For a long while, Jack did not speak, and Aamani was content to wait him out. They stared each other down, neither one flinching. Jack half expected to hear the steady beat of a clock ticking, but there were no clocks in this interrogation room. His breathing was the only metronome in the cold, uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Aamani smiled. “What?” she said. “I don’t even get a hello?”
“I see your disapproving glare has lost none of its potency.”
Chuckling softly, she turned her back on him and went over to the camera on the wall. She stood on her toes and unplugged it, provoking a spike of alarm within Jack. That couldn’t be a good sign. “It seems your gift of the gab has deteriorated somewhat over the years,” she observed. “I was expecting a quip about maple-glazed Timbits.”
Jack was
