tear slides down her face and she takes a step back. "I didn't want it this way."

"It doesn't effect you, Lucie. If you take the money or not, it doesn't stop what goes on down there." I carefully replace my books one by one, ensuring that each one goes back in its proper spot. "I can tell that you are upset, but the way I see it, you have two options."

She is frozen in place, staring at me. For once, she doesn't have anything to say.

I continue, calmly. "The first option is simple. You can pick up my shirt and place it back in the laundry, pretend that we never had this conversation, and go back to living the posh life I have given you. It won't be long until I have enough money to fund your environmental laboratory single-handedly. I can give you all the freedom in the world. You can go on wearing pretty dresses and throwing parties, and we can be happy."

I take a step closer to her. "The second option is that you leave now. Go back to your life as a lowly Fragment, forget about school, your dreams, your research. Go back to scraping out an existence and give up the beautiful life I have made for you."

Her eyes have stretched as wide as saucers, her long lashes batting prettily against her flushed cheeks. I move another step closer, keeping my voice smooth and even.

"I know that you'll make the right choice, Lucie. It isn't enough for you to simply exist. You want to thrive. Stay here with me and I can give you anything you want." I reach out a hand to stroke the lock of red hair dangling over her shoulder.

She jerks away and her hair slides between my fingers.

"I would rather live a thousand years as a lowly Fragment than another minute as your Intact mistress." She hisses.

I stare at her in shock. Her hands are clenched into fists at her side and a high colour has risen to her cheeks. She looks nothing like the smiling, happy Lucie that I love.

"You're a monster, Spencer. Do you hear me? There is something rotten inside of you. I always knew that there was, from the moment I met you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, figured you were harmless, but I could not have been more wrong." She is wagging her head back and forth as she takes another step back.

"Lucie, how can you say that? We're friends." This isn't right, this isn't what is supposed to happen. "I love you." I say the words desperately. I have to make her understand. I have to make her stay.

She stops in her tracks. "What did you say?"

"I love you, Lucie." I say it more confidently this time. It's worked. She's going to stay. We can be happy together. "It was all for you. All of it."

A strange sound escapes her throat, something between a choke and a cry. I am about to try and close the distance between us, but she holds out a hand to stop me, trembling furiously from head to toe.

"No, you don't." She says. "You don't love me, Spencer. You can't. You aren't capable of love." More tears spill down her face. I reach into my pocket and withdraw my handkerchief, holding it out to her. She doesn't even look at it.

"Please stay." I try to speak but no sound comes out. I don't understand. I don't understand.

"You're a broken man, Spencer Harmen." Her voice has grown stronger. She spits out the cruel words as though they taste bitter in her mouth. "You're broken and I feel sorry for you. Keep your blood money, I don't need it."

Shooting me one last, withering glare, she spins on her heel and strides out the door, slamming it closed behind her. I remain rooted in place, clutching the forgotten handkerchief, balling it up in my fist as her words hit home.

I am alone. I am alone. I am alone. I am alone.

That was when I knew that I hated her.

* * * * *

180 A.B.

"What have we got today, Professor?" I ask, pulling off my gloves and tucking them into the pocket of my waistcoat.

Professor Watson looks up from where he is bent over the desk near the gate. He has a touch of gout and has aged dramatically in the past five years. I am sad to see my old mentor slowing down, but at the same time, I am anxious for the promotion his retirement will surely warrant.

"Good morning, Spencer." The Professor straightens, holding out a piece of parchment for me to look over. "Nothing too extensive. We have a potential rebel leader in isolation cell D, and a couple of thieves waiting in the back office."

"Very good." I take a cursory glance of the lis andt refold it, careful to keep the same crease in the paper. "Are you coming down?"

"No, I have some business to take care of with the Lieutenant this morning. You go on ahead, I'll catch up with you later."

What he really means, is that his old knees don't handle the trip belowground as well as they used to. Just another notch in my steady ascent up to the position of Head Inquisitor. Then, I will be Spencer no longer. Professor Watson, these guards and the King, himself will have to address me by my most respected title; Mister Harmen.

I head straight to the chambers at the far end of the gaol, stopping off in one of the rooms to select a bonesaw from my carefully-preserved collection. I take a lot of pride in the cleanliness and organization of my instruments.

Whistling a little tune, I swing the saw at my side as I stride down the hall. pushing open the door of the last chamber. I throw the saw down on a side table and light a couple lanterns, brushing by the people seated in their specially-constructed chairs.

I stoke the coals of the fireplace, turning over a log and stepping back when the flames shoot out. I place the cauterizing irons inside gingerly, letting them warm up. It shouldn't take long.

"There, that's better, isn't it? Nice and toasty." I say approvingly, moving back around my clients and shrugging off my jacket.

There are two Fragments before me, a man and a woman. Their arms are shackled to the outstretched arms of the chair, giving me a nice surface area to work on. The man is slumped forward, staring blankly into his lap, but the woman sits rigidly, looking up at me.

Her hair is long and wild, filthy from days spent locked in the gaol. Her caramel eyes are unchanged, however. Wide and fearful as she tugs at her bindings.

"Spencer." Her voice comes out raspy and I cringe. "Spencer, it's me. It's Lucie."

I wrinkle my nose, moving to stand directly in front of her and crouching down. It is undoubtedly her. Skinny and ragged, reeking of filth and sweat. A Fragment through and through. And a thief, at that. I shake my head, tutting.

"You broke the law, Lucie." I straighten, unbuttoning the sleeves of my shirt and rolling them up to my elbow.

"Spencer, please. I had to. It was just a mince pie, it will hardly be missed." She shifts in the uncomfortable seat. "I was starving. I had to eat."

"That is unfortunate." I say, with all the sympathy I can muster. "I always hoped that you were better than the rest of them, Lucie."

She hiccups. "I had no other option, Spencer."

"Wrong." I tell her, calmly. "Five years ago, you had a choice to make, a very clear choice. Just as every other species must, at some time or another, choose to grow with the environment or fight against it."

I turn away, treading over to the wide table and picking up the bonesaw. Lucie releases an audible gasp and pulls pathetically at the iron binding her wrists to the chair.

"You see, Lucie, if we want to continue to survive, then we have to learn to work together. Five years ago, I gave you the option of staying on the top rung, but you decided that...this..." I gesture vaguely at the chamber we find ourselves in. "Was what you wanted."

I shake my head, seemingly bewildered. "Well, I'm not going to hold your choices against you. My job is to simply dole out the consequences."

"Spencer, I'm sorry." Tears cascade down her face. "Is that what you want to hear? Five years ago, I made a mistake. I want to take it back. Please, help me."

I drum my fingers against the blade, considering. An interesting choice. I could take her back, wash out that filthy hair, and resume our little slice of happiness. I could buy her clothes and she could invite her friends around. My posh flat could once again team with laughter and conversation. It's an inviting thought.

She wouldn't really be happy, of course. She would pretend and maybe, after awhile, learn to adjust. I could lie with her next to me at night, breathing in her unforgettably perfect essence. I would never have to be alone again.

She doesn't deserve the life that I could give her. She isn't who I thought she was, an intrepid survivor, coasting on the upper fringe of society. She is what I see before me now, a filthy, sniveling, Fragment thief.

You're a broken man, Spencer Harmen.

She'll go back to her life, after this. Her friends will gather around, buying her drinks and clutching her one, remaining hand. Over time, she may even release that beautiful, twinkling laugh again.

Meanwhile, I'll collect my pay and return to my empty flat. I'll have a hot meal delivered and sit down at my unnecessarily large dining table to eat it. I'll finish my book and turn in early, settling into my empty bed and blowing out the light.

I test the blade of the saw with my finger, wiping the drop of blood with my handkerchief. She screams and kicks out at me as I move closer, but I clamp my hand down firmly on her wrist, pinning her in place as I poise myself.

That was when I knew that I envied her.