Commander Vane came for Cadarn at dawn.
He hadn't slept. Hadn't even tried. Just sat in the darkness, replaying Garrett's words over and over.
Make it count.
The door opened. The same soldier from yesterday. "Up. Commander wants your answer."
They took him back to the office. Same fire. Same wine. Same civilized veneer over institutional cruelty.
Vane sat at her desk, working through correspondence. She let him stand there for a full minute before acknowledging his presence.
"Doctor. I trust you've had time to consider my offer."
"I have."
"And?"
Cadarn took a breath. "I want to propose a counteroffer."
Vane's eyebrow raised. "You're negotiating? Interesting. Proceed."
"I'll cooperate. Answer your questions. Verify the journal. Help you document everything about the substitution." He paused. "But I have conditions."
"You're in no position to make demands."
"Neither are you. You said it yourself—if Duke Theodric learns the truth without proper management, it destroys everything. You need my cooperation to control this information. Which gives me leverage."
A thin smile crossed Vane's face. "You've been thinking. Good. What are your conditions?"
"First: Captain Hale goes free. Medical treatment, safe passage, immunity from prosecution."
"Absolutely not. He's Northern Coalition intelligence. A spy."
"He's a man who's been tortured for days because of me. Because he tried to help me. I won't cooperate while he's suffering in a cell." Cadarn's voice hardened. "Free him or I tell you nothing."
Vane studied him. "He'd never accept. He's too loyal to Prince Edric."
"That's his choice. But give him the option."
"And your second condition?"
"When this is over—when you've used this information to end the war, blackmail Duke Theodric, whatever your plan is—I go free. Real freedom. Not imprisoned, not silenced, not conveniently disappeared. I get to walk away and live whatever life I have left."
"You're asking me to release a witness who could expose everything."
"I'm asking you to keep your word. You said cooperation earns humane treatment. Prove it."
Vane was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Third condition?"
"No torture. Not of me, not of Garrett, not of anyone involved. You get my cooperation through agreement, not pain."
"You understand that if you refuse to answer certain questions, I'll have no choice—"
"Then the deal's off and you get nothing. Those are my terms."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Vane spoke: "You're either very brave or very foolish, Doctor."
"Everyone keeps saying that. I'm starting to think it's both."
"Captain Hale stays imprisoned, but I'll improve his conditions. Medical care. Clean cell. No further interrogation." She raised a hand to forestall his protest. "That's as far as I'll go. He's too valuable to release. But I'll keep him alive and relatively comfortable."
"That's not—"
"That's the offer. Take it or refuse. But know this: if you refuse, I extract what I need anyway and Captain Hale's suffering continues. If you accept, at least his pain stops." Vane leaned forward. "Choose, Doctor. Principles or pragmatism."
Cadarn wanted to argue. Wanted to demand better terms. Wanted to be the hero who refused to compromise.
But he thought of Garrett in that cell, broken and bleeding, still holding onto his principles while his body failed.
Make it count.
Maybe making it count meant accepting imperfect victories. Maybe it meant choosing the path that led to less suffering, even if it wasn't the ideal path.
Maybe it meant surviving long enough to matter.
"I accept," Cadarn said quietly. "I'll cooperate. Answer your questions. Help you verify everything. In exchange, Garrett gets medical care and decent conditions, and I get my freedom when this is over."
"Agreed." Vane stood, offering her hand across the desk. "You have my word, Doctor. Cooperate fully and honestly, and you'll both survive this."
Cadarn stared at her hand. Taking it meant betrayal—of Prince Edric, of the Northern Coalition, of everyone who'd risked everything to help him.
But refusing it meant more torture, more death, more suffering for no gain.
He shook her hand.
"Excellent." Vane released his grip, already moving to a fresh stack of papers. "We'll begin immediately. I have questions about the night of the birth—specific details that only you would know. Verification points to prove the journal's authenticity."
"Before we start," Cadarn said, "I want to see Garrett. Want to confirm he's receiving medical treatment."
"You don't trust me?"
"I'm a pragmatist. I verify."
Vane smiled—genuine this time. "Smart. I can work with smart. Come with me."
They went back to the dungeon. To Garrett's cell.
The medic was already there, treating his wounds with the same mechanical efficiency he'd used on Cadarn. Garrett was conscious, watching with suspicious eyes.
He saw Cadarn and understanding flickered across his broken face.
"You made a deal," Garrett said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"With her."
"Yes."
Disappointment. Clear and cutting. "I told you the truth matters."
"And I'm making sure we survive to tell it." Cadarn met his eyes. "Vane's going to use this information to pressure Duke Theodric to stand down. End the war before it starts. Isn't that what we wanted?"
"We wanted the truth public. Available to everyone. Not buried in backroom negotiations."
"We wanted to stop people from dying. This is the path that does that."
"This is the path that makes you a tool of someone else's agenda." Garrett tried to sit up, failed, settled back with a pained grunt. "But you've made your choice. Live with it, Doctor."
The words stung worse than any wound.
Vane cleared her throat. "Captain Hale will be moved to better quarters. Medical treatment will continue. He'll be a guest, not a prisoner."
"A guest who can't leave," Garrett said bitterly.
"A guest who's alive. Given the alternative, I'd suggest gratitude."
They left him there, the medic working on his broken fingers while Garrett stared at the ceiling with the expression of a man who'd lost something more important than freedom.
As they walked back to Vane's office, Cadarn couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just made a terrible mistake.
But the alternative had been more blood.
More screaming.
More death.
He'd chosen the pragmatic path.
Now he just had to hope it led somewhere worth going.