Leo shuts his mouth for the next few minutes, which is a relief. The optimistic bounce in his voice was starting tonudge me into psycho mode, and I really don't needtofall into arage blackout right now.The loss of control over my own mind is worse than being forced into itby someone else.
I can feel him looking at me, though. I don't really care about that. He can look all he wants. I've spent my entire life being observed by people. Leo's overt staring is harmless. I probably won't even see him again once he drops me off wherever we're going. I’m pretty sure he won't be the one whotries to puta bullet in my head once they have all the information that they need from me.
Leo leads me through anotherseries of barren corridors. There are doors dotted around, but they're all electronically locked. I hear snatches of conversations going on behind those doors, but none of it is anything I give a shit about.
I expect to be taken to an interrogation room or at least a room that is clearlydesigned tocontain someone like me. But no. Leo stops at a door with a nameplate on it that reads “Director A. Snow.” For some reason that, more than anything else,gives me a slightly ominous feeling.
I can hear voices coming from inside. One is clearly aggravated and the other calm and unaffected by the first voice's frustration.
"You can't let him get involved. You know how Leo is, he'll get attached and then—"
The calm voice cuts the other person off.
"Agent Snow would have gone toRoth even if I'd ordered him to stay away. You know that.He’sbeen camping outside that boy's door ever since he left medical."
There’s an exasperated snorting sound.
"Only Leo would look at a trained killing machine and see a lost kitten."
Leo knocks on the door. The calm voice calls through, telling him to come in. Leo punches a code into the keypad next to the door. He doesn't even try to hide the code from me, which is justridiculous. Even if they don't intend for me to leavethis place alive, it's still utterly lackadaisical of them to give me any information for free.I'm going to talk to Leo’s handler and tell them FISAneeds tostep uptheirtraining game unless they want an unending lineof young, dead agents.
When the keypad emits ahigh-pitchedbeeping sound, themetal door slides open. Leo stands to the side and nods for me to go in first. At least someone taught him not to turn his back on a killer, so gold fucking star to whomever that was.
I walk into what appears to be a very ordinary office. Even by ABC agency standards, this room is plain as hell. Blank walls. A red-carpeted floor. Dark-brown furniture. Tall shelves stacked against every wall and filled with books. A sad-looking cactus sitting on the large mahogany desk.
The woman sitting behind the desk, however, is not plain at all. She isn't beautiful, notin a traditional sense. Her nose is too pointy, her eyebrows too stern, her cheekbones too sharp,her mouth too thin.But with the contrast of jet-black hair set against powder-white skin and ice-blue eyes, she is striking.
She looks eerily similar to Leo in appearance, enough for me to assume they are related in some way.
The woman,Snow,doesn'topenly react to me entering the room.A slight stiffening of her facial muscles is the only indication she gives that anything has changed. She tracks my movements in a way only someone who is trained to do so would. Her expression is carefully blank, devoid of any outward reaction or sentiment. That is something I'm very used to. It's almost a reliefto be looked at like a thing rather than a person again. I can handle that better than Leo's open friendliness.
Snow’s stony appraisal of me, not to mention her position behind the big fuck-off desk, marks her out as the realthreat. From what I can see of her, she's in her early fifties and railing thin, but that doesn't mean anything. Age and size are rarely good indicators of another person's strength or fighting skill.Snow is the threat because she's the one who will decide what happens to me next. She's the one who will order that I be tortured or have me sent me back to my cell for however long she sees fit.
Standing on the opposite side of Snow’s deskis another man I recognise. He was at the safe house with Leo. From my slightly foggy memory, I recall the nameDamon.
Damon looks young, probably around the same age as Leo. He’s a very big man, both in terms of height and muscle mass. He cuts a rather intimidating figure. He is also quite possibly one of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen. It’s practically obnoxious.
Leo follows me into the room, pulling the door shut behind us. Hegoes to stand next toDamon, who is busy making it clear to me how muchmy presencebothers him. He seems to know, better than Leo, what I could do to them given the right set of circumstances.
But when Leo elbows him in the arm, he stops scowling at me long enough to turn a surprisinglytolerantsmile on his friend.
I keep the majority of my attention on Snow.Her stare has taken on aslightly less oppressive quality now, but that means fuck all to me. I don't know her. I don't know how finely cut her edges are. I will, though. She'll show me. They always do.
She doesn't look ready to have me chained to a wall yet.I don't find that comforting at all. I've seen fartoo many sharks grin before they bite to ever be lulled by it.
Snowsits forward in her office chair,perfectly composedand regarding me with cool, penetrating intensity. I stare back at her. I think about slamming her facedown onthe desk. I think about the blood on her face and the crunch of bone such an action would illicit. I think about how I'm maybe closer to the edge than I thought.
No one speaks, not even Leo.
It would be smart to stay quiet, to wait forSnow to make the first move. I know better than to react to silence.
But I can’t read Snow, which means I’m unable to make a guess as to what her next move will be. That lack of knowledge is a splinter stuck inside my chest. I want to rip it out, to dig down deep inside me andincinerate thattender ache. But I can't, and it's maddening.
Snow finally takes her eyes off me, briefly switching her focus to Leo and Damon. They both appear to straighten up under her gaze, reacting instinctively to the position of power she holds.
"Time to go, agents. Mr Roth and I have a meeting,” Snow says, her voice dismissive but not brusquely so.
Leo doesn't look pleased about being told to leave; however, his respect forSnow must win out because he doesn't argue. Damon just nods in compliance, also unwilling to defy his boss in front of me.
