Chester stiffens. Obie throws him a quick glance, confused. Chester has always seemed tense whenever he’s had to interact with Nostrand over the past few weeks, always looked like he was ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice, but now?—
Now, he almost looks scared. “Okay,” he says, his voice strained. “What is it?”
“Rooms 18 and 33 are needed ahead of schedule,” Nostrand says briskly. “Get them cleaned by the top of the hour. We have two new neophytes with no place to put them.”
Chester nods jerkily. “I was on my way to do those right now.”
Nostrand’s gaze lands on a point over Chester’s shoulder. His eyes narrow. “Really? Without finishing in here?”
Chester’s head snaps around, his wide eyes finding the interrogation table’s bloody straps, and Obie bites out a curse. Chester is always so meticulous that Obie didn’t even think to remind him, and Chester probably forgot about the corrosion spell and assumed Obie had already cleaned them.
So much for trying to help. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve said something.”
“I—” Chester swallows hard, his eyes darting back to Nostrand. “I meant after that. I just, um, need to refill the leather polish first. I’ll finish cleaning those, and—and then I’ll head to Room 18 after that.”
Nostrand considers Chester critically, the seconds stretching out in taut silence. Chester looks like he’s barely breathing, rigid and still like he’s waiting for an ax to drop, and?—
And then Nostrand scoffs, turning away. “Make it snappy, Locke. Some of us have actual jobs to do,” he says curtly, and without another word, he stalks out the door and disappears from sight.
Obie barely waits until the door closes behind him before snapping the soundproofing spell back into place. “What the hell was that, Locke?”
Chester’s breathing still sounds shaky. “Nothing,” he says, and he speed-walks across the room to the closet, fumbling for his cleaning supplies with trembling hands. “And it—it wasn’t your fault. I should’ve remembered that the straps are corrosive, so you obviously couldn’t clean them.Obviously.I can’t believe I forgot.”
“Locke—”
“I should’ve checked.” Chester sounds almost disgusted with himself. “Ialwayscheck, and?—”
“Locke—Chester.”Obie makes himself visible and grabs Chester’s arm, forcing him to turn around and meet Obie’s eyes. “What’s going on?”
For a long moment, Chester’s jaw works.
And then he looks away. “I took a lot of beatings back in the day,” he confesses quietly. “Mostly from Nostrand, but—but sometimes from other interrogators, too. Usually when cameras were off and blinds were down. That’s why I don’t usually like to close them, but…”
Obie’s heart cracks a little. Over the past week or so, Chester hasspecifically been closing the blinds so Obie didn’t have to stay invisible. “And they got away with it?”
Chester shrugs one shoulder. Doesn’t look at him. “Mostly. It would’ve been my word against theirs, and the spellcasters in the infirmary didn’t ask questions. It didn’t happen all the time, you know? Mainly just when I made mistakes on the job. And reporting Nostrand to the Council was out of the question—I accidentally got him in trouble once when I let it slip that he kept me on auxiliary duty months after he should’ve started to teach me interrogation, and that… ended badly.”
“Wasn’t Nostrand supposed to be your mentor? Your teacher?” Anger boils behind Obie’s sternum. “If he abuses that power?—”
“I mean—” Chester’s shoulders hunch. “I did learn. I—I got good at not making mistakes. So I guess?—”
“I’m not the Council, Chester,” Obie snaps. “You don’t have to try to justify his abuse to me. And youreallyshouldn’t be trying to justify it to yourself, either.”
Chester flinches. For a split second, Obie thinks that the words might’ve been too harsh, too biting, too much for Chester right now?—
And then Chester laughs shakily, a half-smile on his lips. “You sound like Sawyer. She raised hell down here once or twice when things got really bad. That always helped for a while—a Solomon’s influence goes a long way, even for a neophyte hunter.”
Obie’s respect for Sawyer ticks up a few notches. “Does it still happen nowadays?”
“Not often. Last time was about a year ago. It mostly stopped once I passed my final exam and my actions didn’t reflect on Nostrand anymore, but…” He lets out his breath in a hiss. “But I’m also more careful now. I memorized where all the cameras are, planned escape routes from every room. Tried to get on the other interrogators’ good sides.”
“I wouldn’t let him hurt you, you know.” The words come out without Obie entirely meaning them to, but the instant he says them, he knows they’re true. “Not Nostrand, and not the others, either.”
Chester shakes his head. “You couldn’t do much about it. Not without revealing the binding spell. And—” He hugs his arms tighter across his chest. “And we can’t let that happen.Ican’t let that happen. I’m on thin ice already, Obie. If things get any worse, I—I don’t know how much more I can take.”
Obie’s chestaches.Over the past month, he’s seen just how hard Chester tries, just how much effort he puts into everything he does, just how painstaking he is about every little detail?—
But, despite all that, he’ll never be good enough. Not for his fellow interrogators, not for the Council.
