Taken (Erin Bowman)

man with little hair smiles from the head of the table. “We’ve caught a fiery one, I see.”
    “Ryder, he’s just upset,” my father interjects. “And confused.”
    “Easy, Owen,” Ryder says, running a hand across his dull scalp. “I never said fire was a bad thing.” The way my father retreats at his words, slouches back into his seat, tells me who is in charge. Not Harvey, not Elijah, but this man: a face I have never seen until today.
    “What’s going on here?” I ask. “I want answers. I demand them.”
    Ryder pushes back his chair and stands, using his arms to support his weight on the table before him. His gentle nature, but unmistakable confidence, reminds me so much of Maude. Maude, who I once trusted.
    The old man looks directly at me and says, “My name is Ryder Phoenix, Gray. We come from the same place, you and I, from Claysoot. I understand your frustrations because I lived them myself. Several of us here have. I give you my word, regardless of your vote’s outcome, you will have the truth.”
    Answers. I should be relieved and yet I’m hung up on his name. Ryder. Ryder Phoenix. Why is it so familiar? And then I remember; the early scrolls. The boy Maude had run the first experiment on. The boy that led to the discovery of the Heist. He is so much more than a boy now, aged and grown before me, but it must be him.
    “The whole truth. All of it,” I demand. “About the Laicos Project and why you’re working for Harvey after what he did to you.”
    The lone woman at the table snickers. “The boy is hardly in a position to be making demands.”
    “It’s fine, Fallyn,” Ryder says. “The whole truth, Gray. I promise.”
    I don’t thank him, even if I should.
    “This is a vote in regard to the life of one Gray Weathersby, son of Owen Weathersby, captured from the Franconian Order and brought in by Brianna Nox two days ago. Votes will be one per person, nay for death and yea for mercy. Majority rules.” Ryder turns to me and adds, “Do you have anything to say that has not already been spoken?”
    I look around the rock-enclosed room. Eyes glare at me, my father’s the only pair that look remotely kind. Blaine would tell me to reflect first, to ready my words before I spill them. I take a deep breath and begin, speaking as calmly as I can manage.
    “I was supposed to be executed. I came in search of safety, but I was planning on coming here either way. I saw records in Taem. Records that documented executions at Frank’s hands. The truth is, I climbed over the Wall for answers and found only more questions. And all those questions led me here. Because I think you have answers. I know you do.”
    It’s a fragment of the truth, and maybe that’s why it comes out so easily. I had come for safety. But I’d also come for Harvey, for the answers he possesses. I keep that small detail to myself for now.
    Ryder nods and sits back into his chair. “And now, we vote.”
    The man immediately to Ryder’s right stands. He is about my father’s age, maybe older. I’m not used to seeing men over eighteen and it’s hard to tell. “Raid Dextern,” he says, announcing himself to the room. “Yea.”
    That’s it. No reasoning. No motive. Just yea, a vote for life, and he returns to his seat.
    My father stands next. “Owen Weathersby. I’m sorry, Fallyn,” he says, addressing the woman to his side. “I understand your reasoning, and I even know it possible, but if we are wrong, and he is truly my son—well, I just can’t take that chance. My vote is for life.”
    Fallyn stands, palms pressed into the table. She has a wild look in her eyes, not unlike Bree’s when I first encountered her in the forest.
    “Fallyn Case,” she says. “He could be a Forgery, another trick of Taem, engineered to look like something that will tear at our heartstrings and later murder us as we sleep. And even if he’s not, he’s just too much of a risk. You’ve heard him. Irrational. Vengeful. I vote death.”
    This is the first vote for my death, and yet instead of fear or dread, I am hung up on her mention of Forgeries . What are they? Is Harvey responsible for them as well?
    The next man stands, and I suddenly recognize him. It’s the boy from Frank’s records. He looks even younger in person than he had on paper. “Elijah Brewster,” he says. “I have to agree with Fallyn. It’s too risky. Nay.”
    It’s all tied up, and down to one vote. One measly vote.
    Ryder does not stand. “I do