CHAPTER TWELVE
They no longer sat in the interrogation room. Ilse felt like that room was much like Agent Sawyer’s personality. Rigid, cold, straightforward, and uncomplicated at first glance.
Now, though, they were in a break room, with two vending machines against the wall; one filled with energy drinks and the other with small snacks pretending to be healthy. Agent Sawyer had a thin, wiry physique, suggesting he likely didn’t partake in either. Or eat much at all. He had a firm, dogged look in his eyes were he stood across from her, refusing to sit, leaning against one of the vending machines and watching her quietly, waiting.
For her part, Ilse’s eyes were half hooded; she stared into the reflection off the glass of the vending machine, cycling through the notes she kept for her cli
