Noah scrambled up onto the small metal slab that served as his bed, trying to get closer to the vent.
"Mittens—Agent M," Noah whispered urgently. "You're alive. I thought the Rat King got you. Or the Orderlies."
"I'm a street cat," the voice replied, followed by the sound of claws scratching against metal. "I have nine lives, remember? I slipped into the vents when the dogs showed up. I've been tracking you."
"Tracking me? Why?"
"Because you owe me a meal," the cat said, though his tone lacked its usual cynicism. "And because... well, you were right. About the room. I saw it through the grate. It was empty."
Noah leaned his head against the wall. "They took everything, Mittens. The Stone. The Bow. They took Mr. Whiskers."
"The stuffed toy? Yeah, I saw them log it. Evidence Room B. Down the hall, second left. It's where they keep the 'Dangerous Objects.'"
"A stuffed animal is dangerous?"
"In this city? Anything that makes you feel real is a weapon," Mittens said darkly. "Listen, Noah. We can't stay here. The Purr-sident has signed a Transfer Order. They're moving you to the 'Farm' tomorrow."
"The Farm?"
"It's a metaphor, kid. And not a nice one. It means permanent sedation. The vegetable garden."
Noah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold metal of the cell. "I need to get out."
"I'm working on it," Mittens said. "But I can't open the lasers from inside the vent. The control panel is on the wall, next to the guard station. I need a distraction. A big one."
"A distraction?" Noah looked at the corridor. "There are a dozen guards out there."
"And there are a hundred prisoners," Mittens pointed out. "This isn't just a solitary block, Noah. This is where they put the 'Bad Pets.' The ones who remember. The ones who bite."
Noah listened to the whimpers and growls echoing down the hall. He realized he wasn't alone in his glitch. There were others—people whose grief had turned into rage, whose denial had cracked.
"You want me to start a riot," Noah realized.
"I want you to start a revolution," Mittens corrected. "At midnight, the shift changes. The night crew is lazy. They're fat cats. That's our window. Can you make noise?"
Noah thought about the scream he had let out in the nursery. The scream that had shattered his composure.
"Yeah," Noah said, his hands curling into fists. "I can make noise."