Fanfare

Trapped

Pierce opens a door and ushers her inside; it is a small space, hardly enough room inside for the bed that rests against the longer wall, barely enough room for one person to stand beside it, let alone two. Beneath the bed is a trunk that can slide out; above the bed is a small shelf. The room is minimalistic and maximises the almost nonexistent amount of space. It is a comfortable space; she is not claustrophobic.

The sound of a door closing makes her turn; instantly, the room feels smaller. Pierce's tall frame makes her feel as if she is suffocating, as if she suddenly has a fear of enclosed spaces. She reminds herself that she doesn't, taking a deep breath. All she can smell is the metal of the gun, the grease of the gun oil that seems to have become a part of him. She steps back as far as she can, her knees bumping the bed, and Pierce presses himself back against the door, as if also uncomfortable, but unable to do anything about it.

"What're you doing?" Trenna asks him. She is proud of the fact that her voice is defiant yet calm.

"This is your room," Pierce tells her.

She snorts. "You still assume I'm staying here."

"I assume nothing but the limits of your curiosity." He looks down at her, expressionless, as if waiting for an answer. When she says nothing, he nods slightly, as if convinced that there was no other answer he expected, before continuing. "I couldn't talk to you out there. There are eyes and ears all over the compound. All the bedrooms are shielded."

"Shielded," Trenna says slowly, rolling the word slowly off her tongue. "Shielded from what?"

"I've told you this already," Pierce says. He shifts, uncomfortable, fingers tight on the strap of his gun. They have a slight sheen from the oil.

"Magic," she says sarcastically.

Pierce is gone. She blinks and frowns; he was there, only a moment ago. She feels something behind her; heat, warm breath stirring her hair. "I wish you'd stop sounding so incredulous."

She turns, steps back so she's pressed against the door, her hands flat on the cool metal. "How the hell did you do that?" Her voice is a little high, a little breathless with fear.

He sits on her bed, feet flat on the ground, gun cradled on his lap, hands possessive on the barrel and grip. "Magic," he says. But he is completely serious.

She slides down the door to the ground, wrapping her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest. She tries to process this. Either she is going crazy, or he's serious. He did just appear behind her after having clearly been in front of her. There is no way he could have moved that quickly, or gotten around her; she is blocking the way, no matter how small she is. It doesn't make sense.

She lets go of her legs and puts her head in her hands, digging her fingers into her hair, pulling the rest of it out of her bun. It hangs to her waist in ragged waves as she lets it go. The small piece of metal that was holding it up falls to the ground. She looks up at him. "Prove it."

He smiles, a feral grin that makes her heart jolt. It's wild, almost inhuman. Terrifying. She can feel the speeding of her pulse in her wrist as she clasps her hands together to stop them from shaking. What would you like me to do? he asks her. But his mouth doesn't move, and his voice doesn't come from him; the sound is inside her head.

She jolts, then looks at him suspiciously. "Again," she demands.

How many times? he says. In her head. She can't help but jump again.

"As many as it takes for me to believe you," she says. Her voice is shaking.

"But, here's the thing; I don't need you to believe me." He speaks aloud this time.

"What do you need?" she asks.

He tilts his head to the side, considering, as he stares down at his gun thoughtfully. "I need you to cooperate." And with that, he disappears.

She sits still for a while. Her fingers fumble the piece of metal from the ground into her pouch. She stands. The first thing she does is check every inch of the room. She looks beneath the bed, in the chest. She spins in a full circle, then turns and spins the other way once, just to make sure. She is alone. She tries the door; it's locked. She slams her hands against it in frustration. What the hell has she gotten herself into?

Clearly, she won't be allowed to just leave. She remembers Pierce's words. "No one who isn't one of us comes in here, let alone knows we exist." She was stupid. She shouldn't have come with him. Even if she was curious. Is still curious. But now she is here; there is nothing she can do about it. She's locked into this tiny room in an underground bunker full of rebels. If they think she's not one of them, they'll kill her to keep the secret of their compound, their activities, safe. If she tries to escape, that will clearly make them suspicious.

"Why did you bring me here?" She sits down on the bed and puts her head in her hands. She doesn't understand any of it.

Sudden fear shoots through her; Kina and Joss. When they find her missing, they'll come looking for her. They won't find her, not here. And if, by chance, they do, they'll be killed. Kina will be so worried. Trenna makes an irritated sound and rolls onto her back on the bed, staring up at the concrete ceiling. If only she wasn't so damned curious. Maybe Pierce is right. Her curiosity has no limits. And now she is paying for it.