Most of them were like robots. Faceless, silent, completely unresponsive to his attempts at engagement. Whether they were sociopaths who didn’t care, or just well-trained enough not to react, he couldn’t tell. They barely registered as human.
But one was different.
The tall one. The quiet one with the steady hands who brought him water yesterday when the others didn’t bother. Who had hesitated, almost imperceptibly, when ordered to hit him during that first interrogation. Who hadn’t asked a single question or made a single sound the entire time Sabin had been here.
The lock clunked open, and he lifted his head. Speak of the devil.
The guard entered alone, carrying a tray with a plastic cup of water and what looked like a sandwich. He moved with a fluid grace that spoke of extensive training. Military, probably.Special forces, even. The kind of movement you couldn’t fake or learn quickly—the kind that came from years of conditioning your body to be a weapon.
“I didn’t order room service, cher,” Sabin said, his voice hoarse from screaming.
The guard set the tray on the small metal table bolted to the floor and turned to face him. Still silent. Still masked. But something about the way he stood—slightly angled, as if he didn’t want the camera in the corner to get a clear view of him—sparked Sabin’s interest.
“I’d tip, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” He nodded toward his bound wrists. “Though I’m guessing you don’t need the cash. Praetorian probably pays well.”
Nothing. Not even a shift in stance.
“Or maybe it’s not about the money. Maybe it’s ideology. You believe in the cause.”
Nothing. Still no response.
“Or maybe they have something on you. Leverage. Someone you care about.”
The guard moved then—the smallest flinch, barely perceptible if Sabin hadn’t been looking for it.
Bingo.
“That’s it, isn’t it? They’re holding someone over you.” His mouth had gone dry, but he kept talking. If there was one thing he was good at, it was talking. “I get it. I do. That’s why I’m here. They have my sister.”
The guard turned abruptly, heading for the door.
“Wait.” He twisted in his chair, and pain flared through his hand at the sudden movement. He had to swallow back a surge of bile before he could speak again. “I’m not asking for help. I’m just—I’m just talking. Human to human. If that’s what we both still are.”
The guard paused, hand on the door.
“Just tell me if she’s okay. My sister. Vivianna. Blonde, about 5’10”, probably giving everyone hell. Is she hurt? That’s all I want to know.”
The guard stood motionless for a long moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
No. Vivi wasn’t hurt.
Relief crashed through Sabin so powerfully that it left him lightheaded. Or maybe that was the pain. Yeah, definitely the pain. He was going to pass out soon. He wouldn’t be able to stop it. Already, gray dots crowded his vision.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
The guard tapped two fingers against the door frame—a gesture so casual and human it felt out of place in this sterile hell—and then he was gone, the door closing behind him.
Sabin slumped in his restraints. So there was still a person in there. Someone who could be reached, maybe. Someone who might, under the right circumstances, be an ally. Or at least less of an enemy.
Hours passed. Or minutes. It was impossible to tell. The pain in his hand had settled into a steady, throbbing rhythm that matched his heartbeat. His thoughts drifted, fuzzy from lack of sleep and the remnants of whatever drugs they’d given him during that last interrogation.
He was on the edge of unconsciousness when the door opened again. The same tall guard entered, this time with another tray of medical supplies. Bandages, splints, antiseptic.
Sabin blinked, trying to clear his vision. “Don’t tell me you’re going to fix what your buddy broke.”
The guard set the tray down and knelt in front of Sabin. Up close, he was even taller, maybe even close to Sabin’s towering height. Broad shoulders, muscular build. The kind of guy who’d be intimidating even without the tactical gear and the gun holstered at his hip.
“Not a talker, huh?” Sabin said as the guard gently took hold of his damaged hand. “That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”