salvation ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟐

004. let me go

IT WAS NO secret that I was pissed off. My eyes were locked in a death glare at the backs of my parents' heads as they followed Ross to the nearest elevator that would take us up to the next floor and to this empty room he was talking about. My hands shook as I walked behind them, forcing me to stuff them in my pockets in order to steady them. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear the hatred from their depths, but I was rather unsuccessful as I opened them again and couldn't help but furrow my eyebrows in disgust. Oh well, I thought, sighing inwardly.

I mean, I was pissed. It was a real accomplishment when I made it to the room without screaming out in frustration. Now, without all those oblivious people staring at me, I felt the crease in my forehead go down a bit.

But then my dad gave me that look, that look of complete and utter pity, and the line in my forehead returned, even deeper than before.

"What?" I snapped.

He stared at me for a second before shrugging nonchalantly and turning away from me. "Nothing," he mumbled softly, though his eyes held a different story, one that told me he had much more than nothing on his mind.

Lifting my head, I looked around the long and narrow room we'd entered. It was completely empty save for a sleek wooden table about as long as the room, with at least a dozen wheeled chairs lining the edges. The far wall was all glass, peering out over the spotless landscaping of the surrounding greenery of the CIA's headquarters.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught my attention. Ross splayed out his hands in front of him, gesturing to the chairs. "Please, take a seat," he said, "this might take a while." Somewhere along the way up here he'd grabbed a pen and paper, to write down whatever we told him, presumably. He sat down first, opening the notebook to the first empty page and began to scribble down notes.

All three of us remained standing. My parents were probably too worried that they'd be in trouble to sit down. This was Everett Ross, the man who'd personally recruited their son into the CIA. They probably thought that to get in trouble with this man meant raining down hellfire. Besides, they were the type of people to save their own hides before thinking about anyone else's even if it happened to be their own child's. As for me, I refused to sit because I had a feeling that I knew how this would go. I wasn't sure I could trust my head and mouth to say the things that would get me out of here the fastest. I was in for a long ride, I knew that much for sure.

When he saw that we didn't follow suit, Ross patted a hand on the table, a subtle yet commanding action that caused my parents to give in. "You know, this will go a lot easier if you cooperate, Elda," he warned me, raising an eyebrow. "Sit down, or I'll have someone come in and make you sit down."

I may have been a dumbass, but I wasn't stupid. I knew when I wasn't going to win. So I took a seat beside my mom. She didn't look at me, so I didn't look at her. I was focused on the task at hand. I just wanted to get out of here so I could go back to...whatever I was doing before this.

Ross looked down at his hands before starting with the first question. "Mrs. Reid, I think it's been a few years since I've last seen you here, hasn't it?"

My mother nodded slowly, clasping her hands together on the table and leaning into my dad's presence. "Yes," she said, her voice wavering. "It was right after Cade died." She inhaled a shaky breath before looking up at the man sitting across from her. "You showed us his final reports."

"You did what?" I blurted incredulously. "Isn't that, like, against your super secret spy rules?" With my hands clenched between my thighs, I squeezed my legs together to steady my voice.