“I understand you helped to catch several AWOLs.”

“Yes, sir,” Argent says. “Actually, I didn’t help catch them, I caught them, period.” He glances at Nelson almost involuntarily, and Nelson gives him a lukewarm no comment sort of gaze.

“I’m learning quickly,” Argent says, and, assessing that some brown-nosing might be in order, he adds, “I’ve got a good teacher.”

“The best,” Divan says, nodding toward Nelson. “Even if the Akron AWOL still eludes him.” Divan takes a moment to let that sink in, and to size them both up. Then he says to Nelson, “Can I assume there’s a story to the wounds on the left half of your face, and the right half of the boy’s?”

“Two different stories,” Argent chimes in, “but Connor Lassiter plays into both of them.”

Nelson cracks his neck. Argent suspects that if Divan were not here, Nelson would tranq him for talking out of turn. “The only story that Divan needs to hear,” says Nelson, “is the one about your sister’s tracking chip.”

Divan smiles. “It sounds like a story worth hearing.”

But apparently he has no interest in hearing it now. Instead he goes off to freshen up for dinner, leaving Argent alone with Nelson. Argent braces for some sort of verbal abuse.

“That went well, right?” says Argent. He figures Nelson will ignore him at best, but instead Nelson smiles.

“It will only get better.”

And although Argent can deal with Nelson’s frowns and reprimands, he finds Nelson’s smile as disconcerting as his botched handshake with Divan.

• • •

For dinner there are lamb chops as large as rib eye steaks.

“Neoteny lamb,” Divan explains, “genetically altered to grow as large as sheep while maintaining their early characteristics. The meat is flavorful and tender because although the lambs grow, they don’t grow up.” He digs a knife into a bloody-rare filet. “Much the opposite of your friend Lev,” he says to Nelson. “Who I understand will age but not grow.”

The mention of Lev’s name has the desired effect. Nelson becomes stiff and prickly. Argent takes some pleasure in seeing Nelson under someone else’s thumb.

“After I capture Lassiter,” Nelson says, “I intend to find Lev Calder as well.”

“One prize at a time, Jasper.”

Argent waits to be asked about the tracking chip. He has resolved not to volunteer the information until he’s asked, and even then he won’t give it up without getting something substantial in return. After all, it’s his only bargaining chip. They don’t ask him at dinner, though. Not Divan, not Nelson. Then, after a creamy desert that Argent can’t pronounce, Divan goes off with Nelson to discuss business.

“We’ll talk later,” Divan tells Argent. “Until then, feel free to entertain yourself. Have you discovered the game room?”

“It’s like my second home.”

Divan seems pleased. “It’s there for you to enjoy. I built it for my nephews, but they do not visit.” And then a heavy sigh. “Alas, my family and I are a bit estranged.”

“Because of . . . what you do?” Argent can’t help but ask.

“No. Because of what I choose not to do. I’ve taken a path of greater integrity than they would prefer.” And although Argent can’t imagine what could possibly have less integrity than Divan’s current profession, he explains no further, and Nelson’s glare makes it clear it’s better not to ask.

• • •

True to his word, Divan calls for Argent an hour later. They meet in his garden, a glass atrium attached to the cabin. It’s surrounded by dense privet hedges to hide it from the outside world, and is temperature-controlled to protect the exotic plants contained within. Apparently Divan collects living things in addition to the dead ones that hang on the walls of his home. Argent imagines the plants must be vibrant and colorful during the day, but are now subdued by the deepening twilight.

“Come sit. I hope you like espresso.”

A servant pours coffee as black as tar from a silver pot into small porcelain cups as Argent sits across from Divan. Argent knows it will keep him up all night, but he won’t refuse anything Divan offers him.

“Congratulations are in order,” Divan says. “I’ve been informed that the AWOLs you caught are top specimens. Bringing six Unwinds in one trip is a nice haul.”

“Five—but next time it’ll be at least six.”

Divan rubs a bit of lemon rind around the outside of his cup. Argent does the same, just so he doesn’t appear uncultured. The man takes his time then, discussing the subtle differences in espresso roasts and the best conditions for the beans’ growth. He not so much beats around the bush as avoids it entirely, as if they have nothing more important to talk about. Argent’s anxiety builds with every moment the subject of his sister is not broached. But he still will not be the one to broach it.

“My garden here is a bit of a paradox,” Divan says. “I come here for peace and solitude, and yet in this garden, one is never alone.”

Argent looks to see that the servant has left, so, in fact, they are alone. He assumes Divan is speaking in a philosophical way.

“So . . . ,” Argent prompts, getting more anxious as their coffee talk meanders on, “is there something we’re here to talk about?”

“The unintended consequences of our actions,” Divan responds, as if he was patiently waiting to be asked the question. “Take, for example, the specimens in my garden. While many are natural cuttings taken from around the world, there are others that have a different origin.” He pauses to take a slow sip from his small cup. “There was a rather nasty Internet hoax before the Heartland War—you might have heard of it. A thing called ‘bonsai cats.’ A website presented a method of potting a live cat in a jar, effectively turning it into a houseplant. According to the website, the poor creature would grow within the constraints of the jar, becoming accustomed to its peculiar circumstance. People, of course were outraged at the suggestion, and rightly so.”