Luke stared at Ryan. Slavery was like uni? Because they had communal kitchens? Was he mad?
Or was this what Jackson had meant, when he’d said that the people of Millmoor had to want to rise up? Ryan was leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He looked as likely to rise as one of Daisy’s jaw-breaking cakes.
Luke made some tea and carried both mugs to the table. What he wouldn’t give right now for a biscuit.
Ryan seemed a bit tense, and Luke wondered what was on his mind. Maybe he’d met a girl? Some fit cadet. Lucky sod. Luke considered telling him about Angel, but knew he’d have to veil it in so many half-truths it wouldn’t be worth the effort. And he’d be so terrified of letting something slip it’d only be more stress, instead of a relief.
If only there was someone he could speak to about everything that was going on – someone who wasn’t right in the middle of it all.
But Ryan started talking and Luke discovered it was good just to listen, to lose himself in the mundane details of someone else’s life. Half his brain followed Ryan’s account of his new exercise regime and something called Basic Training. The other half felt luxuriously drowsy. Maybe he’d actually get some sleep tonight.
Then adrenaline coursed through his body as if someone had jabbed a syringe of it between his shoulder blades like the Doc had with Oz, the night they broke him out.
‘You what?’ he said to Ryan, squinting in the fluorescent light. It didn’t actually make anything brighter, just turned the room a sickly yellow.
‘I said, big day tomorrow?’
And what the hell did that mean? Luke’s throat closed up, but he lifted his mug of tea to buy himself time. He rested his elbow on the table in case his hand shook.
‘Big day?’ he said, trying to grin. ‘This isn’t Henshall Academy, Ryan. Tomorrow’s only Friday – nothing big about that. My week doesn’t end till Saturday night.’
‘Ah, yeah,’ said Ryan. His gaze darted around the worktop, seemingly fascinated by the meagre appliances. It settled on a particularly riveting stack of saucepans. ‘It’s just that I heard . . .’
Luke put his mug down. He was losing the struggle to keep his hand still, and tea would be sloshing over the side in a minute.
Ryan hesitated.
‘It’s not easy here, is it? You must be angry about the fact that they transferred your family but not you.’
Luke went cold. He couldn’t believe it. Ryan was fishing, trying to catch him out. He was sure of it.
So what did they know – whoever they were? Did they have an eye specifically on Luke? Which would be bad, because that’d mean they’d made some connection to the club. Or had they simply got wind that something was up at Zone D? And Ryan, like a good little cadet, had volunteered to try and get something out of his mate who worked there?
His mate. Not any more. The bastard.
‘I’m hoping my family will get me transferred to Kyneston soon,’ he told Ryan. Let him think that Luke wanted out, and would therefore be toeing the line like a good boy. ‘I’m crossing off the days, to be honest. Who could have guessed I’d actually miss my sisters?’
Ryan huffed a weak little laugh and turned back to Luke. He looked wretched.
‘So you’ve heard nothing out of the ordinary at work lately?’ he said. ‘Nothing odd?’
Ryan had clearly abandoned the subtle approach. Luke’s palms were sweating. Outright denial would be suspicious. Better to hide a big lie in a small truth.
‘Look, I don’t know what it’s like where you are in maintenance, but Zone D is pretty hardcore. Moaning is about the only way to deal with it. I hear intense stuff all the time. Blokes talking about wrecking machinery, bunking off, or beating up the guards. It’s how they let off steam.’
Ryan frowned. ‘You don’t report any of it?’
‘It’s just talk, Ryan. Might as well report someone for going to the loo or picking their nose. You know what it’s like here: grim and boring. You’ll be well out of it as a mauler. Good choice you made there. I’d do it too, if I was sticking around.’
Ryan looked down at the table. He’d drunk even less of his tea than Luke. Maybe even none at all. Then he pushed back his chair, looking more cheerful than he had since he arrived.
‘Better turn in. Been a long week and it’s not over yet. Thanks for the brew.’
He slapped Luke on the back as he went past.
Sod you. Traitor.
Luke listened to Ryan’s footsteps moving along the corridor, towards the stairs. It was hard to tell with the echo from the stairwell and the background noise from other men moving around and talking, but it sounded like Ryan was going down.
Not back up to his room on a higher floor, to turn in. Down and out – to make his report?