Felicia walked to the interrogation room alone. No children. No witnesses except the necessary ones. She carried her notebook under one arm, pen clipped to the cover.
The room was small and stark. A table, two chairs, bare walls. The suspect sat on one side, hands cuffed in front of him. His eyes tracked her as she entered.
Felicia positioned herself standing by the table. Not sitting. Maintaining height advantage. "Today you tell the truth. Or you stay isolated until the Alpha makes a decision."
Her voice came out cold. Factual. No room for negotiation. Damien stood near the side wall, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't speak or move forward. Just observed.
"First question." Felicia opened the notebook. "Who gave you access?"
The suspect's jaw worked. "I don't—"
"Second question." She cut him off. "When?"
"Look, this isn't—"
"Third question." Her tone stayed level, relentless. "Through what method?"
The man started to answer slowly. Drawing out words, searching for ways to deflect. Felicia's pen tapped once against the notebook.
"Shortly." One word. Not raised voice or shouted command. Just a clear boundary on acceptable response length.
The suspect hesitated. His eyes went to Damien. Looking for backup or sympathy. Damien didn't provide it. He made no sound. But his feet shifted, taking one deliberate step toward the door.
Blocking the exit. Not aggressive or threatening. Just positioning. A silent reminder that leaving wasn't an option.
Felicia pulled a paper from her notebook. Unfolded it and laid it on the table. Her finger pressed against numbers printed in neat rows.
"Entry times." She tapped the digits. "Your code. Three-fourteen AM. Lying won't work."
The evidence sat there between them. Undeniable. The suspect's shoulders sagged. His resistance crumbled visibly.
"Storage room." The words came out rough. "Near the kitchen. I got notes there."
Felicia's pen moved immediately. "What time?"
"Around midnight. Maybe later."
"Which day?" Her voice stayed sharp, demanding specifics.
"Tuesday. And Thursday before that." He named dates, and she wrote each one down with quick strokes.
Damien lifted his radio. "All units. Storage room near kitchen. Coordinates mark-seven. Touch nothing until Felicia arrives."
His tone was quiet but carried authority. The order went out clearly. Wait for her. Follow her lead.
Confirmations came back through the radio. Roger. Holding position. Standing by. Damien lowered the device and remained where he was. Not taking over the interrogation. Just providing logistical support.
Felicia asked three more questions. Sharp and precise. The suspect answered each one, his defenses broken. When she had what she needed, she closed the notebook.
"Take him to holding." She didn't look back as she left the room.
The corridor outside was cooler. Air moved through the stone passages, carrying sounds from distant parts of the packhouse. Felicia's hands gripped the notebook. Tight. Her fingers trembled slightly against the leather cover.
She pressed both palms flat against the notebook. Holding it with deliberate force. The trembling stayed hidden beneath her controlled grip.
Damien stepped into the corridor behind her. One step. Then he stopped. His hand didn't reach for her shoulder or try to offer physical comfort.
"You held up." His voice came out quiet. Recognition without romance. Just acknowledgment of what he'd witnessed.
Felicia's eyes stayed forward. "I'm surviving."
Two words. Honest. Not claiming strength she didn't feel. Not pretending the interrogation hadn't cost her something. Damien didn't try to contradict her assessment or offer empty reassurance.
He didn't say "everything's fine" or "you did great." Didn't attempt to smooth over the difficulty with platitudes. He just stood nearby. One step away. At the distance she hadn't changed.
Felicia allowed it. His presence registered in her peripheral vision, but she didn't tell him to leave. He wasn't pressing forward or demanding acknowledgment. Just existing in the space she'd permitted.
She took a deeper breath. Let her lungs expand fully, then released the air slowly. Her grip on the notebook eased slightly.
"The children." She spoke without looking at him.
Then she moved. Her feet carried her down the corridor toward her wing. Damien didn't follow immediately. Didn't fall into step beside her or trail behind at that familiar half-step distance.
He waited. Let her walk ahead alone. Gave her the space to enter her wing without him shadowing the movement. So it wouldn't look like pursuit or monitoring.
Felicia reached her door and pushed it open. Before stepping inside, she glanced back. Damien stood near the stairs now. His attention was on his radio, speaking quietly to the security detail. Returning control to the guards rather than keeping it centered on her.
The distinction registered. He wasn't using her moment of weakness as an opportunity. Wasn't trying to manufacture closeness from her vulnerability. Just doing his job and giving her room.
Felicia stepped into the wing. Danny looked up from his book. Max was building something with blocks, concentration evident on his small face.
"Everything okay?" Danny's question came out careful, watching her expression.
"Everything's fine." Felicia kept her tone even, steady.
The lie felt necessary. Danny didn't need to carry the weight of adult problems. Max didn't need to see fear in her face.
But her hands still gripped the notebook. That leather-bound anchor keeping her grounded. Physical reminder that she had control. That she'd conducted the interrogation and extracted the information.
She'd done it. Without breaking. Without letting fear override function.
The trembling in her fingers had passed. Hidden behind controlled grip and deliberate breathing. No one had seen it. Not Damien in the corridor. Not the children now.
Just her and the notebook. Evidence of work accomplished despite internal shaking.
Felicia moved to her small desk and set the notebook down. Her notes would need to be reviewed. The storage room checked. More questions asked as the investigation widened.
But for now, she had this moment. Her children safe. The interrogation complete. And outside her door, a partner who'd learned not to exploit weakness for closeness.
Progress. Fragile but real.
She sat with the boys and helped Max add a turret to his block castle. Danny returned to his book, periodically glancing up to check she was still there. Still present and steady.
The packhouse continued its routines around them. Guards moved through corridors. The investigation proceeded. And in this small wing, Felicia maintained the carefully constructed normalcy her children needed.
Tomorrow would bring more challenges. More tests of whether cooperation could hold under pressure. But tonight, she'd survived an interrogation without falling apart.
And Damien had let her survive it alone. Given her space to be vulnerable without witnessing it. Respected the boundary even when she was shaking.
Small acknowledgments building into larger patterns. Trust constructed one disciplined choice at a time.