Into The Rift

House Arrest (56)

AU: Apologize for the super long wait. I had my last exams in February, and now I've graduated.
Now I am looking for a job, so in the meantime I have free time now. 
This chapter is very lengthy, and I hope you folks enjoy!

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-Tartarus Base

No matter the place, time, or circumstance, all interrogations can be broken down into three simple steps.

One, establish initial rapport with the victim, and slowly build up an environment conducive to cooperation. Two, prepare a relevant list of questions and employ the appropriate interrogation techniques based on the prisoner's level of trust. And finally, take every answer with a grain of salt. 

That last one is arguably the most important. No one wants to act on false information. 

The frown deepens as her eyes sneak up for another glance—fleeting purple peaking through thin lashes. Easier said than done with her. The woman's chest rose and fell beneath the dark red tunic. Swirling patterns adorned the grimy fabric, adding a touch of flair to an otherwise unremarkable choice of attire.

The door to the impromptu interrogation cell flings open with a sharp thud, and she quickly looks up again from her self-imposed stupor. Firmly secured in proper hand cuffs, the captive could barely move her limbs in the chair she sat in, though it did not stop the brief attempt at fighting off her restraints once alerted to the sounds of footsteps.

She squirms, solemn gaze drifting away, dull purple repulsed by imposing black, her lips parted but guarded against every attempt at meaningful interactions.

That dull, pensive look remains, framing her beleaguered eyes. Wild snowy locks gently frame both sides of her face, their ends flowing past taut shoulders, spilling onto bound arms. Her brows scrunch as the footsteps pause.

"So, look what we found inside her purse... bag or whatever," a voice pulls me from the observation.

I turn around to see James crossing the threshold and closing the door with a resounding lock. Resting on the palm of his gloved hand is a small, eerie pendant—yellow, pulsing, and alive. He walks over and deposits the object right on the table, in plain view of our captive.

A small feminine gasp resounds and her eyes dart back and forth between the two of us before finally sinking to the pendent. She tilts her head to the item and squirms in place, arms fidgeting above the armrests as I pull my chair back to the front and take a seat, opposite to where she is.

Taking this as an opportunity to further progress the session, I take the pendant and loop it through my fingers, letting it dangle ominously in her sights. A hopeful look washes over her face, almost clear in its expression.

That is a start at least. I place it down, watching her eyes follow the decent until the pendant rested on the table's surface with a soft thud, its dim glow radiating like a soft, pulsing bulb across the room.

"Thought it looked important, like one of those translator artifacts," James promptly remarks as he moves across the room. Her hands twitch as the operative steps behind her line of sight, briefly perking to meet his muted gaze.

So, any progress yet?" He inquires, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Not really, she's been awfully quiet." I say, planting my arms on the table and setting a stern glare at the woman. She quickly notices the searing look and speaks, voice barely above a whisper.