Page 110 of Retrograde

“Dying a martyr would be the first useful thing that bitch has done her whole life,” he says when Krane cuts the feed, rising from his leather chair to look Krane squarely in the face. “I have no interest in saving her.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and a fresh surge of panic jerks me out of my heat-induced lethargy.

Before coming here, I’ve pictured this moment a thousand times, going over all the ways that this could pan out. But I never once considered the possibility that Volker may simply not give a shit about his daughter. That he may not care if she gets killed or even worse.

I’m such a moron.

I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing what this man has done. Daria has been nothing but trouble for years; eating disorders, clandestine affairs, substance abuse, and, most recently, joining Krane’s “society”. I should have known.

My throat constricts, beads of sweat running down the side of my face, my heart punching against my ribcage. I don’t want to give my shock away by looking at him directly, but I see Krane in my peripheral vision. A light smile is still playing on his lips, but he shifts his weight subtly, stepping from foot to foot. He’s thrown off, too. Fuck.

Think, you fucker, think.

“Do you really need another scandal involving Daria?” I blurt out, just barely keeping my shit together. “There’s no fucking way you’ve eliminated all her media contacts. Not yet, not so soon after her last fuckup. I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that she practically volunteered their names to us. I guess she knew her Papa wouldn’t save her just for the sake of her pretty eyes.”

Ignorance is power, and he who keeps his subjects ignorant is a powerful ruler. One way to stop the masses from revolting is to prevent them from ever fully realising the extent of their oppression. From education that teaches nothing to the carefully crafted illusion of a free press—with just enough deliberate misinformation sprinkled in to dilute the rare truths—the Consuls have managed to keep their residents docile as sheep. The only downside? Everything takes time. Nothing can be done so fast as to let people connect the dots. Which means there’s no way Volker got rid of twenty-odd journalists in only a matter of weeks.

“I bet Gregor and Anton wouldn’t be too pleased if this whole situation got leaked. A member of your family kidnapped, just like that? With the help of a man you endorsed publicly, no less? Makes you all look weak as fuck.”

Krane exhales sharply through his nose but doesn’t contradict me. Which only confirms what I’ve already suspected; whatever the two have going on, Volker needs him for something.

“She’s a dumb, annoying bitch. I get why you wouldn’t want her back. Still ... picture the footage of her tight young holes getting wrecked by three rebels at the same time. If that gets out, that’s a very bad image for you.”

Rage bleeds into Volker’s eyes. A vein is pulsing angrily at his brow. His lips stretch in a thin line. I’m getting close to his breaking point. All I need is a coup de grace, and luckily, thanks to Riley’s secret photograph, I know just the thing.

“Imagine all that she could say just to stop my men from ripping her apart with their big cocks. Imagine all the things she knows, all the things she may have figured out over the years of living with you. She has already mentioned something about Rift Day not being all it seems.”

All blood drains from Volker’s face, and his left eye starts twitching. Krane shifts his weight again and clears his throat. I’m going on a limb here. Daria never said a fucking thing. Krane has no idea what I’m talking about, and it’s going to stay that way if I can help it.

“Unless I’m on the boat with my girl by nightfall, my men are going to make Daria sing. And trust me, you won’t like the song.”

“It’s just not worth the risk, is it?” Krane croons in his calm, amused voice, showing no surprise.

Fucker’s too good at this. I’m almost wishing I had him as an ally earlier. But my heart stops at what he says next. “Not for one photographer who’s already been announced dead anyway.”

I didn’t know this. My vision goes all fuzzy. An iron fist crushes my chest. I can’t fucking breathe.

It’s not true. It’s not true. Say it’s not true. Fucking say it.

“But she’s not dead. Is she?”

The longer Volker stares at him, the more inscrutable his face gets. All anger fading from his eyes, muscles relaxing, nothing betraying his emotions bar that slight eye twitch. He collects himself, visibly and with terrifying speed.

“She might still be alive down there,” he says at last and picks up the ornate receiver of the ancient-looking phone on his desk, punching numbers in and then barking at whoever picks up, “I need men and tools at the catacombs. Immediately.”

I nearly crash to the ground. I let out a ragged breath. But then, when I process what he said, fresh tremors slice through me like blades.

Men. Tools. Catacombs. Might still be alive.

What the fuck did he do?

Krane and Volker are hashing over the details of the handover, but I don’t hear a word anymore. I pay no attention to them until Krane yanks me by the arm, jerking me out of my trance. We follow Volker and his sentry, piling into an oak-panelled lift and gliding down smoothly. When the door slides open, we’re met by three men in overalls, carrying crowbars and sledgehammers.

What the fuck are these for? Don’t let it be bad. Oh fuck, don’t let it be bad ...

We pass through a narrow metal door and descend a short flight of uneven stairs. The men turn on their headlamps as we enter an underground ossuary, its walls lined with centuries-old skulls and bones of thousands of people.

We walk the underground passage, and my heart bleeds with each step. Hollow eyeholes gape at us from every corner, emerging from the shadows in the beams of light like ghosts. There’s a whole column in the broadest section, built of nothing but femurs, ribs and vertebrae. The taste of dust and something much more sinister lingers in my mouth.