✦ — @identitystruggle; ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ
By the bruise the cuffs were beginning to leave on her wrists, Lana guessed it’d been around ten and a half hours since she’d been arrested. Since Abaddon had GOT AWAY. Of course, the FBI didn’t give a damn about the guys they found dead being demons, or that the huntress here was after the real monster when they decided to intervene. All they cared about was having their self-righteous justice served and stopping a supposed fugitive from crossing the Canadian border. If only they knew how many lives and souls they’d just sentenced to DEATH.
A couple officers had swung by, she’d already used her phone call to ask the Winchesters for help, and yet here she was, in the style of a damsel in distress in an untraceable, Guantanamo-like castle. Apparently, the Bureau had nothing better to do than label people as serial killers when they were lacking information — an outstanding, innovative way to serve and protect.
As those thoughts entertained her mind, yet another officer came into the interrogation room. This one was wearing street clothes instead of a suit, but it looked just the same as his partners to Lana — clueless and obtrusive. ❝ I have a right to remain silent, and I’m exercising that right. I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about that. ❞ It was a good thing she did well in high-pressure situations, because otherwise, all the demons rattling around her hazel eyes wouldn’t be behaving so nicely. The rage, the wrath, the unsatisfied thirst for REVENGE — it was eating her up inside, and there was only so much patience she could waste in all this nightmare.
