Chapter 49: Break Room Tensions
Agent Talia Reed entered the break room, grateful for the brief escape from the relentless demands of the Academy. The door slid shut with a faint hiss, and for a moment, the sterile, buzzing environment outside was replaced by the soft hum of the vending machine and the distant murmur of the air ducts. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was a space where she could catch her breath.
She moved to the coffee machine, her hand reaching for a cup, her movements almost mechanical. Black coffee poured out slowly, steam curling upward as she stared at the liquid, lost in thought. It had been a long day—longer than most, it seemed.
Her thoughts drifted to Jake and Levi, to the other metahumans, to the cold clinical testing, the distant way they were treated. Subjects. That was all they were to the Academy. Nothing more.
The break room door slid open behind her, but she didn’t turn, recognizing the familiar light footsteps.
“Agent Reed,” came the voice of Dr. Naomi Wells.
Talia glanced over her shoulder, nodding slightly as Naomi stepped into the room. “Dr. Wells.”
Naomi moved to the counter, setting down a folder before reaching for a cup herself. Her purple hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, her expression as unreadable as always, though Talia had known her long enough to pick up on the small details. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tapped just a little too quickly against the cup she held—tiny tells that most wouldn’t notice.
They both stood in silence for a moment, letting the quiet fill the space between them. The coffee machine hummed as Naomi poured herself a cup, the scent mingling with the sharp sterility of the break room.
“Busy day?” Naomi asked, her voice calm, but lacking the usual detachment.
Talia nodded, sipping her coffee. “Busy enough.”
Naomi leaned against the counter, cradling her cup in both hands. “They always are, aren’t they?”
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Talia glanced at her, picking up on the slight edge in Naomi’s tone. But she didn’t comment. They both knew how careful they had to be in this place. Words carried weight, and the walls had ears.
For a moment, neither spoke. The room felt heavier, but Talia couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or something else. She had noticed Naomi had been quieter lately, more distant during the sessions. It wasn’t her place to pry, but it was hard not to notice when someone was beginning to see things a little differently.
Naomi took a slow sip of her coffee before speaking again, her voice more casual now. “You’ve been working on that Blackwell case, right?”
Talia nodded. “Yeah. It’s… complicated.”
Naomi gave a small, noncommittal hum, staring down at the swirling liquid in her cup. “Seems like a lot of things here are.”
Talia didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze flickered to Naomi, studying the tension in her expression, the way her grip tightened slightly on the cup. It was subtle, but enough for Talia to catch. Naomi wasn’t just making idle conversation.
“Yeah,” Talia said quietly, keeping her tone neutral. “A lot of things.”
Naomi set her cup down, glancing at the folder on the table. Her fingers tapped lightly on the surface, a nervous habit she hadn’t quite broken. The folder was thick with reports—too thick. It was the kind of thing that weighed on you if you let it.
“There’s always more data,” Naomi muttered, almost to herself. “Always more tests.”
Talia’s eyes lingered on her. She didn’t push, didn’t pry. But the words hung between them. Naomi was always sharp, always professional, but the cracks were starting to show. And Talia knew better than to ask the wrong question in a place like this.
“Guess that’s the nature of the work,” Talia said after a beat, keeping her voice light, though her eyes stayed on Naomi.
Naomi’s fingers stilled on the folder, her gaze distant. “Yeah… the work.”
For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, but neither of them acknowledged it. It wasn’t safe to. Not here. Not when every word, every look, could be misinterpreted—or worse, reported.
Talia shifted her weight slightly, her grip tightening on her coffee cup. “You’ve been at this for a while, haven’t you?”
Naomi glanced up, her expression carefully guarded. “A while, yeah.”
“And… it still feels the same?”
There was a beat of silence before Naomi spoke, her voice lower now. “It’s what we signed up for.”
It wasn’t an answer, not really. But Talia didn’t expect one. They both knew the lines they couldn’t cross, the things they couldn’t say. And yet, there was something in Naomi’s tone, a faint weariness that told Talia she wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of it all.
Naomi picked up her cup again, taking a slow sip. “But sometimes… it makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Talia didn’t respond right away. She just watched Naomi, the subtle shift in her demeanor, the way her eyes lingered on the reports she carried. They were both too smart to say more than they should. But sometimes, the unsaid things were loud enough.
“I guess it does,” Talia said finally, her voice measured.
Naomi’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like a shared understanding—a quiet acknowledgment that they were both walking the same tightrope.
“Well,” Naomi said, straightening up and collecting her folder. “I should get back to it.”
Talia nodded, watching her go. The door slid shut behind Naomi, and the break room fell into silence once again.
Talia stood there for a moment longer, her mind turning over the conversation. Nothing had been said outright, but there were things you learned to pick up on in a place like this—small cracks, tiny shifts in the way people talked, the way they moved. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her wonder.
But wonder could get you in trouble here. So she kept it to herself, just like she always did.
And with that, Talia finished her coffee and left the room, her face calm and unreadable.