Page 118 of Fractured Future

CHAPTER 16

EMBER

HEAVEN SENT – TROPHY EYES

The silver-haired shrinksipping tea opposite me like some wizened old professor looks like he belongs in a psych ward himself. How he thought that a floral shirt with a bright-pink tie was a good idea, I’ll never know.

“I’m Doctor Richards. I consult for Sabre on a regular basis, offering psychological support to agents undergoing training and active duties.”

His voice is crisp and professional, a far cry from his whacky style and wild bush of pewter hair. When I walked into the therapy room, I nearly turned around to run straight back out.

“Aren’t you a little old to be doing this?” I blurt.

Chuckling, Richards swirls the tea in his cup. “I’m semi-retired. It didn’t quite stick.”

The man looks old enough to be in a retirement home.

“How long have you worked for Sabre?”

“Long enough to know what I’m doing. I consulted for the last owners for over a decade and have personally supported hundreds of clients and staff alike.”

Unconvinced, I remain on the edge of the chair, ready to get the fuck out of the spotlight. I don’t care what Warner says. I don’t need some pointless psych eval to join their team.

“Your physical examination was all clear.” Setting down his tea, he flicks through the stack of printed reports balancing on his knee. “That’s a relief, given your circumstances.”

Gulping down the noxious bubble in my throat, the safest response is to mutely nod. While the female doctor did question the scarring across my back, I was deemed a healthy weight and in good shape.

The examination was thorough and went better than expected. I only felt the urge to break her neck once or twice. And I was able to avoid revealing anything too telling.

I’m not sure how long I can keep my black outs a secret—I am living with the Anaconda Team, after all. Perhaps it’s foolish to keep this a secret, but I can’t risk losing this fragile chance now that I have it. They don’t need to know how damaged I truly am.

“I’ve also read your interview transcripts, so we don’t have to rehash the last six years.” Richards peers at me over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Unless you want to.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Given your history, it has been determined that you’ll have weekly debriefs with me throughout your time here. We’re well-equipped to support survivors of trauma.”

This time, I can’t help but shudder. At least he didn’t use the V-word. If I’m referred to as a victim one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.

“This is such bullshit!”

Richards steeples his fingers over his belly. “Talk to me about why you’re frustrated.”

“Nice try. I refuse.”

“You can refuse. I can also decline to clear you to commence training.”

Holding eye contact, he merely waits. Watches. Scrutinises me with his beady, little eyes. The pressure to speak and get him off my case builds to an unbearable level.

“I don’t need anyone digging around in my brain.” I unclench my fists, my palms stinging from where my nails have been cutting into them. “And I have zero desire to rehash what happened to me. I just want to train and get to work.”

“You’ll have that opportunity, Ember. However, we cannot have agents working for Sabre who are not stable enough to endure the stressors of this career.”

“I’m perfectly stable!”

“No one is saying you’re not,” he replies calmly. “My job is to keep it that way. I have no ulterior motive here.”

Overwhelmed by frustration, I stand and begin to pace the small interview room. It’s been painted a muted shade of blue, filled with dark-wood furniture and forest themed photos on natural canvases.