Chapter Five
No one comes right away.
The room stays cold, quiet, and unchanged. The camera light doesn’t blink. My heart rate wants to tick up, so I curl my toes against the soles of my shoes, then rub the edge of my ring over and over again.
Time passes. I count it by the HVAC cycles, by the subtle ache in my shoulder as the room cools another degree.
What’s taking so long? I’ve never had an intake interview before—a gap in my knowledge that feels acutely relevant right now.
Eventually, the door opens.
Two people enter. Different than before. No uniforms this time. Plain clothes. Neutral expressions. The man carries a tablet. The woman carries nothing.
“Agent Calder,” the woman says, her tone professional. Not cold. Not warm either. “Thank you for your patience.” Her badge is clipped in a way that I can’t quite read her name.
“Our intake interviews always begin with a brief medical review,” she continues. “Routine questions. Nothing to worry about.”
Routine is a word that depends on repetition.
At least the medical review part I understand. Though I’ve only been through one of those before. When I left the field. But that took place in a doctor’s office, not a windowless room at a field office with two people I’ve never met.
She slides the clipboard across the table to me. “We’ll start with a few confirmations.”
I swallow the reaction my face wants to show. Confirmations of what?
I glance at the form. Boxes to check. Questions that could be answered more efficiently on a screen.
“Why paper?” I ask.
She smiles. “Redundancy.”
That’s not an answer. It’s a conversation ender. I don’t push.
The questions themselves are broad. General enough to be harmless if answered carefully.
Sleep: adequate.
Stress: within normal limits.
Pain level: minimal.
Workload: stable.
I answer the way I’ve been trained to. Not defensively. Not expansively.
Nothing false. Nothing that creates room for interpretation.
I finish checking the last box and pass the clipboard back across the table.
“I’m fine,” I say, because that’s the answer that keeps the process moving.
My phone vibrates on the table.
The woman slides it away from me, still face down. “I’ll hold on to this so we can focus.”
“I’m waiting for a message.”
She smiles again. “We’ll make sure anything important is handled.”
That feels wrong. But the questions continue so quickly, I don’t have time to dwell on it.
Range of motion. History of injury. Current limitations.
The man gets to his feet and asks me to extend my arm. I comply. He watches closely, hovering, but not touching.
When I lower it, my shoulder slips a fraction. I don’t let myself react.
“Any instability?” he asks.
“Only if I’m reaching for something overhead,” I say.
He makes a note.
“How long ago was the original injury?”
“Eleven months.”
They exchange a look I don’t know how to interpret.
“This next part is precautionary,” the woman says. “For everyone’s comfort.”
She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a set of restraints. I recognize their subtle shift in posture. They expect me to resist.
I stay calm. “Is this necessary?”
“It’s standard,” she replies. “For transport.”
Transport is new. Though if it gets me to a doctor who can clear me, I won’t complain.
“Transport where? I drove here. My car is in the lot. Wouldn’t it be easier if I met you—”
“This is procedure, Agent Calder. Your vehicle will be safe here, as will your bag. We’ll take care of them until the review is complete.” She smiles, as if I’m supposed to take comfort from her words while she’s holding a pair of restraints.
I let the woman cuff my wrists to the arms of the chair, check the fit, and adjust. The pressure isn’t uncomfortable. Yet. When I test my very limited range of motion, no one reacts.
The door closes, leaving me alone, and time begins to stretch in a way that feels intentional.
No one’s accused me of anything, explained why this was necessary, or returned my phone.
I settle back in the chair and test the restraints again, just enough to map them. My breathing stays even. My pulse doesn’t spike.
The cold works its way through me, as does the certainty that this was never a training assignment. Nor is it a standard medical review either. And I have no idea what comes next.