Page 22 of Operation: Defiance

“Did you escalate your concerns to anyone?”

“No.”

Each answer is true given a narrow enough scope.

The man makes a soft sound, but I can’t tell if it’s thoughtful…or judgmental.

“Did Ms. Hale follow protocol when she brought her concerns to you?”

Tessa.

Her empty hands flash behind my eyes. The way she nodded when I told her Occupational Health would explain everything. The trust she gave me without asking for proof.

“Raine,” he says. The familiarity is deliberate, exerting pressure by reminding me what I still have to lose. “Do you know where Ms. Hale is?”

My breath stutters, my body answering before I can stop it.

“No,” I say.

“She’s being cared for,” the woman says calmly. “As are you. Until we decide what happens next.”

“How long will that take?” I ask.

“It depends on how helpful you choose to be.”

Understanding clicks into place. This only ends when they decide it does.

The man clears his throat. “We’ll talk again later.”

Papers shift, a chair scrapes against the concrete, and two sets of footsteps move away. The door closes with a muted thud, and the lock engages a second later.

This wasn’t about verifying facts. They cared how I framed them, how quickly I answered, and where I drew the line.

I’m alone again, hooded and held exactly where they positioned me. There’s no give in the restraints, so I let my shoulders relax and focus on staying quiet. This feels like it’s still part of the assessment. And I won’t give them any more of me than they’ve already taken.

Footsteps return sooner than I expect.

Hands adjust the restraints without comment. My ankles are freed from the chair, then chained together again. Wrists released next and relocked behind me.

Every movement is practiced. Sequential. No chance of me causing damage.

“Stand.”

My legs cooperate, but slowly. Hands close around my elbows to steady me.

I count steps until pain interrupts the numbers. The air cools again, and the sound dulls as they position me in another chair. It’s lower, but just as hard and unforgiving.

Air blows steadily across my skin from somewhere overhead as the restraints are reset in a way that’s awkward but not immediately unsustainable.

That matters.

“You are not to move unless instructed,” the man says, his voice flat with boredom. “If you need water or the bathroom, you will ask and wait to be acknowledged. Otherwise, you will not speak without direction.”

Ask. Not request. Requesting implies rights. Asking implies dependence.

“Failure to comply will extend your evaluation period.”

Evaluation again.