ANNA
The lieutenant has blood on his cuff and a question he is trying very hard not to ask.
He waits until the training hall empties before approaching me. Outside, snow is beginning to erase the courtyard. Inside, the lamps burn low enough that the White Court’s silver walls look almost soft.
“Captain.”
I glance at the blood. “Whose?”
His mouth tightens. “Not mine.”
That answers more than he intended.
Earlier, Commander Serrin ordered his unit to restrain one of their own after the man refused reassignment. The report called it necessary force. Reports are useful that way. They can make almost anything sound clean.
The lieutenant stares at the floor. “If an order is lawful, does that make it right?”
There are answers the Court teaches us before we are old enough to understand the question. Authority exists for a reason. Discipline protects the whole. Doubt is dangerous when lives depend on obedience.
I believed all of them once.
Perhaps part of me still does.
“Did you follow it?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And do you regret it?”
His silence is immediate.
That is the real answer.
I step closer and straighten the edge of his bloodstained cuff, because he is shaking and pretending not to.
“The next time someone tells you that obedience removes responsibility,” I say, “look very carefully at who benefits from you believing them.”
His eyes lift to mine.
He still has not asked whether I would have disobeyed.
I am grateful.
Because I am not certain which answer would frighten him more.