Taken (Erin Bowman)

that sometime. I’m heading to the Basin now though, for dinner.”
    “Good idea,” my father says. “Gray needs a proper meal.” He eyes the state of my Order uniform and adds, “It wouldn’t hurt to stop by the washroom beforehand, either.”
    Bree drops the clothing on my cot and turns to leave.
    “You’ll wait for him, Bree,” my father says. “He doesn’t know his way around and I need to head to a meeting.”
    She eyes the door. “But I’m starving.”
    “You’re waiting for him, and that’s an order.”
    Something in his tone snaps Bree to attention. “Yes, sir.”
    Owen nods curtly and after telling me he’ll see me in the morning, excuses himself. Once he’s out of sight, Bree exhales dramatically and flops onto the cot. “You have five minutes.”
    “Or what?”
    “I’ll conveniently become too busy to take you to the library after dinner.” She keeps her eyes on the ceiling, smirking.
    I grab the clean clothes and leave in a hurry.
    The shared washroom at the end of my tunnel is small and modest, but it feels good to soak my skin. I lather quickly, rubbing a bar of soap over my arms and head. To my satisfaction, I find the once brittle hair on my scalp to be softening ever so slightly.
    The clothes Bree has provided are simple but comfortable. A cotton tunic and linen pants. Clean socks. I almost feel I am back in Claysoot when I slip them on. I return to my room and stuff my Order uniform into the dresser.
    “You look semitolerable now,” Bree says. I roll my eyes at her but she’s already turned her back on me. “This way. Dinner’s in the Basin.”
    Back in the Basin, beyond the market and crop fields and near what appears to be a rudimentary schoolhouse, is a large building that Bree refers to as the Eatery. The layout reminds me of the dining hall in Taem, large tables and crude wooden benches filling the space. There’s an open kitchen at the far end of the room, and we join the line of people waiting to get food. The angry eyes that greeted me earlier are nowhere to be found. I blend in seamlessly in my drab clothing.
    The food is surprisingly tasty but carefully rationed. I’m still hungry when I finish my small meal—a cup of soup, a piece of bread, a half ear of corn—but some food is better than none. Bree and I sit at a table with several other Rebels whom she instantly joins in conversation. She avoids introducing me, so I simply listen.
    “We haven’t found them yet,” Bree tells a stout boy sitting beside her.
    “You said Luke had one, though,” he interjects.
    “Dammit, Hal, do you never listen?” another girl at the table argues, chucking a clump of bread at his face. “They caught one of them days ago, and Luke’s been questioning him, but no new developments since then.”
    “Well, thanks for putting it so bluntly, Polly.” Hal throws the bit of bread back at her. It hits her square between the eyes and falls into her soup, crust first. The impact splatters broth onto the front of her tunic and the brown braids that frame her face.
    “If we’re talking details,” Bree says, clearing her throat and making it apparent that she, and only she, has all the facts, “the man we caught isn’t giving up anything. Won’t tell us any of the operation’s details or a possible location of Evan’s troops. My guess is they’re long gone.”
    “Gone where?” Hal asks.
    “Back to Taem,” she says. “I think our chances of catching them are few and far between, and the man in the interrogation center will likely die under Luke’s blade before revealing anything.”
    “Bummer.” Polly sighs. She drags her bread across the base of her cup and sops up the remaining broth.
    “Yeah,” Bree agrees, “but at least we’ve got Gray now. Maybe he can shed some light on the mission.”
    “You were with the Order?” Polly nearly shrieks, acknowledging me for the first time.
    “No . . . not really,” I say. “I was about to be executed, so I was trying to come here. But then I ran into the Order’s camp, and my brother was there, and I tried to—”
    “So your brother’s with the Order,” Hal interrupts. “Trash. I don’t know why we show mercy to your lot. I think we should only take the ones that show up at the Crevice with their hands over their heads and walk in, begging to join. The ones that risk their lives attempting to get here are the only trustworthy ones.”
    “That’s what I was trying to do,” I argue.
    Hal snorts.