Truthfully, I still feel as though I’m being squeezed through flat rollers, stretched out and held to a hot iron. My ribs itch and throb as the fractures knit in response to the medics’ treatment. Every movement makes my head ache with exhaustion, and all I want to do is go to sleep.

“I’m fine, sir,” I say instead of the truth. This, at least, is a lie I can deal with. “Truly. No long-lasting trauma.” Except, you know, going mad in the swamp and seeing a secret facility that’s no longer there.

The commander nods, her posture relaxing a fraction. “In that case, we can handle the official debrief process now.” She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a recorder about the size of her index finger and snapping the top open so the green recording light flashes at me. She sets it down on the medicine cabinet beside my bed. “Debrief interview, post-incident with Captain Jubilee Chase, recording for transcript by TD-Alpha Base senior officer, Commander Antje Towers. Galactic date code 080449. Let’s begin, Captain. Can you tell me what you remember, starting from the beginning?”

I take a slow breath, testing the point at which my healing ribs twinge. A boy named Flynn Cormac abducted me and then saved my life and let me go again. I think of the first moment I saw him in Molly’s, nursing his beer and watching me in the mirror over the bar. My mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

Commander Towers is studying me expectantly, her fair eyebrows slightly raised, hands still folded over her knees. The clinic is quiet, the silence roaring in my ears.

Then, a strange voice says, “I don’t remember much.”

I clear my throat, pressing my palms down flat against the blankets. I’m committed now. I’ve lied.

“There was a guy at Molly Malone’s, and he had a gun. It all happened so fast, I didn’t get a good look at his face. He knocked me out when we got outside.”

“Tell me what you do remember about him. Young or old? Strong or weak? Any dominant racial traits?”

“Strong,” I say, picking the most harmless of the questions to answer.

“Did you learn anything at all about who he was?”

My stomach lurches. If I tell her that Orla Cormac’s brother is out there, alive and among the Fianna, they’ll never stop searching for him. “Not really, no.” My voice sounds steady. “He and the others were careful not to use names.”

“Is the one who took you responsible for your injuries?”

My gaze wants to drag itself across to the winking green light on the recorder, waiting to catch me out. I force myself to focus on Commander Towers. “No, that was later. I think I was in a cave. One of them beat me.” I move my arm so I can rest my hand briefly over my ribs. “They kept me a few days, until they decided for some reason to move me. I figured that was my only chance, and I got the jump on the guys escorting me. Stole a boat, managed to get it most of the way back before it ran out of gas, and I walked the rest of the way.”

“Slow down. Is the cave the next location you remember?” Her gaze is intent. “Take me through it chronologically.”

My head’s aching, and it feels like wading through syrup as I rifle through the options. Every lie I tell carries me deeper, makes it harder to think of all the ways they might be able to catch me. They might have had a visual on his boat leaving and know which way we went. This is what I get for lying for a rebel. “No, before we went to the cave he took me east.”

“Did he say why?” Now she shifts her weight forward in her chair, and I know I’m not imagining the fact that she’s more alert, focused on the smallest shift in my face.

I try to shrug, and my ribs send a lance of pain up my side to protest that idea. “He thought there was some kind of military installation out that way, but I didn’t know of any.”

The risk of what I’m about to do makes my head spin like I’m doing an air-drop without a chute. But if there’s even a chance she’ll answer the questions churning in my brain, I have to take the leap. “Though my platoon’s never been assigned patrol in that sector—maybe there is something out there that I didn’t know about.” I can almost feel that ident chip in my pocket, burning a hole against my thigh.

Commander Towers hasn’t moved, eyes still on my face. I school my expression, trying to remember what polite inquiry would look like. Am I too blank? Should I raise my brows? Smile? My heartbeat is too loud, and I’m nearly as dizzy as I was when I collapsed on the island. The moment stretches into an eternity, me gazing at my commander and her gazing back.

Abruptly she reaches out for the recorder, switching it off but keeping her eyes on her fingers.

My heart stops; she’s caught me. She’s turning off the recorder because she’s about to call for security to haul me down to lockup. “Commander—”

Her head snaps up, lips twisting into what’s clearly meant to be a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Captain. I’ve heard enough.”

I blink, trying to sit up despite the dull, painful protest of my ribs. “But the rest of my account?”

She gives the recorder a little shake, her half smile turning wry. “There’s enough here to satisfy the higher-ups. You need rest more than you need a debrief.” Her cheek twitches minutely, a sign her jaw’s carrying some tension. “Rest up, Chase. We need you back.”

I ought to feel relieved. No more questions, no more chance my actions will be discovered. But Commander Towers has been here nearly as long as I have, and I know her well enough to see she’s troubled.