The soldiers took Fletcher back down to the prison section of the base he’d been in originally. It might have even been his original cell, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention the first time he came through to know for sure.

  They removed the cuffs and left him in the small room. It was just as it had been before with the tidy cot in one corner and a combo sink/toilet in the other. Fletcher pulled his shoes off and sat on the cot, his head in his hands.

  Hitting something or yelling at someone would have felt really good right then with how much fiery rage coursed through his veins, but he knew how to control his temper at least a little bit. Instead, he stewed in his anger, silently cursing his mother every way he could.

  All he’d been trying to do was help a friend out that night at the gala, and now he was somehow wrapped up in a whole terrorist organization with the expectation that he join them. Where, oh where, did his life go so wrong?

  Fletcher wanted to blame it on the job in Bren’it’p, but he couldn’t bring himself to wish away those months in the city because doing that would mean wishing away Beam, and at the moment, she was the last good thing he’d had in his life.

  As bland as these cell walls were, he’d rather spend the rest of his life staring at them than turn against his own people or the Unhumans. He didn’t care what the Mixed claimed they were fighting for. He’d seen firsthand the carnage they left behind in their “mission,” and he wouldn’t have part in that. So many big decisions in his recent life had been made by other people for him, but this time he was making his own choice, regardless of what his parents wanted for him. Fletcher wasn’t a soldier, and he planned to stay that way.

  The evening wore on as he sat alone in the cell. No food was delivered, which was unfortunate since he hadn’t been able to eat much of his dinner before. They turned the lights off at some point, but he remained where he sat, jumping between reminiscing of happy times in his life and daydreaming about some alternate future where he managed to avoid Hazel Anders and her influence for the rest of his life. Eventually he gave up chasing his thoughts and curled up on the cot under the thin blanket, doing his best to ignore the grumbling of his stomach.

  He slept poorly, waking up constantly, and it was a relief when the lights came back on, signaling morning. Breakfast was delivered on a tray through a slot at the bottom of the door. Fletcher wasted no time picking it up, only to be disappointed by the sad state of the scrambled eggs and already cold toast. The few slices of a fruit—something akin to an orange with a deep green color instead—weren’t bad, but there was no coffee or other beverage to accompany the meal, leaving him to drink handfuls of water from the sink.

  After he finished eating, he set the tray and used dishes back on the ground near the slot they’d originally come through and contemplated what to do next with his time. Last time he’d been in the cell for only a few hours before getting his semi-official release from being a prisoner, but this time it was obvious he’d be here longer.

  Didn’t prisons normally have a system where prisoners got to interact and workout and things? They also normally had cafeterias instead of delivering each meal individually if he remembered correctly, which meant this wasn’t like the system the Humans used. Or perhaps Hazel was really punishing him and put him in high security or something crazy like that. She had insisted he be treated as a “high-level threat” when they first dragged him to this base so clearly she liked putting him through some amount of tribulation.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the slot opening and the tray receding through it. The slot then slammed closed with a certain finality he didn’t like. Several hours passed as he sat in the stark cell, waiting for anything to happen.

  Nothing did.

  Fed up with sitting around, Fletcher pulled his shirt off, tossed it on the cot, and then started stretching to relieve some of the soreness from his body. Training with Jeric and Addy had done a number on his muscles. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere anytime soon, and he was betting his mother was going to draw this whole prisoner thing out as long as she could this time around, so he might as well do something to keep busy.

  Once he was warmed up, he used his blanket as a type of mat and engaged in every exercise he could think of to burn off his energy. Squats, lunges, crunches, pushups, running in place, and more. It was only after running through the circuit three times that he deemed himself exhausted enough to call it for the day. As sore as his body was, it felt good to move and loosen things up. There was no clock in his cell so he had no way of knowing how much time he burned, but he liked to believe it was a reasonable amount with how tired he was.

  As he was washing himself off at the sink, the slot opened and his lunch arrived. It was as low quality as everything else, just a soggy sandwich with a pitiful side of dried out carrot sticks.

  After finishing his food and setting the tray back at the slot in the door, he put his shirt back on and laid down on the cot. This wasn’t too terrible. Boring, sure, but not torturous by any means, especially compared to the treatment he received during their journey here. At least he could freely move around, even if it was in a tiny amount of space.

  Another hour or so passed before Fletcher stood up and stretched out some more. There was nothing to do besides his makeshift workout, and he couldn’t stand sitting around in his own thoughts any longer. He ran through another round of exercises, cleaned off, and still had time to sit on the cot for several hours before dinner arrived.

  Mystery meat, boiled potatoes with no seasoning, and mushy brussel sprouts. Maybe the food counted as torture because Fletcher wasn’t sure how long he could survive eating the garbage they kept sending in. Out of a mixture of boredom and frustration with his situation, Fletcher set the tray and dirty dishes down at the wall opposite of the door so that they couldn’t be pulled back through. If he washed them off, it would give him a few things to fidget with while he sat around in what was looking to be complete solitary confinement.

  Only a few minutes later the slot opened, and he smiled, thinking of the annoyance of whoever was on the other side that the tray wasn’t there.

  That smile faded quickly when the tray and dishes rattled across the floor and through the slot a second later through the means of some kind of fancy magnet control system—according to his best guess.

  Now he knew for next time. Hold on to the stuff he wanted to keep.

  Sighing, Fletcher flopped on the cot and fell back into his usual daydreams to avoid diving into the angry thoughts and emotions that wanted to express themselves so badly despite the lack of any good outlet for them.

  The monotony and silence was finally broken an hour or so later when the door unlocked and a pair of soldiers entered.

  “On your feet,” the first one said, a woman holding a rifle. She seemed to be fully Human while her companion had the ever-changing hair color that marked him as part [Nix]. Otherwise, he seemed Human too.

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  “Where are we going?” Fletcher asked, remaining flat on the cot.

  “It’s your turn to shower,” the half-[Nix] said as he roughly yanked Fletcher to his feet.

  Fletcher became complacent as they cuffed his wrists together and escorted him from the cell. A proper shower sounded really, really nice right then after his double workout. And it meant getting outside of those four metal walls that he already hated more than anything else in the world—aside from his mother, of course.

  The soldiers took him to a small tiled bathroom where a showerhead sat against the far wall. There were no barriers or other privacy decorations, but a clean set of clothes sat on the bench near the door and a single towel was on a hook next to it. The part-[Nix] soldier undid the cuffs and pushed Fletcher all the way into the room while his companion stood at the door, her hands on her gun.

  Glancing around the room and then back at the soldiers, Fletcher came to the uncomfortable realization that they weren’t going anywhere. This was meant to be a group thing.

  The soldiers didn’t say anything, but they watched him as he started the water running and then undressed. It was bad enough to have an audience, but to include a female soldier was simply adding insult to injury.

  Doing his best to not seem as embarrassed as he felt, a naked Fletcher stepped into the stream of warm water and washed himself off. He was caught between enjoying a chance to properly clean himself and trying not to remember that he had two people watching him. Once he finished, he was quick to grab the towel and dry off while keeping his family jewels covered the majority of the time. He kept the towel around his waist even as he pulled the fresh underwear on, only dropping it once he was safely covered.

  The [Nix] was quick to grab his arm and haul him back to the door the second he finished tying his shoes. The cuffs returned, and they all stepped into the hallway. It took Fletcher a couple of minutes to realize that they weren’t returning to his cell.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “You have a visitor,” the female soldier answered.

  “Let me guess, a certain general wants to chat?” Fletcher slowed his steps. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Hazel Anders. He was set on his resolution to slowly go insane in solitary confinement rather than pick up a weapon in support of her cause.

  “Come on,” the [Nix] said, shoving him.

  Fletcher stumbled forward but then planted his feet firmly on the ground again. “No. I won’t see her.”

  Before the [Nix] could respond, the Human jammed the butt of her rifle into Fletcher’s abdomen. “We didn’t ask what you wanted. Shut up and walk.”

  Still trying to recover his breath, Fletcher wasn’t able to protest as the part-[Nix] dragged him forward, and once he could speak again, he opted to not complain anymore. It was pretty clear that protesting wasn’t doing him any favors, and if Hazel wanted to speak with him, she would, regardless of his own desires.

  The soldiers brought Fletcher to a small, metal room that wasn’t much bigger than his cell. At the center was a table and two chairs, clearly marking it an interrogation room. She wasn’t even doing him the courtesy of having this conversation in her office.

  They set Fletcher in the chair opposite of the door and chained his cuffs to the table to ensure he stayed put. The pair then exited, and Fletcher was left to sit alone in silence as water dripped from his hair into his eyes.

  And he sat there alone for a while. A lot longer than he expected, but he was pessimistic enough at that point to believe that Hazel was intentionally showing up late just to make him suffer.

  It took about twenty minutes for General Anders to show up, and when she did waltz into the room, she wore a smile.

  “Good evening, Fletcher,” she said, her voice unusually cheery.

  “Hazel.” He leaned all the way back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”

  There was a flash of displeasure on her face. “I expect to be addressed properly, child.”

  “I’m not about to call you ‘Mom,’” he said.

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  Fletcher rolled his eyes. “Sorry. General, what can I do for you?”

  Hazel sat down across from him. “Better. Though I could do without the attitude.”

  “And I could do without the handcuffs, yet here we are.” He stared into her green eyes, searching for any hint of a soul.

  “You’re considered a top-level threat. This is only protocol.” She smirked at him.

  “Me? A top-level threat? According to who? I know you’re only doing this to bully me into following your plan for my life, but it’s not going to work,” he said.

  “You’re a traitor to your kind. Some would argue you’re getting off easy with only prison time.”

  “My kind? I’m not part of the Mixed. Just because you and Dad are all gung-ho for the terrorists, doesn’t mean I have to accept some weird birthright among them.” Fletcher shifted in the hard chair, trying to find some way to physically express his anger.

  “That’s what we call a traitor, Fletcher. I guess the colony education program is still lacking in some aspects,” Hazel said.

  Fletcher narrowed his eyes. “You can’t punish me for being born a citizen of a government I don’t want to claim.”

  His mother rolled her eyes this time. “If that wasn’t enough, you’re also a Human citizen who gained Unhuman citizenship, and you were a private spy for the Human’s highest general. One of those alone would be enough to qualify for the top security, much less both.”

  He sighed. “You’re unbelievable. But why are you here anyway?” It was clear he wasn’t going to talk her into better accommodations so he decided to skip ahead to the part where she made her demands, he told her no, and then he got to go back to his cell.

  “Are you ready to stop this childish behavior so we can get back to important matters?”

  “You had me thrown in solitary confinement for not blindly obeying your orders. I’m not sure I’m really the one at fault here.” Fletcher clasped his hands together, pretending to be at ease.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” Hazel stood up and pressed a hand to her ear piece. “We’re through in here. You can return the prisoner to his cell.”

  “This is insane, you know that, right?” Fletcher told her.

  “I’ll see you in a few days, Fletcher. I do hope you change your mind about things soon because if you miss this training window, it’s going to be six months until the next one.” Hazel walked to the door.

  “I’m calling your bluff. You won’t leave me here that long.”

  She turned back to him with a malicious glint in her eyes. “Very well. Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

  He swallowed against the lump which appeared in his throat. That hadn’t quite gone the way he planned. “Mom, wait…”

  Hazel smiled. “It’s General, dear. Enjoy your stay.” With that, she walked out of the room.

  Almost immediately the two soldiers from before entered and unchained Fletcher from the table before taking him back to his cell. After uncuffing him, the [Nix] pulled the door closed and locked it, the echoes bouncing around the metal walls as Fletcher plopped on the cot and put his head in his hands, once again wondering what he’d done to deserve all this.