29

Jasmine had no idea where she was. The room wasn't lit very well, mostly dark with a single overhead light that was half out. There was a sharp smell that she couldn't quite identify—mildew, rust, something metallic? All she knew was that she couldn't move. There were gaps in her memory. How long she'd been unconscious was unknown, but the throbbing and unrelenting pain radiating from the left side of her jaw was probably the culprit. No, she was sure of it. A punch, sledgehammer in nature, slammed against her and that was the last thing she remembered.

She felt cold, stripped down to nothing but her sweaty grey tank top and black tactical pants. Her boots had been removed, the soles of her socked feet cold against the concrete. She tried to move again, this time with a quick gasp. A bolt of pain shot up her side. She cast her dark brown eyes down to see the unmistakable dark blotch of blood that soaked through her shirt. Perfect. Her sutures had come undone. With her hands tied behind the chair and her legs tied at the ankles around the chair's legs explained her restricted movements. Caught. Tied. Injured. She'd made a mistake, something careless that led to this. She couldn't think beyond the increasing pain in her side. Her mouth was dry. Each swallow felt like ingesting glass. She coughed twice.

There was movement in her peripheral. She turned to see a man sitting up in his chair, a lit cigarette hanging from his thin lips. The first thing that caught her attention was the deep bruising around his eyes and nose. It stood out against his pale complexion, almost nauseatingly so. His large eyes couldn't disguise his surprise.

He stood up, taking a quick drag before a stream of smoke exited the side of his mouth. He put out the cigarette on the sole of his boot and flicked the butt across the room. She watched him walk across the room until he disappeared the behind dark corner of a wall that separated her from the room he was in. There was the sound of a door opening. Not automatic, but manually pulled across its track. She heard the fringes of someone talking. The voices were low and incoherent at distance. She imagined she was the subject of the hushed exchange. There was an inflection; someone had raised their voice. She couldn't sense if it was out of anger or disagreement. All she heard next was the door sliding shut and footfalls that progressed closer and closer until the man returned to sit in his chair. He lit a fresh all white menthol and stared at her.

Jasmine held his glare for a moment before looking away, back down to the floor where she could barely make out her feet in the darkness. What would come next was unknown to her, but she would wait and she would remain calm. This was nothing new.

MESS HALL

Jacen took two brown paper bags from the chow line, regarding the teenage boy behind the counter with a nod. It was sandwiches today; ham and cheese with an apple or orange and a bag of mixed nuts. He grabbed a pair of juices from the ice-filled cooler at the end of the line, shaking the bits of chipped ice from the outside. He barely made it out of the mess hall before Damon suddenly appeared in front of him. He jostled the bags he had cradled in his arms, nearly dropping the juices.

"A warning next time, please. Jeez."

"Yeah, sorry. Hey, you seen Diaz? I need to talk to her and she wasn't in her spot."

Jacen marked the dark bruises and the slit on the bottom corner of his lower lip that still looked fresh. Jasmine hadn't lost her edge. He bypassed the obvious. "She's resting right now. I was just bringing her lunch. What's this about? I can pass the message along when she wakes up."

Damon suddenly looked uncomfortable, almost irritated. Was Pearce toying with him? Maybe he didn't know yet. Fat chance, though. He imagined Diaz told him everything. There wasn't enough patience left in him to decide right now. "Just tell her to meet up with me as soon as possible."

Jacen nodded. "Sure."

Damon turned and walked away at an accelerated pace.

Jacen thought about following him, seeing exactly where they were holding Jasmine. It wasn't the right time yet. No need to complicate an already sensitive matter. He returned to his room to see Naomi still hard asleep. She was curled up in the middle of the bed, the pillow folded up underneath her head. Jacen set the bags down and vented his frustration through an exhale. He snatched the pillow from underneath her head and began to readjust the misplaced material inside.

Naomi sprung awake, sitting up so fast that a rush of vertigo made her lay back down with a grumble. She covered her face with her hands. "Your bedside manner is muy mal."

Jacen held up his misshapen pillow. "And you don't listen. Get up. Damon was looking for you."

Naomi pulled her hands back, a surge of energy pulling her upright. "Vasher? What did he want?"

"What do you think?"

"He told you?"

"Yeah, he told me everything, because he trusts me so much."

"You don't have to be a dick." Naomi ripped the comforter back and swung her legs out of the bed. "You think he suspects you know already?"

Jacen sat down on the derelict couch, tossing his pillow back on the bed before retrieving one of the brown paper bags. He handed one to Naomi and opened his own. "I doubt it. He wants you to meet him as soon as you can."

Naomi peeled open the bag to examine the contents with a frown. She took out the sandwich, staring at it as if it was going to change into something better. There must've been a development for Vasher to want her so soon. Maybe Jasmine was awake or they needed to discuss how they were going to dispose of her body. If the latter, then it was good they came to their senses. She doubted it, however. Vasher wasn't the type to get his hands dirty, not beyond his UNSC moral code. Aaron probably had it in him.

"What do you think she knows?" Naomi asked. She took a bite, wincing at cheese's freezer burned taste.

Jacen peeled the crust from his sandwich very slowly. "No idea. I'm not going to guess. You'll know soon enough, I'm sure."

"You're not curious?"

"You more than me. I suggest you tap deep into your reserves of patience. You know she won't talk easy."

"I'm persuasive."

"Yeah, but this time, she's your enemy, not your friend. It's different sitting on the other side." Jacen chugged the carton of juice, balled it in his fist, and tossed it in the bag. "She'll get under your skin, force you to fight. Be the opposite of what she'll know you'll be."

"And what's that?"

"Angry, betrayed, vengeful. You walk in there with that attitude and she'll have the advantage from the jump. She knows us just as well as we know her."

Naomi pushed her feet into her boots and laced them up. "Then that's what I'll use." She stood up, grabbing her sidearm from the floor and tucking it into the small of her back. "Look, if this goes sideways, I need to know that you're ok with me doing what needs to be done."

"If you think it'll come to that, then I won't stand in the way."

Naomi didn't look satisfied with the answer, but there was no point in a fishing expedition that wouldn't even yield a nibble. She left the lounge without another word and took an alternate route down the back corridors of the A building, thankful for the seclusion to avoid the inquisitive gawking from her inflamed face. She passed the hall of open doors that held old classrooms with rows of connected six-foot tables and empty chairs. A right turn led her into a stairwell, down two flights, and into the basement. Everyone called it the underbelly, and it was certainly that—nearly forgotten, gritty, cold, and rank with a smell that she had yet to identify. A haven for the common outcast and undesirables, but perfect for the seclusion to keep things hidden.

"About time." Aaron stood in the doorway, resting his arm on the frame. "We were debating to start without you."

Naomi stood in front of him. Aaron's face instantaneously struck a nerve inside of her, and his voice only plucked that nerve even more. Was there ever a moment he realized he needed to shut his mouth? "Well, I'm here now."

Aaron let his arm down and turned to walk into the interior of the room where Damon was waiting. He pointed over his shoulder. "The senorita is finally here. How do you wanna do this?"

Damon tapped his fingers along the concrete support column. That was a good question. This was not his element, but he was a quick study. All he needed was the main facts from Jasmine to present to Rey when it was time to tell him—how was she alive, where had she been the entire time, and most importantly, was she still out for blood? That would be enough for now. The smaller details could be dealt with later.

He turned to face Aaron and Naomi with crossed arms. "We ask the important questions. I think we all know what those are. That's the focus. And, Diaz—we're keeping her alive, unless she gives us a reason otherwise. Okay?"

"Sure," Naomi shrugged.

Damon overlooked her flat, dismissive tone. He looked into the room where Jasmine was being held, her back to them and head forward. There was a bottle of water and a mixed protein pack of cheese cubes, nuts, and slices of deli meat. He knew why he brought it, but the more stared at the back of the woman's head, the more intense the urge felt to toss it in the trash or eat it himself. She didn't deserve anything.

Aaron was beside him now, passively checking the tissue balls he'd stuffed up his nose. The bleeding had all but stopped now. Mathison would have to reset it. "Are we ready?"

"Suppose we'll find out." Damon took the bottle and protein pack and secured it within the interior of his jacket and walked in the room where she was. Aaron and Naomi followed in behind, eventually separating and taking up positions on either side of the room. Damon remained in the center, taking the secondary chair and sitting down across from her.

Jasmine marked where Naomi and Aaron were standing before facing Damon, her face without expression and devoid of emotion. She held his eye contact for a beat before looking away, stealing a peek at Naomi's stance to her left-feet apart, back straight, hands clasped behind her. She was ready.

"You're one person I never expected to see again," Damon started. "Then again, I'm sure you're thinking the same."

Jasmine looked at him without a word and shifted in her seat. She slowly blinked, ignoring the stinging pain in her side that escalating in intensity. Her fingertips began to tingle from the restraints around her wrists.

Damon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table with interlocked fingers. "Look, the chase is over. You're not going anywhere. Right now, we're the only people that know you're alive, but that can change very quickly. Much of what happens next depends on you."

Jasmine rolled her eyes with an exhale through her nose and lowered her eyes to the table's battered surface.

"Fine, don't talk, just listen." Damon eased back from the table and crossed his arms across his chest. "Nearly a year ago, you grouped up with that radical Quinn and the rest of his followers and launched an assault on us. You helped murder good people that we need right now. UNSC soldiers and innocent civilians."

"I don't need a recap," Jasmine spoke with venom. "I was there. I know what happened."

"Oh, she speaks finally," Aaron chimed in. "Then maybe you can explain to us how you're alive."

"Piss off," Jasmine grunted. "I'm not explaining myself to you or anyone else."

"You will if you expect live beyond this conversation," Naomi added.

Jasmine turned to face Naomi with a vexatious glare. "I didn't realize you were allowed to speak. I never took you for a spayed bitch. I suppose you'll listen to your masters now."

Naomi laughed. "I can't wait to put a bullet in your face."

Damon stood up, his chair screeching across the concrete. "Shut it down! Both of you take a walk right now."

"You must be crazy," Aaron snapped. "I'm not leaving you in here with…"

"It wasn't a suggestion!" Damon fired back. He pointed to the doorway. "Out. I'll call you back in a minute. For right now, you two get some air. Go!"

Aaron and Naomi reluctantly left the room, pulling the door up but not closing it. Damon knew they wouldn't go far. In fact, he was sure they remained close to the door. He couldn't afford to lose the situation to hot tempers and a pendulum of threats.

Jasmine nodded slowly with raised brows. "You've certainly grown up."

"Some of us didn't have a choice." Damon walked around behind her and retrieved his pocket knife, cutting her ties from her wrists. He tapped the table with the tip of the blade. "Hands on the table. Palms flat."

Jasmine massaged her wrists for a moment, the indentation from the plastic restraints leaving her skin red and raw. She eventually put her hands on the table as instructed, only for Damon to reapply a new zip tie around her wrists, albeit not as tight as before.

He sat down at the opposite end of the table and reached into his jacket for the water bottle and protein pack, sliding them across to her.

She caught the bottle with wary suspension, analyzing the liquid inside. The cap was still on, the perforated seal unbroken. It was the same with the protein pack, the plastic film still adhered to the container's edges.

"It's safe," he assured.

Jasmine's tongue felt like sandpaper and she couldn't produce a drop of saliva if she wanted to. The bottle felt cool in her palm. There was an animalistic urge to rip the cap off, sucking down the water so fast that she'd risk vomiting it up. But it didn't happen. They wouldn't see her desperation.

"So you're the good cop?" she muttered. "That makes Polanski the bad cop and Naomi the executioner."

Damon sighed. "Your blood sugar is going to tank. I need you lucid. Just drink the water and eat. It's not much, but it's all you're getting unless you cooperate."

Jasmine slowly untwisted the cap and took a sip. She couldn't disguise the relief that washed over her face, following it up with a few more modest sips. "You'll need to try harder than that, buddy. I'm not interested in cooperating with you."

Damon clinched his fists. His fuse had already been lit, but it would a while before he blew. He had all the patience in the world. "Maybe not now, but you will. As a matter of fact, you helped us find you."

Jasmine looked up but didn't raise her head, holding a cube of cheese between her fingers as she maintained her glare. She sat up straight, crinkling the water bottle in her right hand. "And just how do you figure that?"

Damon pointed to the stain on her shirt. "Your blood. Coupled with a few more wrinkles and it led us to you. Now Aaron believes you've been here the entire time, hiding out in the tunnels and only surfacing to steal essentials. Maybe that's true, but I think you were somewhere else, or at least bold enough to leave for a reason I'm going to find out."

"Hmm." Jasmine reached up to scratch an imaginary itch on the back of her neck, just above a black feather tattoo behind her right ear. "That is so interesting that I'm speechless. You, sir, are an ace investigator."

"It's out of my hands once Rey knows you're alive. Tell me what happened to you, to Quinn, and the others and maybe—"

Jasmine slapped the water bottle across the room, a gentle spray coating the table. Her face tightened, the disinterest in her large eyes suddenly transformed into a set of vengeful glares. "There is nothing that I want from you, from Anderton, or from anyone else. You can't offer me life, because it's already been voided to you people. There's peace in knowing that you'll never this place, and that you're going into the same grave that you dug for me. That's enough for me."

Damon looked at her for a moment, long enough to gauge the ferocity in her eyes that told him everything he needed to know. He stood up without another word, leaving the room and sealing the door behind him. Aaron and Naomi were standing a few feet away, their expressions painted with anticipation that grew the longer Damon remained silent.

Aaron reached his threshold. "Well, what'd she say? Things sounded like they got heated in there."

"She won't talk," Damon said.

Naomi wanted to laugh. "You honestly thought she would? She's no stranger to being interrogated, not to mention we're not exactly on good terms."

Damon shook his head with crossed arms. "She knows something, and she'd rather die than tell us. That tells me it's something worth knowing."

Aaron covered his face with his hands and groaned excessively. "You're really pissing me off with this idea. She doesn't know diddly. She's just jerking us around and waiting for another opportunity to kill us, if she hasn't thought of one already."

"Either way, we'll find out." Damon headed for the stairwell. "Keep your comms active. My channel only. I'll be back."

Aaron felt sick to his stomach. "Oh, God…"

Naomi checked his reaction, snapping around to call out after him. "And you're going where?"

Damon stopped at the base of the stairs and exhaled. The words out of his mouth made is stomach drop into the basement of his mental fortitude. "I've kept him in the dark long enough. It's time that Rey knows."

Author's Note: Yeah, it's been a while. Between work and the pandemic, it hasn't left much time for writing. But I hope everyone is safe and healthy and I'll post as soon as I can.