I swallowed. My pen felt heavy.
I should have asked what that meant. Instead, I clutched my clipboard and stepped inside.
And that's when the lights flickered.
The room smelled like bleach and old regret. Sirena sat at a metal table, wrists uncuffed—a privilege, I'd later learn, she'd earned through a kind of quiet terror that made even seasoned COs check their locks twice. Her hair was dark, spilling over a gray jumpsuit two sizes too big. She didn't look up when I entered.
She tilted her head, studying me the way a cat studies a bird through glass. "Your first mistake was thinking this was an interview, Dr. Hale. This is a first meeting . And in every story about me… the first meeting is where the heroine realizes she's already trapped." TmwPOV - Sirena Milano - First meeting with a p...
"Dr. Hale," she said. Not a question. Her voice was low, smooth—like whiskey poured over gravel.
Sirena never looked away from me.
The guard's voice crackled over the intercom: "Doctor? The cameras are glitching. We're sending someone."
Or maybe from her.
She finally lifted her gaze. Her eyes were the color of a storm at sea—gray-green, with something churning underneath. A small smile tugged at her lips, but it didn't reach those eyes.