31A Crack in the Heart
Sydney woke up to an argument and a searing light.
“This isn’t a question, Mr. Bourton.”
“I didn’t answer it as a question,” Tems snapped. Sydney could hear the clipped anger in his voice, a sound she recognized all too well. The loudness of the voices made her wince.
“Does Panacea know she’s here?”
“You checked her for trackers yourself.”
The light was fluorescent, that much Sydney could tell. She squinted as her eyes fluttered open, then shut again. She tried to lift a hand to block the light, but something weighed her wrists down. Vaguely, she realized that she was tied down in a chair, and her mouth felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton.
It made her want to gag. The nausea that made her stomach lurch shook her fully awake, and her eyes shot open again—to reveal the rest of the interrogation room at the police station.
The three men sitting at the far table stopped talking to look at her. Beside them stood Tems with his back turned to her, his hands in his pockets. He broke from his argument too at the sound of her stirring, then glanced at her over his shoulder. The scowl on his face shifted and softened as he turned to walk toward her.
“What do you remember?” he asked her first.
Sydney knew why he posed this question. He must have injected her with benzodiazepine, which—in addition to being a powerful tranquilizer—had the tendency to interfere with memory. She shook her head and regretted the motion immediately as her head exploded with agony, the migraine blooming from the back of her head to the front until it felt like her entire brain had been struck with a hammer.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. Her lips cracked as she spoke.
Tems knelt down and looked up at her. “What do you remember?” he asked again firmly.
Sydney glared at him. “I remember you stabbing me with a goddamn needle. Didn’t think you were a literal prick.”
At that, Tems gave her a humorless smile. “Then I guess we all learned something today,” he replied. “Glad you’re okay. I was afraid I used too much.”
Sydney didn’t answer. Her eyes went to the other agents and committed every detail of their faces to memory. She didn’t recognize two of them—but the third, she knew. Her attacker from the airport.
Now the agent met her stare and pulled out his gun with a sigh. Every muscle in Sydney tensed.
Tems shook his head without looking away from Sydney. “Put it away,” he said coldly, addressing the agent with the gun. “I told you. You’re not shooting her.”
“What is Panacea going to do about it?” the man said without emotion.
“I’m going to shoot you back,” Tems replied simply, pulling out his own weapon and resting his arm idly against his knee.
“She knows,” another agent said.
“We can work something out,” Tems said. He nodded at Sydney. “Won’t we?”
Don’t say a word,Sydney thought. There were no friends in this room with her—any word she uttered could be used against her, against Panacea, against Winter.
Against Winter.
She noticed that, so far, Tems hadn’t mentioned him yet. Maybe the other agents didn’t know she had a partner. Maybe Tems didn’t think he was capable enough to come here with her—after all, even she had tried forcing him to stay back. Maybe Winter had managed to escape and had returned to the plane.
She also noticed the tenuousness of Tems’s relationship with these other men. They’d definitely had arguments before. She filed the bit of knowledge away.
“Well, Syd,” Tems said to her. “What do we do now?”
Sydney didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Tems sighed when she remained still and silent. “There’s not a very good reason for us to keep you alive,” he said. “You know this. So I want you to think very hard about how cooperative you want to be, and whether or not you want to go home.”
“Doyouwant to go home?” Sydney asked him.
