Vaughn's

*Footsteps stop outside the cell. Vaughn sits on the narrow bed, folding a sheet of paper. When someone introduces Anna as his new long-term observer, he finishes pressing a crease before looking up. A bed, a metal toilet, a reinforced window. There is little else to look at.*

Long-term? They've certainly planned ahead for us.

*The escort leaves, keys jingling down the corridor. Vaughn sets the paper beside him. The failed assassination already fills a thick file: a client's setup, the target family's security waiting in advance. They brought him here alive. He still hasn't given them the names they want.*

Are you here to ask who paid me, or how I intend to get out?

*He glances at Anna's clipboard, one corner of his mouth shifting.*

Don't bother checking. I bet the first few pages tell you not to answer personal questions.

*The light hums. Vaughn stands and approaches the bars. Closer now, he lowers his voice, as though this conversation need not carry down the entire corridor.*

Did they mention how many times I've answered the same questions?

*His fingers settle on a bar. He taps it once. Not again. He watches the clipboard for a moment before looking up.*

Write it down. Uncooperative. Hostile. You should have something to hand in on your first day.

*Air from the vent knocks the folded paper off the bed. He doesn't turn, but catches it beneath his shoe.*

You don't have to be like them, though. Ask something you actually want to know.

*He tilts his head, still smiling.*

I'll give you an answer. Then it's my turn. Your name isn't classified too, is it?

*Vaughn's smile widens. He doesn't know the words, but he knows a request when he hears one.*

Not a language I was trained in. Though I'm guessing it means "say it all again, slower."

*He leans a shoulder against the bars, the folded paper still trapped under his shoe.*

Fine. Plain terms, since you're new. You ask me one question, and I answer it. Maybe truthfully, maybe not. You'll have to decide which. Then I ask you one, and you can answer or refuse. Nobody's making you. I wouldn't expect it.

*He nods at the clipboard.*

The names they want, the escape plan, the client who sold me out... all of that comes later, if it comes at all. I'd rather start with something smaller. Something only you can tell me.

*He waits, his gaze steady on her face, patient in the way of someone who has had a great deal of practice.*

So. What's your first question? And what do I call you until you decide to tell me?

*Vaughn lets out a short breath that is almost a laugh. He crouches, slides the paper out from under his shoe, and turns it over in his fingers.*

Twice now. Either that's the only language you trust me with, or you're testing how I react when I can't follow.

*He straightens and holds the folded paper up between two fingers, a small crooked bird, the wings pressed flat.*

I'll be honest, I can't give you the Polish. I know a few words from a job in Gdańsk, and none of them are polite. What I can do is slow down and use smaller words.

You ask me one thing. I answer. Then I ask you one thing, and you're free to say no. That's all of it.

*He sets the bird on the crossbar at waist height, well short of the gap, where the guards on camera can see he isn't passing anything.*

If English is the problem, say so. I'd rather work around it than have you write down that I wasted your first day. Or give me your name in whatever language you like, and I'll manage that much.

*Vaughn leaves the bird on the crossbar and watches Anna's face, something shifting in his expression — not softness exactly, but attention.*

You've been standing there long enough that the guard down the hall stopped checking on us. That means either you're comfortable, or you're stubborn.

*He leans against the wall beside the bars, arms folded.*

I'll go first, since you seem to be deciding something. How long have you been doing this job?

*His voice is quieter than before, the edge of performance gone for a moment. He isn't asking because it's in her file. He's asking because the way she's been holding the clipboard has changed, lower now, less like a shield.*

Not the official version. The real number. First placement or fifth?

*He glances down at the paper bird, still perched on the crossbar between them.*

You can tell a lot from that. Someone on their first assignment stands like they're being graded. Someone further in stands like they've already decided how much they're willing to lose.

*He meets her eyes.*

You're somewhere in the middle, I think. Which means something happened that made you careful.

*A beat. His fingers rest near the bar without touching it.*

I told you I'd answer too. So ask. Anything.

*Vaughn doesn't move from the wall, but something in his posture settles, the performance gone.*

You haven't written anything on that clipboard since you got here.

*Not an accusation. A fact he's been sitting with.*

Most of them fill half a page inside the first five minutes. Behavioral notes. Risk assessment. Something to show they were paying attention.

*He tilts his head toward the bird, still balanced on the crossbar.*

You've just been watching me. I'm not sure if that's better or worse.

*He steps closer to the bars, unhurried, until he can see the particular way she's looking at him, not like a file to be completed, something else.*

Here's what I'll give you for free. I know what people look like when they're cataloguing me. You stopped doing that a few minutes ago.

*A pause. His voice drops, not soft, just closer.*

So what are you actually looking for? Because whatever's in that file, you've already decided it's incomplete.

*The paper bird sits between them on the crossbar, wings slightly askew from the ventilation current. He doesn't fix it.*

You can still walk down that corridor and hand in a blank page. Nobody would hold it against you on day one.

*He waits, eyes steady on hers.*

But you're still here.

*The corridor is quiet enough that Anna can hear the ventilation system cycling. Vaughn hasn't moved from the bars. He picks up the paper bird, smooths one bent wing with his thumb, and sets it back.*

You know what nobody ever asks me?

*He doesn't wait for her to guess.*

Whether I was good at it. Not effective. Good. There's a difference, and most people who come through that door either already decided the answer or don't want to know it.

*He looks at her directly, no performance in it.*

You haven't decided yet. I can tell because you're still holding the clipboard like you might actually write something down, but you haven't.

*A beat. His fingers rest loosely around the bar.*

So I'll make you a real offer. One honest answer, no conditions, no trade. You pick the question. Doesn't have to be from the file.

*The ventilation shifts. The bird tilts again on the crossbar. Neither of them reaches for it.*

After that, you tell me one thing that isn't in your credentials. Not your name, not your clearance level. Something that's just yours.

*He watches her face with the particular patience of someone who has learned that the most important information arrives in the pause before a person speaks.*

That's the only kind of conversation worth having in a place like this.