RWD: 5.x (Intermission)(Tammi)

It was a daytime soap opera, the kind of melodramatic garbage that mother had watched when I was a kid. A man in a suit was yelling at a wom

5.x (Intermission)(Tammi)

It was a daytime soap opera, the kind of melodramatic garbage that mother had watched when I was a kid. A man in a suit was yelling at a woman in a low-cut dress, accusing her of infidelity. The woman, in turn, was tearfully defending herself, but I had known since about four episodes ago that she was lying. It was cheap drama, but it was something to watch. Something to keep the thoughts from circling.

The episode was getting to the good part when the door finally clicked. Not the top door—too loud for that. The one at the bottom of the stairs, behind the reinforced steel.

I didn’t look away from the screen. Whoever it was would come in anyway, and pretending I cared would only give them something to play with.

The hinges didn’t creak, didn’t do anything, really. The door was like everything else down here: heavy, solid, expensive, quiet in the way expensive things are. I’d stopped wondering how much it all cost after the first week, because thinking about that made me think about the kind of person who could afford it.

Sure enough, the cape himself stepped in like he owned the place. Which—yeah—he did.

No mask. He never wore one down here. Tousled, sun-kissed hair. Icy, azure eyes that did that not looking away until you did thing. Casual clothes today, but somehow still put together, like he’d stepped out of an ad where all the actors looked like they’d been ironed.

“Afternoon,” he said, just walking over and dropping into the armchair like it was his couch.

I grunted, eyes on the TV. The man was yelling now. The soap’s audio was just loud enough to distract from the bomb collar around my neck. Not that I could truly forget it was there.

He didn’t seem to mind the lack of greeting. He never did. Just leaned back, crossed one ankle over his knee, and looked at the screen. “Still watching these?”

“They’re better than staring at the wall,” I said.

“What’s this one about?”

I snorted, glancing at him momentarily before turning bck to the sceen. “Like you care. Some rich guy’s freaking out ‘cause his woman’s banging the guard. Same old crap.” 

"The acting is terrible."

“I know.”

A faint sound from him, like a chuckle but without the smile. He settled in. We watched together for a bit, which was weirdly worse than being interrogated again.

“How’s the food?” he asked eventually.

“Fine.”

“You’ve been sleeping?”

“As much as I want.”

Another pause. The man on the screen had stopped yelling and was crying now. Ugh. What a loser.

“You’ve had time to think,” my captor said. No change in tone, but I knew what was coming.

“About?” I asked, playing dumb.

He gave me a sidelong glance. “I said I’d ask three times. This is the third.”

Right. That.

My stomach twisted. Not in the I’m scared way—at least that’s what I told myself—but in the there’s no right answer here way. I’d been turning it over for days. Taking his offer meant giving him more power over me. Refusing… well, I doubted I’d get to keep watching soaps.

“I still think it’s messed up you’re asking me like this,” I said.

“Not asking,” he said mildly. “Offering.”

I kept my eyes on the TV. The crying actor had moved on to a monologue. “Well, it’s a shit offer.”

“I told you the terms.”

“I know. Still, real classy, coercing a kid like this.”

“You’re not a kid, Tammi,” he said blandly. “You’re a cape. You chose to run with the Herren Clan, with the Empire. You made your bed.”

He waited. I hated that he didn’t push, didn’t try to sell it. Just sat there like he already knew what I’d say. I stared at him, this blonde, blue-eyed embodiment of everything the Clan had taught me to aspire to, who'd torn apart everything I'd belonged to. The irony wasn't lost on me that my captor looked more like the Aryan ideal than half the Empire's leadership ever had.

The job offer. Work for him, get a weekly stipend sent to my parents, gain some measure of freedom and purpose. Or refuse, and... well, he'd been deliberately vague about the consequences, but I wasn't stupid enough to think they'd be pleasant.

In the end, I exhaled. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll work for you.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth.

“Good.” He didn’t even look away from the screen, just nodded once and kept watching. Like it was nothing. Like I hadn’t just given up something important.

We let the show carry the silence. Somewhere upstairs, a door opened and closed. Footsteps—not coming down here. Probably one of the wardens. They kept their distance unless they had to drop something off, which was fine by me.

A while later, he checked his watch. Then he looked at me. “Come here.”

I didn’t move.

One eyebrow went up, slow.

I sighed and got up, dragging myself over until I was standing in front of him. “What?”

“Kneel.”

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

There was no edge in his voice. No threat. Just certainty. Which was worse. I hesitated long enough that he tilted his head a fraction, and I decided fine—whatever. I’d kneel.

The floor was cool under my bare knees. He reached forward, not fast, not slow, and unclasped the collar at my throat. The click was louder than I’d expected.

I froze as he set it aside on the armrest and stood.

The thought crossed my mind—go for him now, end it here. He must’ve seen it in my face because he chuckled, low.

“You’ve done well to come this far,” he said. “It’d be foolish to throw your life away when you’re this close to getting it back.”

I didn’t say anything. The urge to try was there, but so was the memory of every failed attempt before.

“You can move around the house,” he went on. “Don’t leave. You’re wanted, and if you try to run, you won’t get far. If you fight the guards, they’ll kill you. If you try to sneak off, they’d also kill you. Stay cordial, stay put and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Cordial,” I repeated, tasting the word.

“You’ll be brought to Brockton Bay on Saturday,” he said. “Meet the rest of the team. You and Agnes will have a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.”

I kept my face blank.

“Until then, behave yourself. I’ll have a line installed—you can call me, one-way only. Don't abuse the privilege.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. Just picked up the discarded collar, carried it to the door, and let himself out. The lock didn’t click behind him.

On the TV, someone was shouting again. I grabbed the remote and turned it off.