Serve and Protect

Chapter 15

[CONTENT WARNING: This chapter deals with mature subject matter that may be triggering, particularly to survivors of physical and sexual assault, and police violence. Please see the end of the chapter for specific content warnings and take care when reading.]

In days after her world fell apart, the only real human interaction Catra had was an interrogation. Instead of returning to the old hotel, Shadow Weaver brought Catra to headquarters and ushered her into a dark and cramped office.

"If ever there was a time in your sorry excuse of a life to be truthful, it's now," Shadow Weaver spat after more than an hour of fruitless back and forth.

"I am being truthful," Catra snapped back. She was exhausted and her nerves were frayed. All she wanted to do was go home and cry in private. "You already know Adora kept me in the dark — what do you want me to say?"

Shadow Weaver paced in the small space in front of Catra's chair. Whatever process she used to tame her long black hair seemed to have given up; it seems to be growing wilder by the minute. "You two are close. Surely she said something."

"Listen, I'm just as pissed off about it as you are." Catra folded her arms and sank back in her seat. "I guess she let us both down."

"Then did you see something? Anything that would indicate what kind of information she was feeding to the authorities."

Catra gritted her teeth. She dug her fingertips into her thighs hard enough to hurt, like a warning to herself not to say something she might regret.

"No. Nothing. I had absolutely no idea what she was up to."

A moment passed between them. Shadow Weaver stared Catra down with a cold and calculating glare. At last, she let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine. Then we're done here."

Catra was officially benched until her initiation, which meant no Horde assignments until her birthday the following week. That suited her just fine. She had no interest in doing anything but sulking and crying in private. Shadow Weaver sent her home with strict instructions to not tell a soul about Adora working with the police.

"Adora's indiscretion will be dealt with discretely," Shadow Weaver explained when Catra asked why.

But Catra wasn't stupid — if anything, Shadow Weaver probably didn't want Hordak to know that her protege had turned out to be a traitor.

And so, Catra spent the days between Adora's defection and her initiation alone in her room. From her bed, she watched the sun trace its way across the sky in an endless loop. She rose only to eat, use the bathroom, and snarl at anyone who dared so much as glance her way. No one knocked on her door, and no one thought to check in on her. But that wasn't a surprise. After all, there was nobody left to care.

By the time her eighteenth birthday arrived, Catra felt transformed. It was as if she'd gone into her isolation a wounded and heartbroken caterpillar and emerged a butterfly with wings made of pure spite and rage. If there was such a thing as a butterfly with sharp teeth and venom in its veins, Catra would be that one.

She awoke late with the midday sun streaming in from a crack between the curtains. Grumbling, Catra rolled out of bed and decided her birthday was as good a day as any to finally take a shower. (In her misery, she hadn't exactly made personal hygiene a priority.) Snatching her towel, Catra yanked her door open and nearly tripped on a paper shopping bag that had been placed at the threshold.

"What the fuck?" she muttered as she picked the bag up. A folded note was taped to the side. For a split second, Catra forgot everything that had happened, and her hopeful heart leapt at the thought that maybe—just maybe—the package was a birthday gift from Adora.