The deeper Arrin delved into the woods the less starlight struggled through the trees and the more difficult it was to see. After stumbling on tree roots and large rocks half a dozen times, he reached the pre-set limits of his tracker, signaled by a thrumming in his head. He backtracked until the thrumming stopped and sat down beneath a single young tree in a clearing in the moonlight with his back resting against the trunk. He took out the leather case of PMZ and opened it. His hand trembling in anticipation, he lifted out one of the vials and one of the syringes.

Reasoning, in error, if he didn’t use the full amount he was still in control, he filled the syringe to a little below the mark his jailers had used, shoved up his coat sleeve, put the needle to a forearm vein—and remembered...

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