Day Four
Sable's P.O.V.
He's a killer. I can see it in his eyes. They are surprisingly deep for how emotionless they are. As vast and empty as the ocean's sight. Same color to boot.
The light turned on at six. I was already awake by then. Scanning the environment as if it had somehow changed in the last ninety-six hours, I'd be subjected to this imprisonment. Though they are calling it "enforced interrogations," we both know what it is.
I let out a sigh and lay back on the bed. The food won't come for another two hours, and I've gotten tired of counting the threads he's picking at on the inside of his sleeve. The clock is ticking away at the silence as if it were its natural-born enemy.
Any day now they should be taking us into separate interrogation rooms. Though this must be a test of sanity. And out of the two of us, I don't know who's losing.
Before I know it, the slit in the metal door opens, and one after another two trays of food slide on the floor, settling themselves in front of both of us. I sit up, and my eyes meet his. Shadowed and yet determined as ever. He must be planning something. I look away first. I file that away as a problem.
I bend down and grab one of the trays of food. Simple. Bread. Milk. And an Apple. I eat then slide the tray back through the slit. He waits like he always does, exactly one hour, then eats. Interesting. Must be religious.
We both register it. The soft click of the cell's door handle. A guard steps through dressed in the armor of the Accord. Black steel with a red star in the center of their chest. He surveys both of us and reaches for my arm. Hauling me up and dragging me through the white, sterile hallways of the building
Two turns left and a right turn through a doorway sits the interrogation room. Smelling of fresh pain. There I sit for exactly two hours before a man in a black and white suit sits down in front of me.
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. I know all about these methods. They are waiting for me to crack. Unlucky for them. I won't.
"Where are my manners? I'm sorry for the cell, Sable. And the long wait." He sits down. A cup of real coffee. Not that brown murky water from the cell. He slid it my way.
I look at him. Then the coffee, then back to him. Reaching for the coffee. I take the warm cup in hand and sip the rich flavor, filing it away. He's trying to establish comfort with me. They want me to fill the silence. To play the game.
"Vael has already given their statement. Pinning you as the rogue unsanctioned operative at the peace summit." He slides a folder onto the table. Blue. Light on paper. Probably has nothing.
I set the coffee down next to the papers and eyed the wall.
"I know what's in there."
I don't, but he doesn't know that.
"It states that both parties of the peace summit were there." My eyes scan his face, watching for a reaction. And there it is. A slight raising of the eyebrows, a fixing of the collar. He's nervous.
He grabs the folders and opens them, reading aloud.
"Vael intelligence said that they are holding a Cael for questioning at the moment."
My heart beats faster. I hope he doesn't notice. I narrow my eyes and shrug as if it were nothing.
"Who's that man in the cell with me?"
Instead of answering, he smiles and stands. Patting down his suit and nodding to me before heading to the exit. He pauses before breaching into the hallway.
"Interesting. The Kor operative asked about you too."
In just a matter of minutes after he leaves. The same guard came to retrieve me. Trekking back through the building. Two right, one left. The smell of fresh paint. Oddly enough, not a single security camera.
Back in the cell. He's there watching me get shoved back into the small confinement. So he asked about me. My eyes linger on his not until before he turns his attention my way and studies me. I scoff internally and retreat into the odd softness of the mattress of my cot.
Right after ten the lights shut off, and the light from the small window at the top of the wall cascades the white light of the moon through it. I watch the shattered moon slowly rise in the distance. Rook stands and looks out the window as he does every night. Taking out a small pen and retracing a name from a list he keeps in his pocket twenty-four seven.
Just barely above a whisper, he speaks to me for the first time in almost four or five days.
"They mentioned someone named Cael to me." His ocean-shaded eyes catch the moonlight as his gaze lingers on mine in the dark. I don't say anything. I don't need to. My heart does all the talking; I'm doing a very weak thing.
