"What about me?" Liz croaked. "My parents are dead. I've done nothing wrong."
Halt's scowl deepened. "Elizabeth Flores." He paused, looking her up and down with a sneer. "Vagrant, beggar, fugitive. You have escaped justice for long enough. After what your parents did, did you really think we would not come for you? That we would not hunt you to the ends of the earth?"
White-hot fire lit in Liz's chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and swallow the scream building in her throat. She wanted to deny the accusations, to curse him and the others, but she knew there was no point. She had tried that once before, when they had first come for her. But one look at her ragged clothes, at the curly black hair and olive skin, and they had dismissed her words as lies.
Her shoulders slumped as Halt looked away. Wrapping her arms around herself, she staggered to the back of the cage and sank to the floor. She wasn't giving up, not yet, but she knew when silence was the better course of action.
Unlike her fellow prisoner.
"What is this place?" Christopher's voice was soft, as though if he whispered, Halt's answer might offer some sort of mercy.
Liz glanced at him, watching as he lost the battle with his tears. Despite herself, sympathy swelled in her chest. She knew what it was like, to lose one's parents. She would not wish it on anyone.
"This is your redemption." Halt spread his arms, including them both in the gesture. "This is your chance to redress the crimes of your parents, to contribute to the betterment of our nation. The government has seen fit to offer you both a reprieve."
"How generous of them," Liz muttered from the floor.
She shivered as Halt's eyes found hers. They flashed with anger, offering a silent warning against further interruptions. Pursing her lips, she gripped the wire tighter. It cut into her fingers as she willed herself to remain silent.
"My mother was not a traitor," came Christopher's response. "How dare you—"
Halt waved a hand and the guards who still waited at the back of the room came to life. They marched past the silent group of doctors and approached Chris's cage. One produced a key, and a second later they had the door open. They moved inside, and a brief scuffle followed as they tried to get their hands on the boy. One staggered back from a blow to the face before the other managed to use his bulk to pin Christopher to the wire.
When both guards had a firm grip on him, they hauled Christopher out and forced him to his knees in front of Halt. The doctor loomed over the boy, arms folded. He contemplated Chris with empty eyes, like a spider studying a fly trapped in its web. Liz watched on in silence, hardly daring to breathe as Halt nodded to the guards.
The one on the left drew back his boot and slammed it into Christopher's stomach. He collapsed without a sound, mouth wide, gasping like a fish out of water. A low wheeze came from his throat as he rolled onto his back and strained for breath. It came with a sudden groan, before another boot crashed into his side, almost lifting him off the ground.
A scream tore from the young man's throat as he tried to roll into a ball. But the other guard only grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him back to his knees. The two of them looked at Halt then, waiting for further instruction.
Halt approached, one finger tapping idly against his elbow. Softly, he continued as though nothing had happened. "As I was saying, you have been given a reprieve. But the crimes of your parents still stand, as does the sentence on your lives. You no longer exist in the eyes of the state. You are no one, nothing but what we permit you to be. If you're lucky, we might find you worthy of our work here." Liz shivered. She had no idea what work Halt was talking about, but she had a feeling she wouldn't like it. "More likely though," Halt continued, "you will die. But know at least that your deaths will have advanced the interests of our fine nation."
Chris was still kneeling on the ground between the guards, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Halt eyed him, as though weighing whether his words had sunk in.
"In the meantime, you will respect and obey your betters," Halt murmured. "Soon, you will be shown to your new accommodation, but first, I want to be sure you understand the gravity of your situation. Christopher Sanders, why are you here?"
On the ground, Chris looked up at the doctor. His eyes shone, but no tears fell. Turning his head, he spat on the concrete. "She's a terrible cook." He coughed, then continued, "but that hardly makes her a traitor—"
The guard's fist caught him in the side of the head and sent him crashing to the floor. A kick followed, and for the next thirty seconds the thud of hard leather boots on flesh echoed through the room. When the guards finally retreated, the young man lay still, his soft moans the only sign of life.
"Get him up," Halt commanded.
Together, the guards hauled the boy back to his knees. This time Halt leaned down, until the two of them were face-to-face. "Well?"
Christopher's shoulders sagged. A sob came from him, and for a second Liz thought he would not speak. Then he nodded, a whisper following. "Okay," he croaked, "okay…my mother…is a traitor." He looked up as he finished, a spark of flame still burning in his eyes. "Are you happy?"
The doctor studied him for a long while, as though weighing up the admission alongside his show of defiance. Finally he nodded, and the guards grabbed Christopher by the shoulders and muscled him back into the cage.
The clang as the door closed sent a sliver of ice down Liz's spine. She stared at the floor, sensing the eyes of the room on her, and waited for Halt's words.
"Elizabeth Flores." His voice snaked its way around her, raising the hackles on her neck. "You have been on the run for a long time. Surely you, at least, must admit to your parents' crimes?"
Looking up, Liz found the cold grey eyes of the doctor watching her. She suppressed a shudder and quickly looked away. Taking slow, measured breaths, she beat down the rage burning in her chest. She took one step, then another, until she reached the front of her cage. Leaning against the wire, she looked at the doctor and raised an eyebrow.
"What would you like me to admit to?" she whispered.
Halt took a step back from the cage, but she did not miss the way his eyes lingered on her. She gave a little smirk as he growled. "Disgusting girl," he spat. "Admit that your parents were monsters—that you aided them, that for years you have run from the law, hiding from justice."
A tremor shook Liz and she bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. Closing her eyes, she sent out a silent prayer for the souls of her parents. Their faces drifted through her mind—smiling, happy, at peace. They had been kind and sweet, only ever wanting her to be happy, to have a better life than the one they'd lived. For years they had scraped and saved to send her to boarding school in the city. The day Liz had been accepted, she'd never seen them so happy. And for three years, she had suffered the taunts of her peers in that school to keep them that way.
But they were long gone; they didn't care what she said about them. There was no need for Liz to suffer, to bleed for their memory. Not now, when there was no hope of escape. But silently she made a vow: to bide her time and conserve her strength, until an opportunity showed itself.
When she opened her eyes again, she found the cold grey eyes of Halt looking back, and smirked.
"Fine, I admit it. My parents were monsters. What of it?"
She almost laughed as the doctor's face darkened, an angry red flushing his cheeks. He clenched his fists and made to approach the cage before stopping himself. Flashing a glance over his shoulder at their audience, he shook his head and smiled.
"Very good," he said, eyeing the two of them. "So, we understand one another."