Page 136 of Gates of Tartarus

Frowning, I meet Hideo’s eyes without blinking, long enough that he shifts uncomfortably under my black stare. “Youdon’t get to question the strength of my word,” I say cuttingly. “If you can think of a time I’ve lied to you or deceived you, then we can talk. Until then, keep my name out of your mouth.”

Hideo looks like he’s been hit in the stomach, and, for a brief moment, I feel bad. Because in the “us” that existed before everything – that “us” – a question like that would have shown how well he knows me, that he knows I look for loopholes, that I bide my time – it would have almost been a joke between us. Now, though, now it’s all burnt embers in my mouth. He and Gemma are ash coating my skin, slowly suffocating me.

I turn to Gemma, eyes and voice flat and emotionless. “Where do you need to be for this to work?” I ask her impersonally. “What’s your radius?”

She meets my eyes without hesitation, trying, I think, to be as professional as possible, to not make this whole thing worse. “The closer the better, or I’ll get too tired too quickly and won’t be any help.”

“Do you need to touch me?”

She shakes her head. “Only in extreme cases.”

I nod sharply, once, in reply. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she asks doubtfully, nodding her head to the empty chair beside me, and I shrug, seemingly uncaring.

“I guess,” I reply, then turn from her and ignore her, focusing on Smith. I try as hard as I can to not see the grey circles beneath her eyes, not notice that she’s lost weight, that her shoulders are caved in.

Once she sits down, she touches my shoulder briefly, almost like she’s grounding herself to me, and seconds later a cold waterfall of silence washes over me. It’s like a fan had been on all night, a low buzzing, white noise pushing into my brain, and Gemma somehow turned it off. The silence is… it’s beautiful. I can’t move for a moment, just feeling the pressure ease from my temples, from the back of my eyes, from my ear drums. I can hear myself breathing – my brain, which had felt inflamed for days, like burned, raw skin, now feels like it’s in an ice bath, the cold shocking me awake. For the first time in what seems like weeks I feel almost myself again.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and I see her look down out of the corner of my eye.

Smith takes in the room and sighs. “Let’s begin, then. Doll?” She looks up when he calls her name. “You’re here in a single capacity. Your only, and I meanonly, job here is to keep Reed’s brain from coming out her ears, yeah?”

I shake my head slightly, catching Smith’s eye. “You have something to say, Reed?” he asks tiredly, and I shrug.

“Gemma’s smart. Ordering her to be silent... it’s a wasted resource. I mean,Idon’t know her full capacity, but Tanaka can probably brief you. Separately.” Acid bitterness corrodes my words, despite my best effort to keep my voice level.

“I thought…” Smith stutters to silence, then says quietly. “I’m trying to make this as easy as possible on you, Reed.”

Shrugging, I let out a deep breath. “It is what it is. Not to be fatalistic, but this is where we are. In the grand scheme of things, one person’s misery is very little compared to what we’re dealing with on a larger scale. If this is what it takes to get things done, then…” I let my voice trail off, and Smith tilts his head.

“Well, okay. Thank you, Reed. That attitude will make things significantly easier for us as a team.”

Smiling mirthlessly at him, more a flash of teeth than anything else, I continue, “Besides, the sooner this is taken care of, the sooner I’m off this team, and I never have to see the three of you again. So, there’s that.”

“Ah.” Smith grimaces slightly and sighs. “Right. Well, let’s move ahead then. To catch you up, we’ve taken statements from the few victims who were able to talk. Out of…” he checks his notes, “112 women, between the ages of 18 and 38, we were able to get statements from 5. 40 didn’t make it, even with intensive care. It seemed to be a combination of dehydration, illness, and some sort of withdrawal that we couldn’t counter. There’s no way to keep this quiet at this point – it’s national news now. This is a massive, massive case of human trafficking. The suggestion is that we don’t address it, let SPD handle the press, and we’re fairly certain it will fade from the news cycle within a week.”

Jonah’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “There’s nowaythis will fade that quickly, Smith! 40 people aredead!”

Smith smiles, and it’s not pretty. It’s bitter, cynical, knowing, and it looks like a corpse’s screaming mouth on his face. “Shotridge, while I admire your belief in humanity, the fact is that last year in the US there were, reported, almost 9,000 cases of known human trafficking. There were over 1,500 instances in California alone. The number states-wide has grown by 13% since then. The moment there’s a scandal with the Kardashians or a new Boba tea flavor released, the public will forget about this.”

Jonah frowns, and I reach out to take his hand, feeling sorry for him. This job – it breaks you piece by piece. I forget sometimes – Jonah is brand new to the department. He’djustfinished the academy when he got pulled into this mess. And all of that shine, that hope, that feeling like you can make a difference – it’s all still there, sparkling from him. And I love that about him. Because he’s not been beaten down yet by a system which returns abused children to their abusers after one, court-ordered parenting class. He hasn’t had to look in a woman’s eyes and let her know that her rapist is out on bail, let a parent know the person that killed their kid in a DUI accident completed their month-long “safe-driving” classes and has their license back. Squeezing his hand, I focus on Smith.

“And the other 67?”

“Oooo, she’s back, folks. Doing advanced math!” Walker snarks, and I grin at him, knowing his humor is his way of deflecting anger and worry and hurt.

“You know it!” I chirp. “All ‘A’s’ across the boards in Mathematics.” I flex my muscles jokingly, and Gemma scoffs beside me, hiding the sound in a cough. For an instant I forget everything, and I turn to her, ready laughter already turning up the corners of my mouth, because she knows I can’t add my way out of a paper bag. And she’s smiling too, eyes crinkled up, thinking of me getting any halfway decent grade. But when we see each other, I remember, all at once, and the expression slides off my face like melting ice cream, and hers collapses in, wet cardboard, and we stare at each other for a moment, confused and sad, then I turn back to Smith and repeat my question, no smile in my voice anymore.

“The others?” I ask, voice dead.

“So we still have 48 in medically induced comas. There’s no response from any of them in any tests. For all intents and purposes, they’re just not there. We’re talking complete vegetative states. The other 19 – five are responsive in some fashion, with very,verylimited interaction and even less information. And the last 14 are… awake, more or less… but are empty. Just… empty. Blank stares, don’t respond to any stimulus, nothing. So we’re waiting and hoping.”

“What were we able to get?” I ask, and Smith shrugs.

Walker turns to me. “All of them were offered money. None can remember who recruited them. They all thought they were applying for government aid – two were at a homeless shelter, three were vagrants. And that’s it. I mean, bits and pieces, but the overall consensus is they filled out paperwork for aid, and then were lured in to ‘donate plasma’ for money, and from there it’s all a bit of a blur.”

“Did anyone mention Gaia again? Or Kronos?”

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