Ivory Spiers is the single most annoying being I've ever encountered in my life. 

I haven't met her yet, but I am one hundred percent sure of it. 

I watch her from the other side of the glass, waiting for her to show some sign of irritation or anxiety or fear, but there's nothing. She's looking at the room with the same kind of detached interest one would give an especially shredded piece of roadkill. Thick black cuffs are clamped around her wrists. She doesn't seem to be in pain, despite the needles I know are resting just under her skin, neutralizing her magic. 

"You know the plan?" General Lynch asks me, emerald eyes locking with my own. 

"Yeah, of course," I reply. 

The general nods and goes back to watching Ivory. 

I wrap the end of my gray ponytail around my wrist anxiously, figuring I'll give her another couple moments alone. The longer she's in there, the more desperate she'll be to get out. Hopefully. 

I take a deep breath, doing my best to calm my nerves. It's odd. I'm not usually this tense. 

Well, I guess it's time. 

The metal of the door handle is cold as I twist it open. 

I can feel her gaze on me as I walk into the room. Behind me, the door shuts with a gentle clicking sound. Locked. The heavy soles of my combat boots beat against the steel floor like an uneven heartbeat. I pull out a chair, managing not to flinch at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor. 

She has this stupid half-smirk on her face, as if she's got the upper hand. But she doesn't, I remind myself. I'm in control here. 

I open my mouth, but before I can say a word, she starts to speak. 

"Jaime!" Ivory smiles brightly. "So nice to finally get to meet you." 

A shiver runs down my spine.

People outside of the bureau aren't supposed to know who I am. 

She extends a hand, but the cuffs pull her back harshly. Her pale arm thuds against the table. She frowns in annoyance for a moment before that impossibly irritating cheerfulness comes back. 

"I've heard a lot of really great things about you," she says, tapping her fingers against the table. Her nails are short and red, which is odd. Most vampires have long nails—almost claws. "And I'm guessing you've heard about me?"

I clear my throat, realizing that I've just been staring blankly while she speaks. There's something off putting about her...

"Ivory Spiers." I speak with confidence and authority. Like I've practiced. Like I've been taught. "You know why you're here."

"Yeah, I do," she replies confidently, and god, I hate that I'll be spending the next little while with her. "It's because you're going to break me out of here." 

I swear my heart stops. 

"What?" I ask, the word barely escaping my lips. "You—you're wrong."

But she's absolutely right.

Which is the fucking problem. 

Ivory smiles at me again, and my heart starts back up, pounding twice as quickly as it should be. 

"It's cute that you think that," Ivory says with a light laugh. "It really is. But, well..." she leans back, and those gold eyes sparkle like the sun. "Whatever little plan you have?"

Her next words are whispered, and I find myself leaning in to catch them. 

"I can guarantee that it's not going to work."

And that's when the wind starts up.

It's gradual at first. As I struggle to think of something to say to Ivory, I notice the way her wild red locks have begun to ruffle. I feel a soft breeze, gentle against my cheek, curling through the air. I look up at Ivory, fear starting to blossom. 

"What are you doing?" I ask her quietly. 

"Don't worry, Jaime." Her tone is sickly sweet, as thick and cloying as honey. "You don't need to worry about this next part."

In my head, I run through everything I saw on Ivory's file. Pyrokinesis. Healing. Manipulative voice. But nothing wind-related.

And even if she did have wind powers, they'd be cancelled out by the cuffs.

So this...

This isn't her.

Which means that Ivory Spiers isn't working alone anymore. 

The wind picks up. Ivory's chains rattle against the table, the sound deafening. I think she tries to say something, but I can't make out a word. I stand up and make my way towards the window—the one I know General Lynch has been watching through the whole time. He should be here, I realize slowly. Why isn't he here? 

Fighting against the wind, I pound on the glass as hard as I can. Somewhere behind me, Ivory's laugh can be heard over the clanging chains. Please, I think. Please, someone. 

I was wrong. I'm no good for this mission. I can't do it.

My hands rest against the glass weakly—palm open, fingers splayed out. Something is deeply, deeply wrong. 

The wind starts to die down softly. It's only then that I hear a series of soft thumps on the other side of glass.

By now, I'm all too familiar with the sound of a body hitting the ground. 

Eyes wide with horror, I turn back towards Ivory. Her hair is tousled and wavy from the wind. Her cheeks are rosy and flushed. The points of her teeth are clearly visible as she grins at me. 

"Now that your annoying superiors are no longer with us," Ivory says, "I think it's time that you and I had a little talk. Care to sit down?"

I take a deep breath, heart racing. The door is locked. There's no one on the other side of the window. 

I'm alone right now.

And looking into Ivory's eyes, I realize that right now, I'm completely at her mercy. 

So I sit.