"But I know you're unlikely to believe me. You have no reason to trust us, and there's nothing I can say to you now that will change that." Her eyes harden. Ice encased bydiamond. "Trust doesn't come from words."
I want to tell her trust is another game I don't know how to play, but she's already talking again.
"Am I to understand you hold no loyalty to your former employer?"
There are a few things to unpack with that. I start with theinformation that least makes me want to throw up.
"Formeremployer?" I ask, not bothering to hide the scorn in my voice. "Are you planning tokill me or offer me a job?"
"Which would you prefer?"Snow counters, her expression remaining completely unreadable. I can't tell if it's a serious question or not. I don't even know if it matters either way.
I know what it means to be powerless. I've been powerless most of my life. Every decision about who Iam and what I've become was made by other people.
"I want a way out." My voice breaks, and Ideserve to be shot in the gut for it.
My mind isshattering, splintering into too many different pieces, shards of pain and rage and grief that slice away at what remains of my sanity.
I didn't know it was possible to lose this much, to break this quickly. I should be stronger than this. So much stronger. I've always known that I'm not. Strong. Dan was the strong one. He took it all with him.
"We can help you with that,"Snow says, her voice clipped and certain.It's a promise without actually promising anything. I think this one might be clever.
"If I work for you," I say because “help” is currency to agencies like hers. Trading other people’s desperation like cards is what keeps them in business.
I know what Snow is trying to do here. Other agencies have offered similar things. Work for us and we'll give you your freedom. Work for us and we'll protect you. Work for us and we'll give you a shitload of money.
I never considered jumping ship. I was an OI agent, and that was all I'd ever known. Besides, OI always owned the trump card. Swapping one agency for another seemed pointless when none of them could offer me the one thing I cared about. My brother.
But things are different now. My brother is dead, and I have nothing to go back to anymore.
"No," Snow says, with a finality I don't know what to do with.
I try not to let my confusion show, but Snow still sees it. Ireally amshit at hiding things today.
"I'm not trying to recruit you, Mr Roth." Her eyes flick over me, a quick overall assessment. She locks gazes with me again before continuing, "At this moment in time, you are not stable enough to be an agent of FISA."
I immediately go on the defensive because I'm me, and I'm fucked, and nothing makes sense unless I'm bashing my head against a wall.
"You know I've met thechatty motherfucker whodoesn't look like he's been smacked around once in his life, right? If that's what you think a capable agent looks like, thenI'll try not to cry over your lack of faith inmystability."
Snowdoesn't look impressed by my outburst. IknowI'm just proving her point by behaving this way,but I can't find it in myself to care.
"Agent Snow has had nowhere near the same life experience as you, Mr Roth," Snow says. I swear she hasn't blinked in the last five minutes.
"That's not an excuse for shitty training," I say before I can stop myself. "He's gonna die fast out there."
"Does it bother you?"Snow asks then, peering atme thoughtfully like I’ve done something of moderate interest. Seeing my frown of confusion, she adds, "The idea Agent Snow could get hurt due to insufficient training?"
I'm ready to be done with this conversation. I think I'm spiralling a little. I think I'm already slipping down. Down.Down. This is just great. I should be. I should be better than this.
"What do you want from me?" I snarl at her. The sound of it rattles around my skull, smacking into walls and raging to get out. Out.Out.
Snowleans back in her chair and eyes me speculatively. I can't see her face anymore. It's bleeding into the background. I feel like I'm wearing glasses with the wrong prescription. I feel like I've been hit over the head, and the first signs of a concussion areinvading my senses.
"This isn't about what I want," Snow says. She's far away now. She sounds far away."It's about what you want."
"Iwanta wayout," I repeat. In my head, those words are a strangled scream.
"We've established that,"Snow says, and I'm beginning to see what got Damon so worked up earlier. Fighting with an immovable object is as frustrating as it is pointless.
