In the Willows

Chapter Fifty: The Silence Between Names

Kai's POV: Misery

You stand behind the one-way window, arms crossed, shoulder still aching beneath the bandages. The room on the other side is dim, lit only by a low-burning lantern swinging from a ceiling hook. It casts long shadows across four figures seated on metal chairs, wrists bound, eyes hollow.

Fox paces slowly before them, gloves off, sleeves rolled. His voice is low, steady. Controlled.

"You're a long way from home," he says. "And you're not raiders. So tell me—who sent you?"

Silence.

One of them, a younger man with a limp and a bruised cheek, shifts in his seat. His eyes flick to the tall one they call Louis. That's the name Fox pulled from the frightened one's mouth last night. Just a slip. But it was enough.

Fox steps closer to the girl on the end—dark hair, dirt-smudged face, jaw clenched.

"You," he says. "What's east of here? What's worth sending scouts this far west?"

She stares at the floor.

Fox backhands her—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make the younger one flinch.

Louis lifts his head. "She's got nothing to say," he says quietly.

Fox turns toward him. "But you do?"

"Nope."

"You're in Misery now. This isn't the border. This isn't some caravan you can vanish into. Out here, silence is a liability."

Louis shrugs. "Then maybe we're liabilities."

You watch from the other side of the glass. Something about the man's voice twists your stomach—sharp and worn at the edges. Not a memory. Just an itch. Like hearing an old song out of tune.

Fox circles again. The air in the room grows heavier. One of the others—the quietest, older, with a bad cough—finally speaks up.

You study Louis's face. The bruises. The way his eyes never settle. He's hiding something. Not intelligence—pain.

You've seen that kind of stillness before. In survivors. In men with names they never say aloud.

But you don't know him.

You're sure of that.

And yet...

The way he rubs his wrist after Fox tightens the zip cuffs—like it's not the first time. The way he breathes through his nose when the girl winces, steady and silent.

You've seen him before.

No.

You tell yourself it's nothing.

Just shadows.

Just noise.

Fox slaps a folder down on the table between them. "Last chance. Coordinates. Contact names. Give me something or we start cutting."

Louis looks up. "You're gonna kill us anyway."

Fox smiles faintly. "Maybe."

The girl lifts her chin. Her eyes meet the mirror. She can't see you.

But something in her gaze sharpens. Like she feels you there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Fox leans in closer to the girl, his shadow swallowing her face.

"Let's try again," he says. "Where are you from?"