Page 17 of A Snowed in Valentine's

She sat in a small chair, staring across a metal table at an empty seat. Blinking against the sudden light, she looked around, her heart racing as she took in her surroundings. The room she was in had white walls that reflected the light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

“Just great,” she muttered as she saw she’d been handcuffed to the table. The metal bracelets felt icy against her wrists. The chains had been slipped through holes in the table, restricting her movements.

There was a black door just behind the chair that faced her. Across the room was an identical door. On her left was a mirrored wall that Daphne immediately knew was two-way. Her reflection stared back at her, but she knew people on the other side were watching her.

She was in an interrogation room, she realized, remembering the SUVs that had stopped in front of her apartment building earlier.

As the handcuffs dug into her flesh, Daphne suppressed a groan. She’d never been arrested before. Then again, she’d never fallen out of a crashing plane in a lavatory before either or split herself into two halves that were divided between two worlds. She was down a rabbit hole of first-time experiences, none of them pleasant.

This couldn’t possibly get worse, she thought.

Just then, the door within her line of sight swung open, and a man and a woman stepped in. The man wore a blue windbreaker, a checkered shirt, and brown trousers. Daphnefigured he was in his late thirties. Between his mustache and scruffy brown hair, he looked like a cop. He was scowling.

The woman looked closer to Daphne’s age. She was short and plump and wore her dark hair tucked in a ponytail. Adjusting her black suit, she pulled out the second chair and took a seat opposite Daphne, setting a recorder and a file down on the table.

“Good to see you’re awake,” she said, regarding Daphne with gentle black eyes. She flashed a badge. “I’m Agent Carter, and this is my partner, Agent O’Hara.”

She gestured at the man who now stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He glowered at Daphne, looking like he’d rather be throttling her than spending his time interrogating her.

“I assume you know what’s going on?” asked Carter while scrutinizing her.

“The FBI has arrested me,” Daphne replied. “On what charges?”

The man scoffed but said nothing. The woman opened the file.

“You are Daphne Emerson,” she said without glancing up. “Is that correct?”

Daphne nodded.

“Please give a verbal response.”

“Yes.”

“Forty-three years old?”

“That is correct.”

At this, Carter glanced up with a frown. Daphne knew what the woman was thinking:She doesn’t look a day over thirty.

“And you work as a… linguistics professor?”

“Part-time,” Daphne replied.

“Part-time terrorist,” she heard O’Hara murmur. “Figures.”

His partner turned to look at him, and he merely shrugged.

“Any family? Parents? Siblings? Cousins? Children?”

“None. I’m the only one left,” Daphne said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She stared at the cuffs on her wrists. If she still had her magic, she could have broken free with little more than a thought. Her gaze washed over the boldKstill visible on the back of her hand. Bound, she was practically human, like these two.

Not to mention, I’m still weak, she thought, feeling somewhat grateful to be sitting.

“You purchased a ticket on the 10th of November. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“Vegas to Chicago? Flight 17, Daystar Airlines?”

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