Or maybe they wouldn't have. Who knows?

Either way, I didn't let them know I was awake for quite some time. Maybe if they thought I was asleep, the driver and his front-seat companion, assuming a front-seat companion existed, might whisper a few words to each other? But no one said anything. 

The car was still moving, and the road was bumpy, so it was a little uncomfortable to maintain an assuming slumped-over sleeping posture. Luckily, I was still rather sleepy and hesitant to move anyway, but a pillow would have been nice. After what felt like hours, but was probably minutes, I slowly convinced myself to ask to go to the bathroom, even though they would probably refuse me. The words had formed on my lips, and almost escaped my mouth, before I thought of something much better.

Assuming South East's murder had been arranged by someone other than the United States government, I would be high on the suspect's list. This is probably the main reason I had been bound in such a manner, and if they suspected me of listening to messages through the radio of all things, I would definitely be implicated in a murder. They were completely wrong of course - I probably couldn't have killed her if I tried, with all those goons around - but assuming they didn't know the killer, it was reasonable to assume that they assumed I could be involved. Maybe my involvement was guaranteed, but it was definitely a possibility. Anything I said could and would be used against me, but I could also use my words to discern what they thought of me.

"Is South East okay?" I asked.

It was safe to assume that he would not tell me truth unless I was not suspicious. After all, they wouldn't want me to know if I'd "failed" or "succeeded" my "mission." Doubts would make me antsy, and giving me false certainty wouldn't help very much. Say they told her that she died. Knowing that my task was complete, I might have the resolve to swallow my secret cyanide pill or whatever. And if they told me she was alive, they would assume I would go out and try to kill her again, or help someone else do it, as I had presumably done last night. No matter whether she was alive or dead, so long as they considered me a suspect, they would either say nothing or lie.

If they knew I wasn't involved, they might tell me the truth. I didn't know the truth, but it was very obvious to me she was not okay. Maybe she was in critical condition, but there was no way a calculated assassination attempt had missed her completely. She had a clear path of travel and was the only one without ominous sunglasses. She was also the only woman out there. So they would never tell me "yes," only "no." That, or they wouldn't answer at all.

If the driver (or whoever) didn't answer me, there was a chance that they didn't suspect my involvement and that the government simply didn't care to explain itself. However, I felt it more likely that, should they not answer, they were intentionally withholding information from a suspect.

As expected, I received no answer.

This was inconclusive, but it made me more convinced that the government didn't do it. So I tried to confirm my suspicions: "If you don't tell me, I can kill you." I paused for a moment, deciding how I could kill him. But it was obvious. "Frostbite."

He had obviously been expecting this response, and had an answer at the ready. I hoped to God or whoever the fuck gave me this Inheritance that I could discern whether he was telling the truth or not. He said, in a plain, unaccented voice, "If you kill me and the car stops, they'll kill you too."

"That's a lie." I answered. "If you kill me, someone else will Inherit the Chill, and you'll have to go track that person down. It would be too much of a risk."

"How does torture sound?"

"Can't I kill every torturer?" Now that I said it, I suddenly understood what made me so dangerous. Sure, the Compass didn't leave casualties, but people like me did. Assuming I could actually wield frostbite like I was claiming to (and no one was going to risk anyone developing that control over their Inheritance), no one could stop me. If they killed me, the power would surface elsewhere instantaneously, in some other rando that hopefully wouldn't be dangerous. I may not be able to feasibly murder every torture (solitary confinement was a torture in its own right), but I could easily murder tons of people if I wasn't brought into custody before then. I was a human weapon, and it made sense to regulate me.

He paused, as if he had not been expecting me to threaten the nebulous category of "every torturer." Perhaps he assumed I was smart enough to realize that, in the 21st century, torture could be outsourced. He didn't point this fact out to me now though. Instead, he asked "Why do you want to know so badly?"

"I'm worried about her." It shouldn't have been a lie. Why did it feel like one? I didn't hate her certainly. I kind of felt bad for her. I didn't think she deserved to die. But "worried" was something I wasn't. If she was dead, she was dead. Whatever.

"Worried enough to kill?"

I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. I had been waiting for him to ask something like that. "No." I said evenly, trying to muster enough emotion in my voice. "It was am empty threat and you know it. But I didn't think you'd respond to anything else. I just... really am worried about her." I tried to sound like I felt: scared and alone. But I wanted there to be something more also, an undercurrent of genuine human emotion. Something alive and kind. I wanted him to think I was a good person.

If he could trust me, even for half a moment, he would at least tell me whether I was as suspected as I assumed. Whether his people had South East killed or if it was some other organization.

As expected, he paused. As expected, he didn't tell me whether she was alive or not. As expected, he said "I'm sorry. I'm not authorized to inform you."

"Why?" I pleaded.

He sighed. And then, after several tortuous moments, "Did you do it?"

"No!" I insisted, truthfully. It felt like lying for some reason. Or at least much harder to say than a lie. I didn't kill her, I didn't have anything to do with killing her, and I didn't feel like it was in any way my fault, but that word felt alien coming out of my mouth. Not because of the way it was shaped, not because of its part in the conversation, but because for once, it wasn't a front. I really didn't kill her. But I felt, in that moment, just because I was denying it, that I had.

I hoped such a strained word would still sound like truth to him. But it ultimately didn't matter.

"You'll be kept under surveillance regardless." He said. He sounded sorry about it, but that didn't matter either. What did matter was that he just told me, conclusively, that the government wasn't behind South East's murder, at least not to his knowledge. And his knowledge should be suitably accurate. He confirmed I was a suspect, which meant the government was looking for suspects, people who could have done it. If the higher-ups had arranged the assassination, and didn't tell those lower on the totem pole, then those lower on the totem pole wouldn't have been ordered to investigate, because the higher-ups would know what they'd find.

I was going to be a suspect in her murder, no matter what I did. Someone had killed South East, and now the Compass was out of government control. The government had no way to monitor the Inheritors. They were still in the valley, the valley I was being escorted to, but they could now bust free. As long as they knew the Compass was missing.

As long as the new Inheritor of the Compass went undiscovered, I had a chance to escape Inheritor's Valley. I was not going to lose it.