Forrest shook it briefly. His palm was cool, grip clinical. He was already assessing me, I realized. Looking for tells.
I gave him nothing.
"Please, have a seat." Forrest gestured to a chair facing a table with the polygraph equipment. Sensors, monitors, the whole setup.
I sat. Kept my breathing even. Hands relaxed on the armrests.
You've done harder things. You planted a bug at ten years old. You can beat a machine.
The door opened.
Quentin walked in.
My heart rate spiked before I could control it.
He looked tired. Stressed. Those storm-gray eyes met mine briefly before shifting away.
"I'll be observing," he said. Not to me. To Stone. "If that's acceptable."
"It's your company." Stone didn't sound happy about it.
Quentin took a seat against the wall. Far enough not to be intrusive. Close enough that I could feel his presence.
Yikes. This is bad.
Forrest began attaching sensors. Chest strap for breathing. Blood pressure cuff. Fingertip sensors for perspiration and pulse.
"Try to relax," he said. Professional. Detached. "We'll start with baseline questions to calibrate the equipment. Answer honestly."
Honestly. Right.
"Is your name Julia Russell?"
At least that was mostly true.
"Yes."
I controlled my breathing. Slow inhale through the nose. Hold. Exhale through the mouth. Aunt Filomena's voice in my head:The truth is whatever you believe it to be in that moment.
My name was Julia Russell. I'd worn that name since I was two years old, a shield to keep me safe, to keep me from becoming a target. Julia Russell was real because I was real.
The machine beeped softly. Forrest made a note.
"Are you currently in Salt Lake City?"
"Yes."
Truth. Easy.
"Is today Friday?"
"Yes."
Another truth. Baseline establishing.
Forrest adjusted something on the monitor. "Good. Now we'll move into the actual assessment. Remember, answer truthfully. The machine will know if you're lying."
No, it won't. Not if I'm better than the machine.
