Chapter Text
2 Years Later
Lara - Old Soviet Base - Siberia
The room is a concrete box, no windows, single bulb caged behind wire. The metal chair is dead centre, exposed on all sides, and Lara is tied to it by wrists and ankles, arms forced just wide enough to ache. She studies the ceiling. There’s condensation, which forms and falls in fat drops, into the fluorescent beam that flickers overhead. Lara’s breath visible in the cold.
The betrayal sits like poison in her veins. Every memory of Anna's hand on her shoulder after her father disappeared, every cup of tea brought during sleepless nights, every kind reassurance—all of it lies.
Anna, her guardian. Anna, Trinity's asset.
The thought of those same hands passing information, undermining everything the Croft name stood for, makes something twist and burn beneath her chest.
The door is industrial, Soviet red, thick. When the handle turns, she clenches her teeth. Boots cross the threshold: black leather, soles heavy. Vogel’s silhouette fills the doorway. He surveys the scene, eyes already narrowed. He doesn’t blink.
“I told you to be careful who you trust, Lara.”
He waits for the sentence to settle, then steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He stands, arms loose at his sides, casually walking.
She lifts her head, sweat freezing to the hair at her temples. “You…”, she says, voice low.
He circles, slow and deliberate. “I warned you.” He says it with no emphasis.
She looks straight ahead, jaw set. “You still work for Trinity.”
He stops, standing in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. “So does she.”
A muscle jumps in Lara’s cheek, the only outward sign of the impact. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Vogel resumes the circuit. He never looks at her directly, instead watching her reactions, the pulse in her neck. His expression is neutral, but every movement is a calculation. His movements like a predator—deliberate, patient, designed to unsettle. She feels her heartbeat quicken despite herself.
“You knew,” she says.
He pauses. Then, “I suspected. You mistake sentiment for loyalty. Trinity doesn’t.”
Her fingers curl involuntarily, the rope bites her palms.
“If you’re here to threaten me, just get on with it.”
He lets out a breath, almost—almost—a laugh. “If I wanted to threaten you, you wouldn’t still be conscious.”
She believes him.
He steps in and leans down, close enough for her to feel the cold on his coat. His face hovers inches from hers, eyes flickering across her features—measuring.
“I could always seduce you,” he says, voice dropping to a soft, electric whisper. “That was your tactic last time. Yamatai was a … memorable experience.”
His face is unchanged from two years ago—the same angles, the same eyes that had watched her as the Trinity helicopter lifted him from the collapsed tomb. Still handsome.. the thought comes into Lara's head, unwelcome. She pushes it back out
She holds his gaze, unblinking. “Maybe I’m stronger than you are, more of a survivor”
"Survival reveals our true nature," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, his eyes slowly drifting down, over her bound body. "As we've both discovered."
A cold weight settles in Lara's stomach. The threat hangs between them, ambiguous but present. She had calculated many scenarios for this encounter, but not this one.
He straightens, unimpressed by her silence, and returns to the formal, measured tone. “Where is the Divine Source?”
She tilts her head. “I told you, I don’t know.”
A long silence.
He turns, walking behind Lara, He places both hands on the back of her chair, leans in so his mouth is level with her ear.
“You’re wasting time,” he says, no louder than a whisper. “This is your last chance, there are far worse people than me to do this interrogation Lara”.
She smiles, small and toothless. “I’m surprised Trinity still lets you interrogate prisoners.”
“Oh, I insisted”, Vogel whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her earlobe. “Especially considering our…history”. His voice curls at the edges, Lara can hear the cold satisfaction in it.
He pulls away, watching walks the perimeter again, a cold, tidy circle.
“You’re bleeding,” he observes.
She glances at her arm. The wound isn’t deep, but the sleeve is wet.
“You’ve always been stubborn Lara. Now’s not the time for martyrdom, don’t be like your father” he says.
“You don’t believe in sacrifice?” Lara asks.
He considers this. “Martyrdom is only useful if someone survives to tell the story. But you’re the only Croft left…”
He lets it hang, knowing he’s right. Lara know it too, she hates that he’s right.
“I told you, I don’t know where the Devine source is” she says, voice stripped to the bone.
“I think,” he says, and now his tone is almost gentle, “that you underestimate how badly Trinity want you dead.”
A pause. “And you don’t?”
He considers the question. Steps around to face her, squats so their eyes meet at exact level.
“Lara,” he says. Her name leaves his mouth like a confession, and his fingers trace the contour of her cheek bone, light as a feather. Just like on Yamatai..
She doesn’t flinch, holding his gaze. Studying his face, looking for an expression that she can’t name.
A metallic clatter as the outer door unlocks, and swings open, Vogel drops his hand from Lara’s face and stands upright. Two men in black armour, rifles at arms. The lead one glances at Vogel, awaiting confirmation.
Vogel nods once, then to Lara: “She isn’t going to talk”.