𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕔𝕒𝕥 | 𝟲 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗

7 | Tabby Or Not Tabby

It was unbelievably cold in the safe. Blake curled herself up in the furthest corner from the door, periodically rubbing her arms. She shot a filthy look at the air conditioning grid. It was too small to fit through, and she thought the cool air blasting through was just adding insult to injury.

She hoped Harmony was okay. Circe liked to punish failure, and she wasn't sure whether Circe would count it as Blake's failure or Harmony's for not detecting the electromagnet before she entered the safe. At least, that's what she assumed it was; the seam of the safe door let out a faint hum of electricity.

They left her there for a couple of hours, and despite the cold she was almost asleep when the door opened. A man she didn't recognise entered, and the door shut behind him. The low-voltage yellow lights in the ceiling cut him an intimidating figure.

"Alright. I have a pair of pliers and I'm not afraid to use them on your toes," he threatened, walking closer. She narrowed her eyes. "Tell me everything you know about the organisation you work for."

She stared up at him blankly, jaw clenched tight. She considered her options carefully. She wasn't entirely sure what they intended to do with her, but she expected they would try to get information out of her.

He hit the pliers into his palm.

"I'm not telling you anything," she replied evenly, fighting to hold on to her neutral mask. She hoped he couldn't see the tear-tracks in the low light.

He nodded and put the pliers in his pocket. "I don't want to hurt you, so let's try again. What if I told you I could get your brother out of Cir-Tech, and cure him?"

She startled, almost hitting her head back against the wall as she looked up at him. "How do you know about that?" she demanded.

He shrugged easily and leaned against the podium in the centre of the room. The briefcase laid discarded on the other side of the safe. She hadn't the guts to press the button to test their word; she didn't want to accidentally blow herself up.

"I'm a billionaire," he explained. "I've got eyes and ears and pathways you couldn't dream of. I can help you, Blake. We can help you." He flashed her a winning smile.

"I'm not afraid of torture," she informed him, folding her arms.

"I know. Both physical, and mental, apparently." He tilted his head, a gesture of sympathy. "I've seen your records."

Shit. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to repress the feelings that fought to resurface. "Then you know this is useless," she said. She twisted her hands in her lap, out of his sight.

He pushed off of the podium and squatted down so that he was on her level. "I can hand you freedom on a silver platter," he said, his voice soothing. "All you need to do is open up."

He wasn't the first to offer, and he wouldn't be the last to be incapable of following through.

"...Circe's Angels."

He blinked, confused. "What?"

"The boss. She calls herself Circe, and we're her Angels. She collects letters. I'm B."

"Who's A?"

"Dead." she let out a deep breath and shut her eyes. "She tried to kill Circe and I stuck a pencil through her heart." There had been so much blood. She had stuck her like a pig, stabbing her five, ten, twenty times before Blake had collapsed next to her corpse. Circe had Blake drag the body to the crematorium afterwards, the girl's head and hair dragging limply in the mud.

"Remind me never to let you near stationery," he said ironically. She opened her eyes to see his lip curling in distaste.

More. She needed to pour her heart out to gain his trust. "My brother and I used to work in the circus. Not the acts, just the help, but we picked things up. Like how to pick watches and jewellery for the circus-master," she elaborated. "I spent two years training under Circe before I started. I..." She trailed off, swallowed, and gave a weak smile. "I don't like to look at their faces."