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7 years later
Caitlyn's POV
I stepped in front of the cell. Before this, I had asked to see the inmate and the guy let me in. All you need is the information Caitlyn and then you can go, simple.
I stood in front of her, the journal clutched tightly to my chest, trying to get some sort of answer out of her. She paced around the small cell with a calmness that only made me more frustrated. Every step she took seemed deliberate, as though she was used to being confined and had learned to adapt to it.
"I took a look at your files," I began, trying to get through to her. "There's no record of you or your crimes. What exactly are you here for?" My voice had a certain suspicion.
She didn't immediately respond, instead continuing her slow, measured steps. Then, without missing a beat, she glanced over at me and shrugged, her tone light, almost mocking. "My sunny personality."
I narrowed my eyes, trying to read her, but she was as unreadable as ever. This wasn't a joke, there had to be more to the story.
"You attacked an inmate," I pressed, feeling the weight of the journal against my chest. "Why? What made you do it?"
"Why not?"
"He was a witness in an ongoing investigation." I tried to explain to her. I mean she literally ruined half of the investigation so now he cannot speak.
"Hmm, Bummer."
I sighed. "This was a waste of time." I muttered. I began walking away.
"Couldn't have put it better, hey give Silco a kiss on that winning eye of his, will you?"
I halted abruptly, the unexpected mention of the name stopping me in my tracks. I turned back toward her cell, my mind racing as I processed her words.
"Silco?" I asked, my voice laced with incredulity. "The industrialist?" I looked at her with narrowed eyes, searching for any hint of deception.
"Okay, this is getting old." "Can you send in whoever's gonna kick the shit out of me so I can get on with my night?"
I looked down at the red line on the floor. It was there so whoever came wouldn't cross it. I looked at her and sighed taking a step, crossing it. "Does this mean anything to you?" I showed her the symbol I took as evidence. She stopped and looked back at the photo. She headed towards the bars and gripped onto them with force making me step back.
"Where'd you get this?"
I exhaled, making my way closer again. "My question first." "He worked for Silco?"
"Uh, they all do." "How can anyone not know that?" "Where did you find this?" She repeated.
This obviously meant something to her, meaning I was on the right track.
