[MAX]
"I told you—" I watched the man across from me with an unforgiving stare; he was a new face, a young face with a fancy suit and a very shiny, very visible badge, and he didn't make eye contact with me right away. "—that I'll only talk to Agent Winston."
After the FBI had reminded me of my rights, arrested me, disarmed me, and taken my phone, they had shut me up in an interrogation room. It was a stereotypical interrogation room, this one painted black; nothing to look at but the reflective side of a one-way glass window, and the security camera that had been placed in one of the corners.
But now there was an agent. A young man who was most noticeably not Winston.
"Yes," the man said, "we are aware of your request. It's the only thing you've said since you were arrested." He took a seat across from me at the table, and set what I presumed was my file — a thinner version, at least — on the table in front of him. He adjusted his tie before he finally made eye contact with me.
"It's not a request."
He was an average looking guy, well-groomed, probably in his late twenties. Past being a junior agent at this point, if they had put him in interrogation with me, but not a seasoned agent by any means.
And he chose to ignore what I said. "I'm Agent Blackwood," he said instead. "Agent Winston is not currently available, so I'm here to ask you some questions. As I'm sure you already know, this conversation is being recorded, so it's in your best interest to answer truthfully, and be on your best behavior."
I leaned back in my chair. I could feel my jaw flex as he spoke. My eyes narrowed as I studied his face. He didn't maintain eye contact with me for very long, something I decided was a sign of nerves or inexperience. Maybe both. He may have talked pretty, but he wasn't convincing me. When he looked back up at me he arched a brow. Evidently he expected a response from me.
I said nothing.
I watched as his eyes skimmed across the information in front of him. "I figured," he admitted when he looked back up at me, "that you would at least introduce yourself."
My smile was sardonic. "Why would I bother doing that? They wouldn't send you in here without telling you who I am."
Blackwood paired his shrug with an acquiescing nod. "You're Max Destin. And according to this," he waved a hand at the file before him, "you're twenty three years old. You were born in Boston; your mom was FBI, your dad was CIA. Before they were killed, that is. Sound right?" He paused and watched me.
I let the silence stretch long between us. Long enough to see him begin to squirm in his seat, though he maintained a dutifully stony expression. "You don't want to do that."
This time both of his eyebrows arched. He was remarkably good at appearing innocent. I decided that was at least partially due to the ignorance that came with what I perceived as his inexperience. "What do you mean?"
I sat up and leaned forward in my chair before I rested my arms on top of the table. I knew the only reason I hadn't been cuffed was because they'd disarmed me and likely had eyes on me since they'd put me in this little room. When I spoke it wasn't with any vicious emotion; I stated facts. "You don't want to play games with me, Agent Blackwood. You will not like how it ends."
It was his turn not to respond right away, but if his face was any indication, that was because I had rendered him speechless.
Only one of us had control in this situation. And it definitely wasn't him.
"Are you ... threatening me?"
I rolled my eyes. "No. I'm warning you. Now," I leaned back in my chair again, "I'm done talking to you. I'll only speak with Agent Ellis Winston."
