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What if torturing Quinton fucks Travis up all over again? What if it changes him? What if Travis comes back and starts saying shit about not keeping him again?
What if Carter is worrying for nothing and no torture is even happening?
The questions build and build until Carter can't fucking breathe.
He shoves off the bed, not bothering to check the time before heading straight to Ace's office. His hand shakes when he knocks. There's the sound of rustling, then the door swings open to show a frowning Ace. "Carter? Are you okay?"
"I want to see."
Ace's frown deepens. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"I'm not asking for permission."
"It's not me you'd have to ask. You're not an operative. The director would-"
"But aren't I?" Carter asks. "Isn't that how you got me and Casey approved to be able to go back and forth? Technically, on paper, we're a part of this now."
"Consultants," Ace corrects. "You're listed as consultants, not operatives."
"Don't consultants have clearance for shit like this?"
Ace opens his mouth, looking like he's going to argue, but then his shoulders sga and all he mutters is, "Fuck."
He moves to the side for Carter to enter. Carter doesn't hesitate.
There are computer screens everywhere. Enough to hurt the eyes, honestly. One shows a series of boxes that seem to be the exterior and interior security feeds of the safehouse. There's another similar screen with boxes that don't match - a seemingly abandoned warehouse, a gas station, an alleyway, a-
"That's my apartment," Carter blurts when he recognizes the building. The box next to it shows a feed of the hallway outside his apartment door.
"Travis didn't tell you we'd have eyes on your place?" Ace asks.
"Maison had mentioned… something. I was still mad at him. I guess I didn't really listen."
"Your workplace and lecture hall, too," Ace explains, pointing at the last three boxes on the screen - an exterior and interior of the pub, and an exterior of the lecture hall.
"And you just sit here and watch them all day?"
"No, I barely pay attention, honestly. The one for your apartment door has a sensor that alerts me anytime there's movement of a body not matching you or Casey's height and build, and then I check to see what's going on. Other than that, they're more for us to review footage after something happens. If something were to happen, that is."
Carter rubs his forehead, torn between being disturbed and grateful.
Ace takes a seat at the curved desk that spans across all the monitors. It has three different keyboards on it, but he moves his chair to the center one, his eyes focusing on the monitor right above it. Carter looks there too.
It's a feed of a room, shown in the green tint of night vision. A body is hanging from the ceiling, looking near-death. Quinton, a voice in Carter’s mind whispers. That’s Quinton. Carter shudders and looks away.
There are two small boxes off to the side - one looking like a chat box, the other like a sound control. Carter reads the newest messages in the chat box, starting at the top where only half of a sentence is shown before disappearing.
- let me know, I’d appreciate it.
Ace: Kid got here safe. He went to sleep
Travis: Thank fuck. He pissed?
Ace: Seemed worried, if anything. Did I miss anything in the last 15 minutes?
Travis: Nada. Letting the piece of shit stew for a bit. I'm going offline for an hour. Daddy's orders.
"Daddy's orders?" Carter questions.
