The Watch guard took Amo to a garrison office on the quay and left them in a small, empty stone room with an interrogator. They kept Amo’s wrists manacled, but other than that they were polite enough: no unnecessary shackles, no further beatings. This was a tactic, of course. The interrogator, a kind-faced man in a heavy green uniform, gave Amo a chair to sit in and paced in front of them, saying, “Sides notwithstanding, I recognize a patriot when I see one. Why don’t we start with this list of names we found on you? Tell me what that’s about, and we’ll see about finding some common ground to work from.”

Amo didn’t bother to glare. They opted to sigh. The dress they’d gotten from Sethian Skin had held together incredibly well through a brawl and an explosion, but Amo wished they’d been wearing shoes. Their feet were bruised and cut to hell. “I’m told my accent’s not very convincing,” Amo finally muttered, “But you don’t have the same accent as everyone else, mister interrogator. Not from Gray Watch? Fucking double-standard, saying I’m not convincing enough.”

The interrogator smirked. “Never occurred to you to just say you’re from the hill country, huh?”

Nymir had come here with them but left once Amo was secure. Before he’d departed, Nymir had said, “Don’t waste time playing soft with Amo. They’re the best liar in the world. The kind of person where you’re never sure if you know their real name or what they’re about. Just lies all the way to the bottom. Skip right to torture.” Nymir, the traitorous bastard, was probably drawing the Watch guards a map to all their fallbacks at that very moment.

The interrogator reached for a knife on his belt. “Anyway, that dress looks real expensive. Shame to get blood all over it.”

“Thanks,” Amo said. “It’s a one-of-a-kind design.”

“How’s a soldier, or a spy, get all this way without any battle scars to show off? Around here, soft-faced amateurs like you don’t get respect til you’ve earned a few good gashes on your brow.”

“I heal fast. Hey, that’s a good line.” Amo leaned forward and smiled. “I know what comes next.”

The interrogator held up his knife. “Let’s give you some scars?”

“Perfect.” Amo smiled. “Now, don’t start with my teeth or I won’t be able to tell you anything. Go for my eyes. You’d start with your own eyes, right?”

The interrogator frowned at that. “Why would I…?” Then he blinked, confused. He barely heard the sound of subtle song on the air, strange magic moving around him.

“Something wrong with your eyes? Or do I have something on my face? Or maybe it’s your face that’s the problem.” Amo gathered themself and stood up, looking at the interrogator eye-to-eye. “Hey, what are you going to do with that knife?”

*

Outside the room, Nymir paced uncomfortably, feeling like he was in the belly of the beast. It was all the more terrifying that everyone in the Watch’s garrison office ignored him, like he was something unimportant. He’d been told the Gray Watch spymaster would be along to talk to him personally, but how long would that take? This room was insultingly mundane: brick walls lined with desks beneath windows looking out on the sea, with attendants doing paperwork or organizing reports while soldiers came and went from whatever nest of armories and cells lay further back. It felt like a waiting room. Being a turncoat shouldn’t feel like a trip to the barber, but all Nymir could do was pace.

Then the door to the interrogation room opened and the interrogator came out, a frown on his face. He shut the door behind him quickly, then locked eyes with Nymir and froze for a moment. The look on his face was strange: surprise, then contempt, then nothing. The interrogator turned and walked away.

Nymir followed a few steps. “What about Amo? Aren’t you-?”

“They broke. Made a statement. Excuse me.” The interrogator started away more quickly.

Narrowing his gaze, pondering for just a moment, Nymir hurried back to the interrogation room and kicked the door open. Inside was not Amo, but the interrogator, laying on the floor with a knife in his eye. Nymir flinched back, snapped, “The fuck?” When he went to watch the other interrogator walking away, he no longer saw the interrogator: Amo walked carefully away, hands in manacles behind their back, bare feet leaving spots of blood with each step, black dress still swinging long about their ankles. Nymir decided the how of it didn’t matter, cared only that Amo had succeeded somehow in just walking out of the room. Shouting out, “Hey! Stop them!” Nymir gave chase.

Amo spat a curse and hurried faster, kicking their way out the door. Nymir followed. To the Watch guard in the office, who looked at one another helplessly, it appeared that a southlander turncoat had just angrily chased the interrogator out the door. It took a few seconds for one clever northlander to glance into the interrogation room and call the others to alert.

Outside, Nymir tried to tackle Amo only to get kneed in the jaw and kicked off the quay. Landing in the sand of the beach, Nymir took a few pained seconds to brush sand from his face before he got up, hearing now that alarm bells rang again and booted feet ran past him on the quay.

“You didn’t tell us your friend can do magic.” A man in black leather marked by green badges crouched on the quay above Nymir. He was gray-haired and dark, half his face hidden behind a leather strip that was held tightly to his face by multiple straps. So tight that the straps stretching across his cheek and under his chin left disturbing indents. “Would’ve been helpful to know that.”

“I had no idea. Almost nobody in the southlands knows any magic at all.” Nymir grabbed the offered hand to pull himself up. “I don’t know where they would’ve learned it. I warned your interrogator to be careful with Amo. Sneaky bastard.”

The man in black leather pulled Nymir up just far enough to grab his collar and hold his fist painfully tight against his neck. Pulling Nymir close, he whispered hoarsely, “If your compatriot gets away, I’ll have you on a torture rack til you’ve confessed every sin you’ve ever committed. I’ll dig at your face till it looks like mine.”