“Hey Stiev?”
“Yeah?” he called back.
“You never finished that story, or did I pass out again? You said the agent had found the tablets?” The man’s voice had a strained quality to it, much like Stiev’s. Probably injured too. He sounded middle-aged and had no obvious accent. Core planet native perhaps? He’d said he was a doctor.
“Yep. She and her men overpowered me. Must have found them after she knocked me out.”
“An entire squad of agents attacked you?”
Stiev bit back a moan as he rolled over—the hard surface made his muscles ache, but there was nothing else to lie on—and stared at the wall. A dark brown droplet stained the paint. He imagined other prisoners in this room, ones who’d died in here. Did Dalmith use the cells as his personal anger management program? That was Stiev’s bigge
