[MAX]

 "I told you—" I watched the man across from me with an unforgiving stare; he was a new face, a young face with a fancy suit and a very shiny, very visible badge, and he didn't make eye contact with me right away. "—that I'll only talk to Agent Winston."

After the FBI had reminded me of my rights, arrested me, disarmed me, and taken my phone, they had shut me up in an interrogation room. It was a stereotypical interrogation room, this one painted black; nothing to look at but the reflective side of a one-way glass window, and the security camera that had been placed in one of the corners.

But now there was an agent. A young man who was most noticeably not Winston.

"Yes," the man said, "we are aware of your request. It's the only thing you've said since you were arrested." He took a seat across from me at the table, and set what I presumed was my file — a thinner version, at least — on the table in front of him. He adjusted his tie before he finally made eye contact with me.

"It's not a request."

He was an average looking guy, well-groomed, probably in his late twenties. Past being a junior agent at this point, if they had put him in interrogation with me, but not a seasoned agent by any means.

And he chose to ignore what I said. "I'm Agent Blackwood," he said instead. "Agent Winston is not currently available, so I'm here to ask you some questions. As I'm sure you already know, this conversation is being recorded, so it's in your best interest to answer truthfully, and be on your best behavior."

I leaned back in my chair. I could feel my jaw flex as he spoke. My eyes narrowed as I studied his face. He didn't maintain eye contact with me for very long, something I decided was a sign of nerves or inexperience. Maybe both. He may have talked pretty, but he wasn't convincing me. When he looked back up at me he arched a brow. Evidently he expected a response from me.

I said nothing.

I watched as his eyes skimmed across the information in front of him. "I figured," he admitted when he looked back up at me, "that you would at least introduce yourself."

My smile was sardonic. "Why would I bother doing that? They wouldn't send you in here without telling you who I am."

Blackwood paired his shrug with an acquiescing nod. "You're Max Destin. And according to this," he waved a hand at the file before him, "you're twenty three years old. You were born in Boston; your mom was FBI, your dad was CIA. Before they were killed, that is. Sound right?" He paused and watched me.

I let the silence stretch long between us. Long enough to see him begin to squirm in his seat, though he maintained a dutifully stony expression. "You don't want to do that."

This time both of his eyebrows arched. He was remarkably good at appearing innocent. I decided that was at least partially due to the ignorance that came with what I perceived as his inexperience. "What do you mean?"

I sat up and leaned forward in my chair before I rested my arms on top of the table. I knew the only reason I hadn't been cuffed was because they'd disarmed me and likely had eyes on me since they'd put me in this little room. When I spoke it wasn't with any vicious emotion; I stated facts. "You don't want to play games with me, Agent Blackwood. You will not like how it ends."

It was his turn not to respond right away, but if his face was any indication, that was because I had rendered him speechless.

Only one of us had control in this situation. And it definitely wasn't him.

"Are you ... threatening me?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. I'm warning you. Now," I leaned back in my chair again, "I'm done talking to you. I'll only speak with Agent Ellis Winston."

Blackwood's mouth opened, but whatever he had to say died on his tongue. He stared at me for a few seconds, open-mouthed and bewildered. Then he closed both my file and his mouth and got to his feet. "I ... will speak to my superiors."

"You do that."

I watched him leave.

Then I sat alone in the silence of the interrogation room for another hour.

—

Winston looked tired. Within seconds of having seen him I had noted the dark circles under his eyes and that his resting frown was more severe than normal. Not to even mention that his shirt was wrinkled, and there appeared to be a stain of some sort on his left knee— Probably coffee, I mused to myself as I watched him sit down.

Winston was tired.

Given the nature of our relationship, it was probably because of me. Somehow.

We sat there for almost a full minute as we stared at each other. Mine was a more intent stare, while Winston looked like he was trying to decide between getting up and leaving, or potentially going for my throat.

He broke the silence. I knew he would; he always did. "You were in Madrid."

One of my brows arched. "Was I?"

"You left a note."

"Huh." I shrugged. "I've been a bit busy lately."

That did not amuse him, but that was okay, because it amused me. I could feel when my eyes tried to betray the smile that I otherwise successfully suppressed.

Winston sighed and attempted to smooth down his hair with one hand. He shook his head, presumably to himself. "What were you doing in New York City? With that mafia frenzy killer?"

I proffered a shrug. "I was in the neighborhood. Not a fan of killers."

"You walked right onto the scene of an active FBI assignment. That's not normal behavior for you."

I cocked a brow at that, and decided against voicing my initial thought— He knew better. "Normal" was a relative term when it came to me. It seemed he might've forgotten that, but now wasn't the time to remind him.

Instead, I said, "Last I checked," I gestured with a hand and pretended to be lost in thought, "I saved one of your people. So ..." I leaned back in my chair and focused back in on him. "You're welcome."

Winston was not impressed. He leaned forward a little more and rested his arms on the table. "Saving one life doesn't redeem you."

"Of course not. But in the wise words of Jack Sparrow, it's enough to condemn me. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

"Don't get smart, Destin."

"I hate to break it to you, but I am always smart."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" Winston shook his head again. He regarded me as one would a puzzle, his eyes narrowed as he searched my own. "But here you are."

A smirk tugged at my lips. "Who says this isn't exactly where I want to be?" I leaned forward so that I mirrored him. "We've been here before. Why aren't you asking me the real questions?"

He closed his eyes and sucked in a large breath before he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then hazel eyes met my own. "What were you doing with Ironclad?"

"That's his name? Wow," I said with a sharp laugh. "Stopping him, apparently. Again— you're welcome."

"Why were you in Madrid?"

"I had business to attend to."

"So far as we can tell, you intercepted gun smugglers. Who was the seller?"

I pretended to consider that for a moment. But this was a decision I'd made up my mind about before Winston had even come into the room. "The Empress."

Surprise flashed across his face like lightning, gone as quickly as it had appeared. "She was in Madrid?"

I gave a slow, single nod of confirmation.

He considered me for a moment. His brows scrunched together. "You have a rivalry with her?"

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, Winston, do better. I don't smuggle guns, so that doesn't make sense as an MO." Also known as modus operandi, an individual's habits and methods of working.

He tried a different approach this time. "Do you know her real identity?"

That was enough to ignite a broad smile. "Of course I do."

His eyes widened, then narrowed again. "And because you're—"

"Myself?" I offered.

"... that means you're not afraid of her." Winston leaned back slowly in his chair. "Are you trying to barter your way out of here? Is that why you were so persistent about talking to me?"

"All right, two things to address there," I said. I began to tick off my fingers; "One, no, I'm not trying to barter. Not my style. Two, you should know by now, Winston, that you are the only law enforcement age I will deal with."

"How flattering," he muttered.

"Regardless of why I'm telling you what I'm telling you," I continued, with a glance down at my still-bruised knuckles as I spoke, "you're still missing the bigger picture." I looked back up at him carefully.

"And that would be?"

"Well, it wouldn't be that Tinsley De Loughrey is the Empress," I said casually, "which means it would have to be much bigger than that. And that would be saying something, wouldn't it?"

If I hadn't had Winston's full and undivided attention before, I definitely had it now. I was not usually so forthcoming with information, especially when it came to critical FBI cases.

Though his eyes had widened, his brow was still furrowed. I could tell that he had inched forward in his chair. When he spoke he managed to keep his tone dry and practically uninterested, but he still asked the question. "So what's the bigger picture?"

I tried for a smirk, but could feel it fall just short of my eyes. Banter amused me, as did toying with Winston. The disaster I had been most recently dropped into did not. "It's a game. And given how much you dislike me ... you're going to hate my new opponent."

Before I could say anything further, the door swung open. It was Blackwood again, but this time everything about him radiated tension. He pointedly did not look at me. "Sir, they're insisting that she be transferred to solitary now."

Winston looked even less pleased at the interruption than I was, though my emotions didn't show on my face as his did. I could see the annoyance in his eyes before he even looked at Blackwood. His tone of voice changed from normal-FBI-agent-man to boss-talking-down-to-subordinates. "I'm not done. I am the senior agent on this case. If they want her transferred, they're going to have to wait."

"Sir ..." Blackwood tried to protest, his voice strained.

"Get out of my interrogation room, Blackwood," Winston instructed before he turned back to me. There was no room for argument, and soon enough it was just the two of us again. This time when he faced me there was curiosity in his eyes. "What do you mean, 'it's a game'?"

"I mean exactly that." I didn't have time to mince words. Not if his superiors were trying to send me to solitary now. That was a whole new warning for me; it meant that Berkshire likely had someone on the inside. It meant that some FBI higher-up was aware enough of the situation that they were trying to keep me silent.

Because there was no other reason for them to put a rush on sending me to solitary; I'd been cooperative the entire time I'd been in the building. Well, maybe not cooperative, but I wasn't hostile.

Corruption always runs deep. I should've suspected it. I mentally kicked myself for not considering the possibility of an FBI mole sooner.

"Someone's playing a game with me. It's why I've been so active in the past few weeks. You know me, Winston. I don't ever spend this much time on the grid. I'm being toyed with ... targeted. And now he wants me out of the way."

"He who?"

I couldn't answer that. Not now. Did I care about Winston? Now wasn't really the time to determine sentiments. Regardless of feelings, he was an honorable man. While I may have already said too much, I didn't want the guarantee of Winston's blood on my hands, and I suspected that giving up Berkshire now would catalyze the situation and end in his death.

This time my smile was dark. "Don't be surprised if I don't make it to solitary." I wasn't sure if Berkshire wanted me silent or wanted me dead. I didn't have a desire to wait around and find out.

Disbelief colored Winston's features now. I didn't expect anything less. This entire conversation would take him time to process, and even once he had, I wasn't sure that it would change anything. "You honestly think you can escape?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Two-edged sword, Winston." I leaned forward on the table and waited for him to do the same. Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Can you trust everyone you work with?"

His brow furrowed and his eyes remained widened in shock and confusion.

I didn't think he understood what I was getting at, but I didn't have time to stick around and explain. He'd have to figure it out on his own.