Chapter Text
Standing outside the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights hummed above him, casting a sterile glow on the cold, gray corridor. Each breath he took felt burdened, not just by the weight of the circumstances, but by the memories clawing at his consciousness. His chest tightened as he drew in another deep breath, trying to steel himself against the throbbing pain in his arm, confined in an uncomfortable sling. Despite the painkillers he was given, the wound still hurt like hell. Tired but ready, however, he breathed once more, reaching for the doorknob but not grabbing it right away.
"Look what the cat dragged in! And he’s still kicking!” A jolt of surprise cut through his thoughts at the sound of a familiar, female voice. “Hey, did you want to start without me?"
A young policewoman’s earnest smile faded quickly, though, replaced by a deep frown, as she rushed to him and noticed the sorry state of his shoulder. Concern flickered across her face, her brows knitting together in worry.
"It's nice to see you again alive too, Angie," he quipped softly, his voice resonating down the corridor, tinged with a touch of sarcasm masking the underlying pain and exhaustion.
“Hey, Are you sure you want to do this? You don't look good, and—" She hesitated, catching the determination etched on his face, the unyielding resolve that brooked absolutely no argument.
“I said I would do it, so I will," he declared with clarity, each word cutting through the air. "You can either come in with me, or watch it from the outside. But I am going in."
Angie's brows twitched, a mix of disbelief and admiration painting her expression as she tilted her head slightly. "Okay, okay… You want to tell me Chief really allowed all of this? To leave the hospital and jump straight into an interrogation? Damn…" she hummed, "You must have given him quite a convincing speech…"
There was a subtle pause, a moment where the weight of the situation settled in, and he responded with a wry smile, "Let's just say I'm good at making persuasive arguments, even when I'm not at my best." The weariness in his eyes betrayed the effort it took to be standing there, yet a spark of determination lingered, refusing to be extinguished.
His expression, however, hardened in slight uncertainty as the thought crossed his mind whether this really was a good idea to jump back into action right away.
Well, good or bad, it wasn't really important. He knew he had to do it. Now.
“So you want to accompany me to the interrogation?” he quirked a slight smile, fully aware of the young policewoman's penchant for being at the heart of action. “Ready, officer Barring?”
“Wait, wait a second. I need to say something.” she stopped him with a gesture, almost reaching for his arm before pulling back, “I know you're my supervisor. And earlier I was just… yelling at you for your decision not to call for backup right away, and–”
“Angie…” he interjected, his tone firm, but she wouldn’t give up.
“No, let me finish, Cahir. I admit I used some… less-than-polite words toward you, but, shit–”
“That wasn’t the first time–” he said, tilting his head forward, but this time it was Angie that shot him a serious glance, prompting a smile from him, “Alright, sorry. Continue, please.”
She chuckled softly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, “Okay. Here’s the deal. Truth be told, I was just… scared when I found out you were shot… I mean, you know.” she snorted and rolled her brown eyes, “No other lieutenant would stand my shenanigans like you do. That’s all…”
“Well, isn’t that nice?” he chuckled in return, “But you know, I did lose a bit more blood than I’d prefer. Chances are I might've missed whatever you called me.”
“Good!” Angie's smile turned back into a small frown as she shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, straightening her police uniform. "Alright, now I’m ready. Lead the way." she gave him a small smirk before adopting a more serious demeanor once more, quite different from her usual relaxed, or rather, uncouth self.
Deep breath. A twinge of pain. His fingers clutched the folder he held in his hands tightly, knuckles almost white against the papers within, although he was pretty sure he didn’t need any of those documents.
Showtime.
Even though the sling restricted his movements, he deftly maneuvered the lock, the door swinging open. Head held high, he strode inside, purposefully and confidently. A subtle sound, almost a giggle, tickled the air, and he could bet it was Angie, finding amusement in his professional attitude. Yet, he brushed it off. There were more pressing matters at hand this time. His focus immediately shifted to the figure seated in front of him.
That girl.
The door clicked softly behind them, making her glance in their direction.
Long strands of pale blonde hair fell across her face as she turned her head. Her large emerald eyes met Cahir’s almost instantly. Her lips curved into a small smile that lacked real warmth, yet held no mockery either. Gracefully, she leaned forward in her chair, propping her elbow on the cold metal table and resting her chin on her hand, her gaze alternating between him and Angie.
"Good evening," his voice resonated through the room, cutting through the silence with a steady timbre as he slowly drew closer. "I'm Lieutenant Cahir Dyffryn." Then he gestured towards the young policewoman, "This is Officer Angeline Barring and she will be assisting me today. We're here to discuss the events at the Stygga warehouse with you. I need to ask you some questions, so I'd appreciate your cooperation."
The girl stretched in her seat, moving almost languidly. "Lieutenant?" she nodded slowly. "Aren't you a bit too young to be a lieutenant?"
“Aren't you a little too young to be involved in organized theft operations?" he counterquestioned.
The words slipped out, though he was well aware of its nonsense. His understanding of the world ran deep enough to recognize that, in cases like that, age rarely served as a barrier, much to his dismay.
"I have nothing to do with that ," she retorted, frowning, the scar on her cheek becoming more visible. "And you have no idea about my age, either."
Cahir subtly signaled to Angie before taking the seat opposite the girl. His partner followed suit, settling in beside him. He slowly set the file he was holding aside and leaned forward, his movements measured. He didn’t want to intimidate the girl, but he also wanted her to understand the gravity of the situation.
“So, why don't you tell us that?" Angie smiled at her. "Your name? And how old you are…"
"You want to know my name?"
"That would indeed be a good starting point," Cahir replied calmly, shifting slightly in his seat in an attempt to get more comfortable, though the sling on his shoulder made it challenging. Well, it wasn't the sling's fault but rather the bullet hole in his shoulder.
The girl tossed back strands of ashen hair before leaning forward with a hint of playful curiosity. "And after that? What else would you like to find out, Lieutenant?" she turned to him again, as if Angie wasn't even in the room.
"Following your name…" Cahir briefly glanced at the policewoman before fixing his gaze on the girl, his tone unwavering still, "I'd like to understand why you were at that warehouse. I want to know what you saw, who you saw. I'd like to understand…" He paused, struggling to articulate his thoughts, "Why did you even take the risk of being there. What's your connection to that place? Why–"
He stopped, trying to figure out how to ask the question he wanted to ask. The memory, fresh and vivid, kept haunting him—the shouted sound of his name as the bullet struck, not at his head but his shoulder instead. He clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to shake off the intrusion of the memory. He leaned forward slightly and cleared his throat, hoping to regain control over the conversation.
The girl's melodic hum reverberated in the tense silence. Her emerald eyes, like deep forest pools, bore into his once more. She grazed her fingertips on a cold, metal surface, a subtle smirk playing on her lips before she tilted her head as if contemplating his words.
"Okay, listen..." Angie interjected once more, leaning towards the girl with genuine concern, "I don't know how old you are, but I don't think you're older than twenty... whatever trouble you’ve got yourself into, we can help--"
Her laughter, airy and carefree, seemed untouched by the weight of the situation, “What, help me? I don't think so… You have no idea about my troubles.”
“Yeah? Try me, why don’t you?” the policewoman said with a snort.
“Officer Angeline,” Cahir cautioned, his voice a soft yet stern warning, halting his partner from venturing too far. “There’s no need for that.”
Angie shot him a discontented glance but chose to remain silent.
"Could I get a glass of water, please?" The girl's gaze lazily shifted to the one-way mirror, then she looked empathically at the policewoman once more.
"Angie, would you mind?" Cahir asked, his fingers gripping the elbow of his injured arm tightly. She narrowed her eyes in response, turning her head to her supervisor.
He knew she wouldn't appreciate leaving; she wanted to be there with him, to understand why the girl was right there with him when he had been shot.
“Sure…” Noticing his determined expression, the policewoman sighed and pushed her chair back, the scraping sound of its metal legs on the floor ringing in their ears. Purposefully, yet tinged with an undercurrent of frustration, she made her way to the door. As it closed behind her, much louder than when they came in, the ashen-haired girl seemed to sigh in relief.
Cahir noticed a flicker of anticipation in her eyes. It was clear it wasn’t just a glass of water she wanted.
"Forgive Angie; she doesn't handle missing the action well. And her temper… can make things more challenging for everybody." the policeman remarked, attempting to ease the strained atmosphere.
"I know," she chuckled.
With a subtle lift of his eyebrow, he sighed, still trying to figure out whether she was just playing with him, or she knew more than it seemed.
"Alright. Now, will you tell me who you are?" Cahir questioned once more, a persistent undertone underscoring his words.
"You only asked for my name before, Lieutenant," the ashen-haired girl remarked, crossing her arms on her chest. "Now should I tell you who I am? These are two different things…"
"Fine," Cahir yielded, a bit frustrated now as he leaned back in his chair. "Then what is your name?"
She didn't reply. Not right away. Instead, she slowly stood from her seat, a deliberate languor in her stretch. The absence of her melodic voice allowed the silence to return, broken solely by the steady, unhurried tick-tock of the clock that loomed above her and the deliberate sound of her measured steps as she came closer to the one-way mirror.
“Cirilla,” she murmured softly, her voice barely breaking the quietness, “Or Falka. Or Zireael… I’ve been called many names, you see.”
"Many? Well, I think I’d prefer your real one now."
Her bitter laugh reverberated faintly as she tapped the one-way mirror with her finger. "Ciri, then. Call me Ciri."
"Ciri. That's a nice name," Cahir nodded slowly, "So, tell me, Ciri. What brought you to that abandoned warehouse? Were you searching for something? Did someone bring you there?"
Frowning, he probed deeper into his memories, the details blurred and distorted after the bullet tore through his shoulder. She had appeared suddenly, almost inexplicably, but it was a surreal memory just a little beyond his reach. Like a dream. He knew instinctively she didn’t belong to that place, to that warehouse when the bullet was shot. Yet she was there, her piercing green eyes locking onto his as he collapsed to the ground, the gunshot ringing in his ears.
All he recalled after that was her firm grip on his hand when the unexpected wail of police sirens pierced the air— the backup he had never called for.
“Is that truly the question you want to ask?” Her voice snapped him out of his reverie, her smile softer now.
“You don't strike me as a criminal. Whatever your reason was…” His words trailed off as she settled back into the chair opposite him. “You can tell me. I might not be able to help you, if you say so. I just need to know .”
His honesty was raw, devoid of ulterior motives. It wasn't a tactic in the interrogation playbook, but a sincere desire to uncover the truth. In that moment he simply, and truly just wanted to know if what he had seen was true. If what he thought about her was true.
Ciri's widened eyes shimmered in the room's bright light, her ash-blonde hair casting a radiant glow. Unexpectedly, she extended her hand and placed it palm-up on the table.
"Take it," she urged, leaning in closer. “Take my hand.”
"Um, e-excuse me?" Cahir stammered, caught off guard. "Why?"
"You want to know, and I want to show you," she replied with unwavering certainty, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He glanced anxiously at the one-way mirror. Angie hadn't returned, and he suspected she and his team might be watching closely from behind the glass. Even without the unseen observers, he hesitated. His eyes darted to the camera in the corner, a silent reminder of boundaries not to be crossed. Touching her seemed unwise, a breach of protocol.
He shouldn't be making any physical contact, not even with her hand.
After all, she was just a girl.
"Trust me," she murmured softly, her hand now inches away from his. "It's okay. Nobody's there.”
"I– I don’t–" he stammered, internally reprimanding himself for the sudden loss of control in this interrogation, if that strange conversation could even be called that.
Ciri's gaze shifted to the wall clock, and Cahir's eyes instinctively followed hers. In that very moment, the clock halted abruptly, its hands froze mid-tick. The view sent a jolt through him, quickening his pulse. He squinted, half-expecting his eyes to deceive him.
It wasn't an illusion. It stopped. The clock had stopped. It stopped right in front of his eyes.
Nervously, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. It, too, seemed frozen, caught in the same timeless pause as the clock on the white wall of the interrogation room, suspended between one second and the next.
"As I said, they can't hear us," Ciri reassured. "You don't have to worry about anything. It's just the two of us now."
"I don't– I don't understand," he uttered, "Is this some kind of trick? The– the clock! I–"
"It’s not a trick, Cahir," she clarified, her voice a steady beacon of calm amid the swirling uncertainty. "It's alright. No one else is watching. Trust me. Take my hand; that's all. I just want to show you the truth."
His intense, dark blue eyes locked onto her gentle emerald gaze, wrestling with a surge of uncertainties and reservations. After several heartbeats, incredulous at his own actions, he tentatively extended his hand, placing it hesitantly upon hers.
Her touch was warm. That was all he managed to notice, before the world erupted into a blinding expanse of white light. Beneath his feet, the ground dissolved into nothingness. It was all gone.
The only certainty remained the warmth of her hand in his.