Seventeen
Heron clapped his hands together and rubbed them like a villain as he regarded the two unconscious men. They were strapped to chairs at the foot of his bed: a pair of blue wingbacks, the linen upholstery pristine.
“You are enjoying this too much,” Arjun said, pushing the hair away from his face. He stood to the left of a bathroom door. “You’re scaring the commander.”
Heron only briefly flicked his eyes up to consider Grace’s face. “How can you say that? She’s a seasoned professional. She’s done hundreds of interrogations.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” she said, hoping her steady voice hid the fact that she was worried.
A general sense of dread was building inside her. She was afraid of what they might say, or not say. She was afraid this was a terrible mistake that might result
