Over and over I awake curled up on the cold floor of my cell, with only a vague recollection of being dragged back toward it and flung inside.

There is a merciful instant before I become fully aware of my surroundings, when I am able to imagine myself somewhere else, back on the roofs of the City. The sun bakes my skin, warming me while I look across the vast network of stone buildings and desert, the horizon stretching to a finite point at the furthest reaches of my vision.

I struggle to hold onto the memory as my body contracts in agony. This last interrogation was particularly monstrous, and I lost count of Harmen's strikes long before I passed out. By the way my tunic sticks stubbornly to my back, I can wager that the last of my unmarked skin has been decimated.

It is with great difficulty that I manage to pull myself into a seated position, leaning forward so I don't brush up against the rough stone behind me. I collapse over my knees and draw great, shallow breaths, the effort of adjusting my position making me fully aware of the remainder of my wounds and rendering me exhausted. I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself back into unconsciousness and away from the chorus of malicious whispers encroaching from all sides.

Each day passes the same, any semblance of wakefulness peppered by endless questions and more pain. Sometimes I awake in my cell, sometimes shackled to the pole. Even the interrogation has become predictable: where is Meg, who am I working with, what have I planned. Any satisfaction I get out of remaining silent is abolished with each fresh lick.

Nothing ever changes, but I long ago stopped expecting it to.

My fitful sleep is disturbed all too soon by the sound of my cell door being unlocked. Torchlight blazes across my vision and I blink at the invasive brightness, waiting.

The now-familiar silhouette of Harmen swims into view. The Inquisitor takes a step toward me, a tray balanced delicately in his hands. I eye him suspiciously as the platter is placed before me. The greasy smell of food hits my nostrils and causes my stomach to growl hungrily.

Someone has left a small stool near the door and I watch as Harmen lowers himself onto it, sweeping away the long tails of his jacket. He gives a slight nod and the door swings closed, leaving us alone. He studies me, not saying anything, his legs crossed elegantly as though he is making himself comfortable in a Palace lounge.

"Don't wait on my account," he says, lightly. "You must be hungry."

My hand darts out, grabbing hold of the bowl and scooping up large mouthfuls of stew with my fingers. Harmen sits and waits as I scarf greedily, not bothering to examine what it is that I am eating. It could be rat, for all I care. When I've finished, I tilt the bowl up and lick it clean, finally lowering it and rubbing my mouth with my wrist, wincing at the skin torn by my bindings.

"Better?" he asks.

My response is a hurled bowl, which he dodges easily. I'd have no problem braining him if I were in better form.

Harmen makes a low tsk in his throat as he shakes his head, seemingly disappointed. "I see there is still some work we can do."

I shrug, keeping my eyes trained on his. "I have the time."

"Indeed, you do." The creepy smile returns to his face, stretched tightly over his jaw. "How is your back today?"

"You seem unusually concerned about me."

"On the contrary—I am always interested in the well-being of my clients. I prefer them to be in the best possible health so that our sessions may continue for as long as necessary." He remains perfectly still save for one long finger drumming against his knee.

"How considerate," I say, dryly.

"That said, I do happen to have a personal interest in you, Kay. Usually, an interrogation does not drag on quite the way yours has."

"I must be special."

"In a way, you are." He ignores my sarcasm and leans forward, forearms on his thighs. "I will admit that I find you incredibly fascinating. What drives a person such as yourself to so fiercely protect a princess of the royal house? Do you suppose that if your positions were reversed, she would lift a finger to help you?"

A flush of anger creeps up my neck. "You wouldn't know anything about it."

"I thought by now we had established that there is very little I don't know."

I shudder, snippets of memory returning. There is Harmen hissing a bloody narrative, telling and retelling me how I failed to protect my family. There is Will's name, demands that I reveal his and Meg's whereabouts. There is the sting of the whip in between accusations.

Shaking my head, I force myself to focus back on Harmen, blinking. "I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

His grin widens. "I was wondering why you would put yourself through such an ordeal for someone who has clearly abandoned you."

It's a fair question. Why should I prolong my execution when we have already failed in overthrowing the King? What am I holding on to? Under the maniacal gaze of Harmen and encompassed in the cloak of my shattered body, I struggle to find the reason.

"I am flattered that you are taking such a vested interest in me," I say, tiredly. "And I'll say it again only because you are so woefully forgetful: Mind your own bloody business."

"Such a shame." Harmen shakes his head, sighing. "You were born to the wrong side, Kay. Were you born to the Court, you might have been very happy. You would have lived a long life, and all that cleverness would not have gone to waste."

"That is the difference between us, Harmen. You think a person is made better by circumstance and handouts."

"And you believe otherwise?" His voice has taken on a conversational tone, his head tilted to one side as he listens intently.

"I have been both a courtier and a commoner, which I think makes me the foremost expert on the subject." I straighten my leg, stretching the left knee. "Good and evil, courage and cowardice, right and wrong: Court or Commons makes no difference. One is as bad as the other."

"Are you always so certain of everything?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." Harmen sits up, one finger tapping his lips. "But I wonder if you have ever considered that our system—while flawed—is still the best chance we have for survival?"

"You will have a very hard time convincing me that condemning thousands of people to war and servitude is good for anyone."

"You're a smart girl, Kay. Think about it. The gods granted your monarchy the sacred—some would say impossible—task of keeping our society alive beneath a sun that burned us nearly to the point of extinction." He leans closer. "Survival is not about the individual. It is about the group. These are desperate times, and the fact that you or anyone from the Commons has survived is a testament to the wisdom of your King."

I stare at him, unblinking.

He re-crosses his legs and continues, "You could argue that your people are the most important members of the City; the true backbone of our society. Without their sacrifice, we couldn't construct our homes, harvest our food or protect our wall. A courtier may lead a more comfortable existence, but it is the commoner who will build the new world."

"Walls and wars," I say bitterly. "That's all this city will ever be remembered for. We're surviving, perhaps, but that is a world of difference from living." I shake my head, speaking mostly to myself. "Your system assumes that we should naturally be at odds with one another. Commoners against courtiers, all of us against the Wastelanders. We haven't been given the chance to try and work together."

He chuckles softly, in an almost fatherly way. My skin rises in goosebumps at the sound.

"After everything you have been through, you still think people have the capacity to get along? My dear Kay, you have already learned a very important lesson." He pauses, scrutinizing me. "People only care about themselves. Give them freedom of choice and they will destroy everything."

"You don't know that."

"Trust me, I do. I have studied the history books. One head, one voice speaking for everyone: that is the only way to have order. That is the only method for ensuring that we continue to survive."

"There are other ways."

"You've seen it for yourself. Wasn't it your friend who orchestrated your arrest?"

My heart lurches. At this moment, Lara is likely comfortably ensconced in her plush new flat, dressing up in expensive clothes. The price of my freedom.

I open my mouth to say something, then close it again.

"Lara was Frye's lover, wasn't she? You must have been close."

At the mention of my brother, my throat swells shut, choking me. Harmen's unnaturally tight smile stretches wide as he scrutinizes my reaction.

"From what I gather, you were stealing from the Palace for the sake of some half-baked plot to save her and the rest of those common nobodies. That's quite a risk to take, isn't it? You put yourself directly in front of the King so that you could help a friend, and how does she repay you?"

The greasy food turns over in my stomach

"Enough," I manage, my voice barely audible.

"...By turning you over to the guards at the first opportunity. She saw her chance and she took it. Let me ask you: does this seem like someone capable of governing themselves?" His eyes flash menacingly in the dim light, betraying his casual demeanour.

Another bout of nausea sends me clawing toward the bucket. I heave into it, muscles contracting painfully over and over until there is nothing left in my stomach. I am vaguely aware of Harmen crouching over me, holding my hair away from my face.

Lacking the strength to slap him away, I slump back against the wall, grimacing as the movement sends agonizing spasms streaming down my back. I sigh heavily, my eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling.

"Where is she, Kay?"

I have just enough left in my reserves to kick my leg out at the bucket. There is a satisfying clatter and a pool of watery vomit gathers beneath the Inquisitor's shoes.

Harmen stands abruptly, knocking the stool backward and releasing a stream of curses. I smirk, feeling a bruise pull at my cheek as I watch his demeanour turn from composure to abject fury.

"Very well." When he speaks, his voice is low, danger percolating just below his surface. "I can see there will be no rationalizing with you."

"What took you so long."

"You've disappointed me, Kay, but I fear it isn't my disappointment that should concern you. The King is calling for a halt to your interrogation." There is a scraping of wood against stone as Harmen repositions his stool away from the mess.

I remain silent, counting the blocks in the low ceiling for the thousandth time.

"This, of course, means you will be receiving your punishment."

I almost laugh aloud at the suggestion. Punishment? What have I been doing down here all this time?

"You have been charged with kidnapping, among a host of other felonies." Harmen's tone is grave, imploring.

"I daren't ask when the trial will be."

He doesn't respond to that, instead clenching his jaw tightly in disapproval. "The King has declared his daughter to be his most precious treasure—"

I actually do manage to snort out loud at that.

"—and as such, your punishment shall be that of a thief, to the highest extent," he continues, his tone scolding.

"I imagine that is a sight worse than chopping off my hands." I examine my wrists, rubbed raw and spotted with dried blood.

"You are to be executed tomorrow by beheading."

I glance up, catching the maniacal glint in Harmen's eye as he waits for my reaction. It isn't difficult to keep my face devoid of any emotion.

"This is your last chance, Kay. This isn't a game anymore." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he curls and uncurls his fists.

I unconsciously shift away.

"You are going to die tomorrow. All of your stubbornness and so-called-bravery will count for nothing." Spittle flies free of his lips. "Tell me what I want to know. Tell me and I can save you."

I remain very still, watching him. I take stock of the sheen of perspiration dotting his forehead and the way his starched collar sits slightly askew. Glancing down at his hands, I recall the way they furled around the worn leather whips, his callused palms a sharp contrast to his otherwise pristine appearance.

The cell echoes with Harmen's laboured breathing and reeks of sick. I feel the walls press in closer, the rough stone scratching and tearing at my broken flesh. Everything is too close, too cloying. The time spent here has robbed me of everything I once loved—the feeling of sun on my face, the whisper of wind against my skin. Harmen is right: there is nothing left.

Finally, I drag my eyes up to meet the Inquisitor's, forcing as much strength into my voice as I can.

"I will meet you in the eternal Burn," I spit.

Harmen's face crumples, his grief as unsettling as his smile. "I don't understand." His voice breaks as he withdraws his handkerchief and dabs spastically at his brow. "They always tell me. Why won't you tell me?"

One question I wish I could answer.

"So be it." He fusses with the handkerchief, folding and refolding it before he straightens his glasses and smoothes his hair. "Your execution will be held tomorrow in the courtyard. Your death will be a demonstration of the might and justice of King Francis and—I think—a very fitting end to the legend of the infamous Runner."

Harmen studies me for a moment longer before rising to his feet and closing the short distance between us. I flinch as he kneels down in front of me. With surprisingly gentle fingers, he brushes a matted strand of hair from my eyes, his touch causing my blood to curdle and my empty stomach to heave. When he speaks, I can hardly hear him over the rushing in my ears.

"It was me who suggested that you be executed out of doors. I thought you might enjoy the sunlight during your last moments. It is one kindness I can grant you." He tucks the strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm going to miss you, Kay."

Cursing my weakness, I can only remain frozen, my mouth clamped shut defiantly as Harmen steps back. When the cell door swings open, he is briefly illuminated, the damp torchlight giving me a glimpse of what it is to be condemned. In the instant before I am returned to my darkness, I see an old man, broken and already forgotten.