"Gone?"

Jon Serro bore down on the quivering cadet, the same man who had let Emme and Annie escape only hours before. They were in a dark room, somewhere miles underground, with only a phosphor lantern to illuminate the dusty air.

"How can she be gone?" demanded Serro, incensed beyond all reason. He roared, tossing the cadet to one side like he weighed no more than a scarecrow, throwing a wooden stool at him; it clunked the unfortunate man on the side of the head, and he whimpered.

"I don't know, sir, they cursed me," he said, his voice shaking with fear as Alyssa Pierre approached him, knives drawn. "All of a sudden I just fell asleep..."

"That girl couldn't have done that," spat the assassin. "She was barely registering. I couldn't feel her a foot away from me..."

"Her friend," stammered the cadet, tears streaming from his eyes.

Serro stopped, his hand paused on its way towards striking the cadet. He looked at Alyssa.

"What intelligence do we have on Ms. November?" he asked, his voice dark and quiet.

Alyssa shivered with pleasure; she loved it when he was all business. "She is a wick," she admitted. "Might have done it."

Serro cast his eyes over the cadet, whose face was pressed against the dank, dusty floorboards in self-defense. The leader of the resistance placed his boot on his head, pressing slightly.

"You have failed the city of Vienda," he said softly. The boot pressed a bit harder. "You have failed your people. And you have failed me."

A swift kick to the face brought the man to unconsciousness.

"Get someone to take him outside the city," he ordered Alyssa, not looking at her. "And get our men down to the wharf. I want detailed reports from everyone working there last night. I want a docking manifest in my hands in one hour. Understood?"

Alyssa nodded. His face looked like death itself, a terrifying mask of rage. She knew better than to question him when he was like this.