Page 32 of UnTrained: Volume One
Aiden stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright hallway light. He's carrying another tray, and the smell of food makes my stomach clench with sudden hunger. I hadn't realized how much energy yesterday's session had drained from me.
"Good morning," he says, his voice neutral. Professional. The warmth from yesterday is gone, replaced by something cooler, more distant.
I swallow hard, uncertain what this shift means. "Good morning, Sir."
He frowns slightly at the title but doesn't correct me this time. Instead, he sets the tray on the small table and pulls the chair closer to the bed. The scrape of metal legs against linoleum makes me flinch.
"We need to talk more about the facility," he says without preamble. "I know it's difficult, but I need details about the layout, the staff, how many other women were there."
My chest tightens at the thought of returning to those memories.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in my chest. The clinical way he's asking—as if yesterday never happened, as if he didn't hold me while I cried—makes something inside me curl up defensively.
"What do you want to know?" I ask, my voice smaller than I intend.
Aiden pulls out a small recorder and places it on the table beside the tray. "Everything you can remember. Start with the physical layout. How many rooms? Were there windows? How many guards did you see on a regular basis?"
The questions come rapid-fire, no warmth in his tone. This isn't the man who told me my submission wasn't shameful, who touched me with gentleness after causing pain. This is someone else entirely. Cold, professional, detached.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel in the thin t-shirt. "There were no windows," I begin hesitantly. "At least, not in any of the areas where they kept us. The main training room was large—maybe the size of a small gymnasium. That's where we spent most of our time."
Aiden nods, gesturing for me to continue.
I force myself to keep talking, answering his questions as much as I’m able. Finally, after what must be hours, he clicks the recorder off and leans back in his chair.
“Good girl,” he says. “That was a lot. It will go a long way in helping to bring these guys down.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure it’ll be that simple. “Now what?” I ask.
Aiden smiles. “Now? We get you back home.”
AIDEN
ONE WEEK LATER
“What’s with you?” Alex asks. He sets his mug on the conference table before pulling out a seat. “You’re usually in a good mood when we get a new assignment.”
I push a hand through my hair. He’s right, but for some reason, I can’t seem to muster the same enthusiasm as usual.
For some reason.Yeah, that’s bullshit. I know exactly what the reason is. And it kills me that I can’t seem to move on after Lana.
Let it go, man. You’re a goddamn professional.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Alex opens his mouth again, but thankfully, I’m saved from having to answer as my phone rings.
I don’t recognize the number that flashes across the screen, but hell, I’ll talk to a telemarketer if it keeps me from this conversation.
I swipe to answer and lift the phone to my ear. “Crawford.”
At first, there’s just silence. I’m about to hang up, when I hear the softest of sniffles.
My heart seizes. “Hello?” I ask, softening my voice.
Another sniffle, louder this time. Then: “Is, um. Is this Aiden?”
Lana.
