In the middle of the night I wake up and all the fug of the explosion has melted away. My knee is throbbing, but my head is completely clear. I slide carefully away from Kay and stumble through the blackness, out of the slumbering ward. Out in the corridor it’s much colder. I feel my way to the stairs and down several flights. I crunch along the gritty corridor to where Tanisha pointed out Ven’s office. I can see a faint light leaking out under the door; I fling it open.

‘You mother-efwurding bastard! It was you that threw that grenade, wasn’t it?’ I say.

Despite the late hour, Ven is working at a desk. He turns to look at me calmly.

‘Wasn’t it?’ I demand.

He nods. His face still devoid of emotion.

‘Don’t you even feel bad?’ I ask. ‘People were killed in that explosion.’

‘Not the workers. The workers were on the factory floor on the other side of the building. I considered all factors, which, contrary to your opinion, is something that I always do with plans.’

‘So it doesn’t matter about the other factory staff?’

‘They’re part of the regime. If they end up on stretchers it’s their own fault.’

‘What about the ones that ended up in coffins?’

‘The people we saw only had minor injuries.’ He says it with such assurance that my temper flares.

‘What kind of leader are you? You must have known when you threw that grenade you were risking the lives of innocent people.’

‘What kind of leader would I be if I allowed myself the luxury of never taking any risks? I’d end up paralysed by inaction and indecision. Is that leadership?’

I look at him. He’s only a little older than me and he’s responsible for everybody here. In a way, he’s responsible for trying to save the entire country, but surely he can’t be a good captain if he doesn’t care about people dying? Doesn’t that make him as bad as the Leadership?

‘I just keep thinking about those bodies,’ I say.

‘It was a contained impact grenade. There was no way I could have known that idiot would throw it into the gas tanks. It was designed to kill within a five-metre radius. It should only have killed the guards—’

‘And me,’ I interrupt, as everything clicks into place. Sweet efwurding efwurd. He was trying to kill me. I don’t even know how I could have failed to see this before. ‘You thought I was going to tell them about this place, didn’t you? So you decided to kill me before I had the chance.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Has my attempt to blow you up hurt your feelings?’ He stands up. ‘Do you want to get Paulo in here so that you two can sing me a little song about playing nicely with the other children?’ He moves around the desk and steps towards me. ‘Maybe we should all move away to the coast where we can settle down with the people we love and grow vegetables and educate the kids in something other than hand to hand combat and just give up on this whole crazy “let’s get rid of the oppressive killing regime” idea, shall we?’ He’s right in my face. His skin is waxy. He’s clearly still feeling the effects of the explosion.

I take a step back. ‘I’m not saying that.’

‘That’s great. Try focusing on that will you? Try to not say as much as possible.’

He closes his eyes and tips his head back as he exhales. His eyes snap open again. He sits down, picks up his pen and carries on writing.

What the hell? ‘Is that it?’ I ask. ‘I saved your life. You tried to kill me and you think telling me that freedom is important is an adequate explanation? What the efwurd is wrong with you?’

He finishes his sentence and lays down his pen. ‘A lot. A whole hell of a lot. You don’t need me to tell you that I am far from perfect. I got you wrong. Based on the intelligence I had, I thought you were a threat, so I tried to kill you. I was doing my job. I am attempting to overthrow a corrupt government. People are going to get hurt and some of them won’t deserve it. If you don’t like my methods, leave.’ He goes back to his papers.

I stalk out of the room and stand in the corridor with my fists clenched and my face screwed up. My muscles are so taut with anger that I am quivering with suppressed rage. I want to wake Kay up and leave this stupid place, but I can’t. A deep growl of frustration leaves my lips and I smack the heels of my hands against my temples. I realise my earlier conversation with Kay about whether we should leave was completely pointless. Even if I could figure out some other way of getting to my father, I just can’t leave the Resistance now that we’ve found them. I have to stay. I want to help.

Which just goes to show that even when you think you’re on the good side, the side that’s fighting for people’s rights, you’re still not free to do whatever the hell you like.