“Eyelashes like these are wasted on a man.”

  She held my chin steady with one hand, while the other dabbed at the corner of my eye with a bit of cotton.

  Her own eyes – wide, expressive – studied me closely, a small crease between her brows.

  “Uh…thanks?” I managed, blinking up at her from my perch on the edge of a cot, otherwise occupied by a groaning octogenarian.

  My face stung in half a dozen places, where she’d applied ointment on various cuts and scrapes.

  Including the gash on my cheek. From her brutal slap last night.

  The offending ring dug into my jaw, cold and hard, where she still cupped my chin.

  No sooner had we finished tending to Mala, the dehydrated woman, than Aranyak shoved me down onto the nearest cot. Before calling the female attendant over to take a look at my injuries.

  Which was ostensibly what she was doing now.

  “This is Shubi,” Aranyak informed me, as she dabbed ointment onto my forehead with brisk efficiency. “Shubi Awan.”

  “Unbutton your shirt,” she instructed, eyes never leaving her work.

  I blinked, trying to process the flood of information hitting me from every direction.

  Shubi…Shubi Awan. The name echoed with faint, unpleasant familiarity. Related to Shaukat Awan, somehow?

  That would certainly explain the slap.

  Cool fingers brushed the base of my throat, then began to move downward.

  I jerked away, a strangled protest escaping my lips.

  Aranyak clamped a hand around the back of my neck, holding me in place. “Relax,” he said, laughing. “I’ve seen stray cats less jumpy than you.”

  “I hope that doesn’t imply you lot spend your free time molesting stray cats,” I gritted, still struggling to break free.

  Shubi had already undone the top few buttons of my shirt. She leaned in, examining the deep bruising across my chest.

  “There’s significant contusion here,” she said. “Any idea what caused it?”

  I looked up at her warily. Was she seriously pretending not to know what’d happened last night? Did she expect me to play along?

  Could it be… did she genuinely not realize I’d recognized her?

  It was possible, given she’d never taken off her mask or shown her face last night. If not for those eyes…

  And even then, could I be absolutely certain? Perhaps this woman really was a complete stranger. Perhaps I really was meeting Shubi Awan for the very first time.

  But the cold weight of the ring on her finger, brushing against my skin as she continued her examination, told me that my gut instinct had been correct. She was the one who’d slapped me; the female fighter who’d helped abduct me from the Minjal Stadium last night.

  Still, no harm in playing along. For the moment.

  Giving her my most innocent smile, I began: “Kind of embarrassing, really. I tripped—”

  “Over his own shoelaces,” Aranyak supplied helpfully.

  I tried to glare at him, but his grip on my neck kept me facing forward. “Hurt myself getting out of the car,” I continued, ignoring him. “While hanging out with three obnoxious assholes last night. My own fault, really. Man is known by the company he keeps, and all that.” I reached up, circling her wrist with my fingers and nudging her gently away. “Really, it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Shubi smiled thinly, unmoved by my attempt to push her off. “Yes, one should always mind the company he keeps. I’d know. My husband is rotting in prison on trumped-up charges because he trusted the wrong people. Believed this traitorous government would play fair. Thought he could protest peacefully and still be heard. When he should’ve sided with the separatists from the very start.” She glanced past me at Aranyak. “He might still be a free man, if only he’d picked better company.”

  Husband?

  Shaukat Awan?

  Well, that’d explain a lot. Including her palpable hostility the previous night.

  She continued her examination with clinical detachment, fingers cool and precise as she palpated the bruised area across my ribcage. It hurt. But I didn’t make another sound, lest I give Aranyak more ammunition to mock me.

  A little distance away, the male attendant knelt by Mala’s side. He pressed a cold, wrung-out cloth to her forehead. Trying to bring her dangerously high fever down to a level where the next stage of treatment could safely begin.

  Was he the one with the pellet gun last night?

  Unlike Shubi, the gun-wielding separatist who’d driven us to the Bariks’ workshop hadn’t made much of an impression. Mostly because I’d been too focused on the gun to pay much attention to the guy holding it.

  From his voice and movements, I’d thought he might be somewhere in his mid- to late-twenties. Just a gut feeling – I didn’t have anything to back it up.

  The attendant – Jibin, as I’d later learn – fit the age range. But that was hardly concrete proof of his involvement in the abduction.

  Yet, if it was him, it’d explain why the separatists enjoyed such abiding support within Zilani society. Despite the government’s relentless efforts to rip them out, roots and all, and salt the earth they grew from.

  These weren’t just rebels hiding out in the forest.

  They were treating patients, fetching water. Keeping the community afloat with essential services that the government should’ve been providing. But wasn’t.

  Ten minutes later, I sat clutching an ice pack to my chest. The cold seeped through the towel wrap, intensifying the ache in my bruised ribs.

  Shubi carefully dispensed two tablets from a small glass vial and recapped it. She held the pills out to me, along with a plastic water bottle.

  I reached for them.

  Only for the door behind me to slam open with a force that rattled the walls.

  I flinched, nearly dropping the pills.

  Maybe Aranyak had a point. I wasn’t usually this jumpy, but the last two days had left my nerves shredded.

  I really was starting to resemble a stray cat – twitchy, paranoid. Ready to claw the face off anything that moved too fast or sneezed too loud.

  Turning my head, I saw a tall, thin man hobble into the room, leaning heavily on a cane. A small girl trailed behind him.

  The man, with his salt-and-pepper beard and lined face, couldn’t have been less than sixty. The girl, her two pigtails swinging with each step, couldn’t be more than six.

  The newcomer’s sharp eyes swept the hall, pausing when they landed on us. Without a word, he began hobbling in our direction, cane tapping against the floor with each step.

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  Beside him, the little girl followed his gaze.

  Her eyes flitted past me – then lit up. “Baba!” she shrieked, launching herself forward.

  I barely had time to blink before she’d propelled herself onto the cot, eliciting a loud groan from the elderly man still lying on it.

  Then, she sprang again. Vaulting clean over my shoulder and straight into Aranyak’s arms.

  “Baba! You’re back!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

  The whole thing happened so fast, no one had time to react. Much less stop her. One second, she was standing still. The next, she was in midair.

  To her credit, though, she hadn’t knocked anything over in the tightly packed room. Which was in itself a minor miracle.

  Eventually, the tall man reached us. Directing a mock-glare at the girl nestled in Aranyak’s arms, he said, “Did I not tell you this very morning that your Baba is busy? You mustn’t bother him when he’s working.”

  “I’m not bothering,” she replied matter-of-factly, nuzzling her head into the crook of Aranyak’s neck. “I’m saying hi.”

  “Hi to you too, my little troublemaker.” Aranyak chuckled, burying his nose in her unruly hair, half of which had escaped her pigtails. “Did you eat yet?”

  She nodded. “Nani made creamy eggs.”

  “Two days in a row?” Shubi exclaimed, tickling the back of her neck until she squealed and wriggled. “Alright, I’m calling foul. What’s your Nani bribing you for, this time?”

  “Nothing! Nothing! Nana says eggs are good for your brain!” She glanced over at the older man with the cane, as if hoping he’d back her up.

  The banter flowed easily – light and familiar.

  I sat contentedly on my cot, pressing the ice pack to my ribs. Grateful to be ignored after a very uncomfortable day in the spotlight.

  Aranyak had a daughter.

  Barely more than a toddler.

  Well. That was… unexpected. Now that I thought about it, the old woman at the well had mentioned a wife. But the image hadn’t stuck in my brain. And I couldn’t say why.

  There’d always been rumors of Aranyak’s separatist activities. Wild stories, each more outrageous than the last. It was inevitable, almost. Given he was Mahrang’s firstborn.

  But even the Frontline Force had yet to uncover any solid proof. Anything that’d hold up in court.

  Far as anyone knew for sure, he was a civilian. A mid-level bureaucrat at the Zhyn Development Corporation. At least he had been, until recently.

  No reason why he shouldn’t have a family; a wife and kids.

  Yet somehow, I’d always pictured him as a hardened, lone-wolf rebel. Someone removed from mundane domestic concerns, the ordinary rhythms of family life.

  A reminder of just how deeply the media sculpted our perceptions, I supposed. How completely it shaped not just public narratives, but the quiet assumptions we made without even noticing.

  The octogenarian lying next to me let out a loud groan, cutting through the easy flow of conversation around me.

  Heads turned. Shubi rushed to his side, eyes darting to the IV drip as she pressed her fingers gently against his neck.

  The tall man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “Nana! Are you okay?” the little girl demanded. “Is it hurting?”

  Even as her Nana shook his head, Aranyak swatted at me with his free hand. “Get off the cot!” he snapped. “You’ve got no shame, have you? The least you can do is let the man sit down, seeing as it was your father that maimed him.”

  I raised an eyebrow, vacating my spot as directed. “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid. My father’s maimed plenty of people. I can’t possibly keep track.” I turned to the older man. “I’m sorry, have we met before? I don’t think I recognize—”

  “Mahal Rajas,” the man rasped, as Shubi helped him settle onto the cot.

  “My uncle,” Aranyak said at the same time. “My mother’s elder brother.”

  He pinned me with a piercing glare. “Your father’s government had him arrested on false charges and tortured in custody. For daring to protest against Vance Industries on behalf of the workers and their rights.”

  Well, that went without saying. Every man arrested on Zilani soil must inevitably have been arrested on false charges. Never had a thief actually stolen in Zilan, nor a murderer actually killed. Those things happened only in the wicked central states.

  Still, I kept that revelation to myself, suspecting it wouldn’t be well-received in present company.

  Not that I felt any particular urge to defend Papa or his non-existent honor. I had no trouble believing he’d have a protestor arrested and tortured, to stamp out a labor strike. Not the only time he’d used that tactic on Vance’s behalf.

  It was, in part, Vance’s business interests he’d been protecting, when he signed off on Mahrang’s execution. And launched his crusade to wipe out the Zilani separatists. Because Vance Industries had always donated generously to the HPA.

  And Vance sourced its raw materials from Zilan. Dirt cheap. That supply would dry up if Zilan seceded from Hastinar. Or if its workers managed to claw their way to decent wages and working conditions.

  “It’s not that you’re unaware of any of this, is it?” Aranyak continued, watching me. “It’s just that you don’t care.” His eyes flicked to the male attendant, now occupied with a patient on the other side of the hall. “Jibin over there had two younger brothers. Had, because one of them died last month. He wasn’t even fourteen. Didn’t get the treatment he needed. Why? Well, he was at a hospital in Zhyn when the power went out.

  “The whole neighborhood lost electricity for forty-eight hours. Eventually, the backup generators started to fail. Government hospitals in Zhyn aren’t adequately outfitted, to begin with.” He paused, his voice cracking at the edges. “Life-saving equipment shut down, and it was fatal. Not just for him. More than twenty people died in that one hospital, because of that single power cut. Seven of them were newborn babies. And this kind of thing happens all the time, all over the state. Just last week—”

  A sudden burst of shrill violin music cut him off.

  Everyone paused, momentarily disoriented. Before our heads collectively turned toward the source of the sound.

  “Oh, sorry! I just—” Shubi yanked a phone from her pocket, barely glancing at the screen. “I need to take this.”

  She clutched the device to her chest and strode briskly out of the hall.

  I frowned, watching her go. I’d been standing close enough to catch a glimpse of the screen.

  Had I imagined it?

  Because I could’ve sworn the caller ID had read, simply: The Man.

  I must have misread it. There wasn’t time for a second look – she was gone before I could risk another glance.

  Still, the two words lodged in my brain like a burr. What the hell could they mean?

  I shook my head.

  With the day I’d been having, I’d almost managed to forget that I no longer had my own phone. Hadn’t seen it since my captors confiscated it last night. Now, my fingers suddenly ached for it – that familiar, reassuring weight in my palm.

  But it was gone. Vanished. I didn’t think even Aranyak had it on him. The only device I’d seen him use all day was that clunky old brick phone he’d pulled out to summon the rickshaw.

  “So, uh,” I began, searching for a way to ask about my phone without raising any hackles. “What brings you to the clinic today?” I shot a glance at Mahal, who was digging his fingers into his thigh in what looked to be a rather painful massage. “My father hasn’t set foot in Zilan in over a decade.” Whatever he did to the man, the injury should’ve either healed or killed him by now.

  Mahal Rajas let out a booming laugh. Even Aranyak cracked a reluctant chuckle, as if it’d slipped out against his will.

  Taking her cue from the adults, the little girl joined in with a delighted giggle.

  “You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that.” Mahal kneaded his leg with punishing force. “Virat told me you’re not easily cowed. Looks like he was right on the money.”

  That wasn’t, in fact, the impression I’d meant to impart. I was terrified. Had been since the moment I set eyes on the black-masked separatists, back at the Minjal Stadium. And I had no interest in pretending otherwise.

  The last thing I needed was a pack of armed separatists looking to test my courage.

  “I help out here when I can,” Mahal went on, oblivious to the quiet panic spiraling in my chest. “The whole family does. Even Ruhi tags along more often than not.” He nodded at Aranyak’s daughter. “To play with the little ones. Keep them entertained while they’re here.”

  When I looked her way, Ruhi gave me a shy, gap-toothed grin. Before burrowing her face into the crook of Aranyak’s neck.

  “There’s a children’s wing here?” I asked, surprised.

  “Children’s wing?” Mahal huffed. “Children get treated right alongside everyone else.” He gestured around the room. “Anything non-contagious gets handled here. There’s another space for the contagious cases. And the lobby for minor scrapes and bumps, runny noses – the light stuff. That’s it. But many of the patients don’t have anyone at home to look after their children when they come in; so they bring them along.” He shifted, wincing slightly. “We’ve got a room upstairs where the kids can stay until their folks are done. Sometimes it’s a few hours, sometimes a few days.”

  “And what if it’s not enough?” I asked. “If someone needs to be taken to Zhyn for further treatment?”

  Aranyak smirked. “Trying to figure out how to give us the slip and hightail it back to the capital?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. I’ll tell you. There’s a 6 a.m. bus from Khasi – last stop is Zhyn. Comes back around nine at night, same route in reverse. There’s another one from Riyun every Sunday at noon. Other than that, the only way to get to Zhyn from Jumli is by car.”

  Jumli…

  God, where’d I heard that name before? I was certain I’d heard it. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember where.

  “There used to be a 10 a.m. bus, Monday through Wednesday,” Mahal told me. “They scrapped it about a year ago. You can thank Pradip Chakra.” He grunted, shifting on the cot. “Friend of your father’s, isn’t he? Well, he’s transport minister now. And everything’s gone steadily to hell since he took over. Maybe you can sweet-talk him into adding a few more buses. Make it easier for future hostages to escape the clutches of the evil separatists. Think of the children, my good lad.”

  “I doubt Chakra would listen to anything I have to say on the matter. Or any matter. He left the HPA for the HNP a couple of years ago. Precisely because he felt my father wasn’t appreciating his genius, wasn’t recognizing his contributions to the party.”

  “Also because it became clear as day the HPA was never going to win a Zilani election again,” Aranyak added. “Not in the foreseeable future. The HNP’s been sweeping the state elections for over a decade. So he wanted to bet on the winning horse.”

  “Also that,” I conceded. “And it’s paid off for him, clearly. If he’s the state transport minister now. You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t keep up with Zilani politics these days—”

  The heavily pregnant woman on the other side of the room let out a piercing, desperate wail.

  Aranyak turned toward her, gently lowering Ruhi to the floor before gesturing for me to follow. I obliged.

  Shubi burst back into the room, also making a beeline for the pregnant woman.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ruhi lean in, whispering something in Mahal’s ear. Then she skipped away, humming to herself as she disappeared through the door.

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