“It’s getting worse,” Director Ziad said through the tablet. His face was visible on the screen: set into a sour expression with his brows drawn together. Kalia could not say where he was, but the pale wall behind him reminded her of City Watch Headquarters. “Most of the prisoners have deteriorated, and some have gotten violent. We’ve got a man who keeps bashing his head against the walls of his cell. And a woman who tried to open the veins in her wrist with her teeth. We’ve had to sedate at least two dozen of them and transfer them to medical facilities. The sickbay aboard the Intrepid is filling up.”
Standing side by side beneath a streetlight, Kalia and Larani exchanged a glance. The chief director’s grip tightened on the tablet. She hid her apprehension well, but Kalia could tell that
