I sighed, thinking back to just that morning, when Karen had pushed me to deal with another painful thing I could’ve easily kept avoiding. I was on the other side of that now and better for it. I knew more about my glowing Light, had better control of it. I’d worked hard, and it felt good. By the end I was glad she’d pushed me.
The situation with Zara wasn’t remotely the same, but I could feel it festering deep in that dark hole I’d locked her up in, twisting my insides any time it stirred.
The elevator doors opened, and Dana stepped in. She raised her hand to wave goodbye, but before she could say the words, I stepped in after her. Her eyes widened in surprise for a second, but she recovered quickly and pressed the button.
I took a deep breath and pushed it out loudly. Did I really want to do this?
“Wait. Is this a good time? Are you, like, taking her to . . .” be interrogated? Have a toilet break? I didn’t really know how these things worked, and I was looking for an out.
Dana shook her head. “Now is fine.”
“Shit.” I took another deep breath. Why was I so nervous about this?
Dana placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Surprisingly, it helped. Knowing she was there, and not on either my side or Zara’s, made my fidgeting stop, and I took a few calmer breaths.
After that, we didn’t speak. The elevator doors opened, and Dana led the way to an anteroom with several corridors leading off it. I had no clue what differentiated them or what they contained. The only signs above the doors showed series of letters and numbers completely meaningless to me.
Dana went to a door on the right, swiped her access card, and pushed it open. I followed her down a long, brightly lit corridor with heavy steel doors on either side. About halfway up, she stopped in front of one of the doors and turned to me.
“The cells in this corridor are reinforced steel on all sides.” She pointed to the roof and ceiling. “Plus, they have an extra layer of a special material that’s impenetrable by any Variant ability. It’s like a thin, clear plastic. No one can hear anything while these doors are closed, but we monitor these detainees at all times.”
She tapped a tablet-sized screen next to the door, and a view of the room beyond appeared. It was exactly as you’d expect a prison cell to be—small bed, desk and chair in one corner, toilet and sink in another—but more modern and clean, everything in shades of gray and white. Zara was on the bed, reading.
I looked away from the screen as Dana continued. “There are seven detainees in this section, and only two of them are considered nonthreatening enough to have regular time outside their cells.”
Clearly Zara was one of them. I wondered who the other person was and what they were in for. And what about the other five? What made them so unstable that even having Dana around to neutralize their abilities wasn’t enough to deem them nonthreatening? I also wondered what that ability-blocking material was, how they’d developed it, why it wasn’t available widely. I was grateful to Dana for giving me all this information; it provided a much-needed distraction from my nervousness and gave me a sense of control.
“When I open the door”—she gestured to the handle—“there’ll be another one behind it made out of the clear material I mentioned. You have clearance to be here and speak with her, but you don’t have the training or permission from management to be in the same room as her. You’ll have to speak through the membrane.”
“Good.” I nodded. I still wasn’t entirely sure how I would react.
“Ready?” She held her pass poised over the scanner, waiting for my OK.
I nodded. Dana swiped the pass and pulled the door open.
The sound drew Zara’s attention, and she dropped the book and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
She opened her mouth to say something, probably sarcastic, but she saw me and froze.
For a beat we just stared each other down. She was in blue pants and a gray T-shirt. Her hair was brushed, but it needed a trim and looked messy at the ends. She had no makeup on—no signature dark eyeliner and bold lipstick.