[Near East Ministry of Magic, Holding Cells, approx. 6am]

The makeshift cot that Adon Eleor now sat on was bolted to the ground.  Even the white plastic chair had somehow been magically affixed to the cracked concrete of the Near East Ministry's basement.  All that Adon had had to throw upon his entry into this cold grey square of space was the rough wool blanket he'd been provided with which, he realized after the third attempt, was hardly a fulfilling option when filled with boiling rage and acrid fear and sorrow.

Adon had opted for a fist to the cinderblock instead--before he had quite realized what he had done; though nearly four hours later, he had the constant, throbbing reminder of it.  Looking down, he regarded the scrapes on the fist, already purple and scabbing.  He clenchend and unclenched the fist experimentally, giving a growled hiss.

Even as an Auror (in-training), Adon had disliked passing any time in the holding area.  The cells were poorly lit, cubbied little holes that smelled of fear and sweat and piss.  Adon, sitting on the edge of his cot, now eyed the wadded-up blanket in the corner with resentment and malice.  That was definitely the source of that smell.

If Adnan was giving them time enough to think on their sins and sit in their sorrows, he had certainly provided ample time.  Four hours.  Adon had thought of nothing but what he should be doing in England right now--leading the search for his brother before it was too late.  And here he was, sitting.  That was all this damn Ministry had ever done.

The sound of Raizel's sniffles, and the occasional muttered curse did little to help endear the Ministry into his good graces.  For all Adon resented being here, it would have been much better to be alone.  Adon knew these people; they were his people, whether they were claiming ownership at the moment or not.  Whether they deigned to talk to him, acknowledge him. But it would be much rougher for Raizel--much rougher for him with her here.

But she was. And they were in it together--and had been from the start.  They were still in it, separated by a layer of concrete, but sharing the same rank air.  "Rai," he called loudly--a part of him not knowing how well the sound could carry, and most of him simply wanting to yell--to let the other attendant Hitwizards and Aurors hear his voice and know he was there, "Do you think that Yon's roommate..." he sighed, rnning a hand over his face and leaning back against the rough wall.  "...Do you think he had much of a chance?"

It was a miserable question.  And not one that would make him feel any better.  But the ought to have known--Adnan had not even had  the decency to permit the Aurors to convey that to him.  Still--it was the one anxiety he could vocalize now that would actually work in their favor.  They had, he told himself, been defending Yon and his roommates.  And that, he willed Raizel to intuit, would be what their governing motive would be.

Whether it was an attempt to end conversation, or merely a coincidence, there was the telltale jangling of keys and the sound of heavy, heeled boots approaching.  Adon rose to his feet, ready for a fight if the approaching Hitwizard or Auror had the audacity to attempt to silence them.

But it was neither Hitwizard nor Auror.  It was Head Auror Adnan Musallam--with a hitwizard by his side.  Adnan's sharp features were unforgiving as he looked him hard in the face, his jaw rigid.  He took several steps more, standing just within his view through the bars of his cell--Adon guessed also within Raizel's.  "Raizel Cohen," the Head Auror called in a deep, official tone.  The hitwizard proceeded down the hall, and Adon once more heard the jangling of the keyring as the wizard prepared to open the cell doors.  Adon moved to the very edge of his cell, fists clenching around the bars angrily.  Adon saw Musallam's eyes flicker to his bruised knuckles, then look back at the cell.  He held up a hand.   "Unless Miss Cohen would prefer I speak with Auror Eleor alone first."

There had been nothing to do in the darkness but wait.  It had been almost a year since her last sojourn at the Near East Ministry -- a fact that Raizel had happened upon with a start, because she hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.  A year since Benny, a year since the bright lights and shouting and tears that had been the interrogation room, of what had seemed like an eternity spent in limbo until Eszter had finally arrived, her dark eyes flashing angrily.

This time, there was no interrogation room, no hope of rescue from her older sister -- and Raizel had been trying and trying not to think about Benny.  Instead, there was only the darkness and the waiting; the knowledge that Adon was there too was the only thing that held off the rising panic, the incessantly growing pressure that she fought to keep from engulfing her chest.

They could not keep them here forever.  She knew that.  Raizel held on to that thought as she pressed her bare toes against the cold cement floor, hugging her arms to her chest.  The coat that she'd taken from Yon's apartment was the only thing that stood between the meager dress that she'd spent so long picking out for the reunion and the cold, stale air of the cement cell.  The Ministry could not keep them here forever, and even if they tried, at least Adon was here too, although he'd descended into some kind of melancholy, defeated silence.  But he was still there, and she knew that her former school mate could hear every sound that she was making.  Raizel fought to control her breathing, to stay in control, to stay calm.  She couldn't afford to lose any more face in front of him tonight.

But the silence was even too much for Adon.  He called out -- her stomach twisted, although whether at the sudden, startling sound or at the subject or at the wrenching defeat in his tone, she didn't care to know -- and then there were the heavy footsteps of someone approaching.  Raizel stiffened, jerked her head up, pressed back against the wall as she watched the two men advance through the darkness.

She recognized one of them.

Adnan Musallam was a terror.  A legend, even before he'd ascended to the position of Head Auror.  Something bitter rose in her throat, and she clenched her jaw, trying not to look alarmed as he spoke her name and the Hitwizard came to undo the lock.

"Unless Miss Cohen would prefer I speak with Auror Eleor alone first."

She stared at Musallam still, though now she felt suddenly angry.  The weight pressing against her chest was nearly unbearable.  Raizel clamped her mouth shut, willing herself not to cry as she rose to her feet, wrapping the thin coat tightly around her as if it were the only thing protecting her from whatever was waiting outside the small cell.

She wanted desperately to tell him yes, to take Adon.  To let her friend go off away with this man who terrified her so badly, but whom Adon insisted that he knew and he liked.  To give Adon a chance to apologize, to explain, to fix this so that everything could be cleared up and they could both go home and she didn't have to stay here shaking in fear of what debasing vulnerability might be coming next.

But the world didn't work like that.  She knew this.  There was no guarantee that the Near East Aurors would listen to Adon; they had not shown any hint of it so far, and despite her friend's promises and reassurances, she had no reason to think that their behavior would change.  Raizel shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.  As terrifying as it was to go off into the unknown with Adnan Musallam, the thought of Adon doing so -- of him going off on his own, of leaving her here all alone, with no idea of when he might return or how long she'd be here in the darkness by herself -- the thought of that was bone-chilling.

The fear decided her.  Raizel shook her head, her jaw held unsteadily shut as she rose to her feet.  She refused to look at Musallam; she wouldn't give the Auror or his Hitwizard lackey that satisfaction. 

Adon had been out of sight all of this time.  Raizel slowed her pace, letting her steps fall hesitantly as she crossed the front of his prison.  He was there at the bars, looking ready for murder, the burn scars that she barely noticed anymore now unmistakably vivid against his face.  She glanced sidelong at him, her posture tense as she caught his gaze.

"He needed a healer."  She spoke quickly and quietly, as if she had to get all of the words out in a burst before Musallam could cut in and stop her.  As well he might -- but this was Adon, who worried even more than she did.  Raizel fought to steady her tone. "But he should be all right, I think.  The rest of this will be all right too," she added with firmer conviction than she felt, her jaw set stubbornly.  She jerked her head towards him in a fluttering, careless nod, even as she kept her eyes locked on his as if she weren't quite sure what it would take to tear them away. "I'll see you soon."

Raizel Cohen might have stepped out of her cell, might have been complying--whether from fear, a changed heart, or otherwise--but she seemed determined to be the indignant martyr about it.  That would likely prove to be a headache later, but for now, it kept her feet moving, and Adnan was hardly about to comment on it.  It did seem, however, that Raizel Cohen returned, at least in some measure, the affection and protectiveness that Adon Eleor had chosen to place upon her.  That was interesting--and something to keep an eye on.

"He needed a healer," Raizel said, and in that Adnan perceived a critique, despite her continued soothing of the miserable Auror behind bars.

"And we got him to one," Adnan informed, over his shoulder, more to Adon than to the witch in custody.  It was peculiar and not more than a little sad to see Adon clinging to the bars of the cell as though they were his only hope.  Giving a sad smile, Adnan then proceeded to lead their sorry little parade: himself, the hitwizard, and between them, the blonde witch known as Raizel Cohen.

He heard the scuffle of Lampid's boots coming to a halt. Adnan turned looking back at the hitwizard.

"Sir," he said, inquisitively, gesturing to Raizel.  Adnan frowned.  "Cuff her?"

Adnan's frown deepened as he considered Cohen.  "No.  There is no cause for that, just now."  He met Lampel's dubious glance and gave a bit of a chuckle.  "She is complying," he stated, glancing at Raizel, the ghost of an amused--or challenging--expression on his lips. 

It was likely true that anything Adnan said or did would cause Raizel Cohen to huff and puff.  Adnan had not been particularly involved in circumstances when last she was brouht in--he had been aware, and he had supervised, of course--but he had left the interrogations, or rather the shouting matches, to the investigators.  But now--well, this was his case, and shouting or no shouting, resisting or complying, Adnan was going to see this through.

"This way," he informed her curtly as they crossed the threshold of the wing designated to detain petty criminals, the unruly, the drunk--Adnan was eager, though he refused to admit it, that he walked a bit more briskly to return to the ordered, well-lit lines and rows of Auror desks.  The hitwizard took several steps to follow; Adnan only held up his hand to dismiss him.  "That will not be necessary," he called, leaving Lampel, hesitating, as Adnan brushed past, glancing back to keep a close eye upon Cohen.  "This way," he reiterated, as they curved through the lanes--several Aurors looking up from their desks curiously, before the Head Auror cast his stern gaze in their direction.

Adnan Musallam swung open the door to his office, usheing her inside.  He closed the door tightly behind him. "We can discuss uninterrupted in hee.  Sit down, Raizel Cohen.  We have," he said, as he slipped off his cloak and hung it upon a coat rack arm, "a good deal to discuss."  Frowning, he crossed behind his desk, waiting for her to settle into the seat.  "Starting," he said, pulling out a sheet of parchment on official letterhead, tinged green: an arrest warrant, "with this."

They'd left the depressing similitude of the holding area behind, though the marble floors of the Auror Office proper felt just as cold to her bare feet.  Raizel shivered as she followed in the Head Auror's wake, holding her chin high even as she kept her gaze on the ground.  It was still very early in the morning, so the office was mostly empty; even so, she could feel the eyes on her as they walked past the desks.

Adnan Musallam directed her not to another holding cell or meeting room, but straight into his office.  She is complying, he'd said, like he was mocking her obedience.  Raizel bristled, but she kept her head up, refusing to meet the old mage's gaze as she swept into his office in as dignified a fashion as she could considering that she was barefoot in a now-worn dress and someone's old Army coat.

In so many ways, this was the worst of everything that had ever kept her awake at night.  Raizel could feel her heart pounding, could barely swallow past the dry roughness in her throat.  Musallam had closed the door behind them, and now she was trapped; it was everything she could do to keep herself from panicking, to focus on the man in front of her and take a seat, to focus on what he was saying and the paper that he had set down in front of her.

Raizel breathed in, set her jaw, and then forced herself to read it.  It was an arrest warrant.  All of the remaining color fled from her face, and she shrank in the chair, seeing the document before her but not really reading it.  Was that what this was about?  She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the stabbing fear threatening to churn her stomach.

But he had led her through the Auror Office.  Raizel took a deep breath, pressed her mouth shut, and closed her eyes.  He had led her through the Auror Office, where everyone had seen them.  Had led her straight into his own office, in fact, and then closed the door.  Musallam could hardly be worried about any danger from her -- he had a wand, and she did not, and even with runes and bravery, it was foolish to hope that she could ever get the jump on a trained Auror with decades more in experience -- but that didn't mean that bringing her to his office to talk was usual or safe.  Even if he was trying to win her over, to manipulate her through kindness, he didn't have to bring her here to do it.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled once more.  Panicking wasn't going to help her now; it wasn't going to help Adon or Dreogan.  Surely Musallam had shown her the arrest warrant to scare her, but he wanted to scare her for a reason.  Something that Adon had once said about her brother's death rose unbidden to her memory:  "You don't know that for certain.  But from the sound of it -- from a limited inside view, it sounds like it probably intersects with another investigation…"

She gave a sudden, careless shrug, opening her eyes and tearing them from the arrest warrant, and met Musallam's gaze directly.  His expression was had and seemingly unrelenting.  Her heart was beating quickly.  Her instinct was to despise him, but she couldn't afford that now -- not for Adon, and not if she wanted to go home eventually too.

It shocked her for an instant that when she thought of home, the image that came to mind wasn't her flat in Tel Aviv.

"No," she said.  The word came out sounding very small, but her voice didn't waiver.  She lifted her chin, keeping her own gaze as steady as she could.    "We can start by discussing Dreogan Eleor.  And," she added, swallowing despite the rawness in her throat, "I would also like some tea."

Adnan exhaled deeply through his nose—a disapproving sigh as he rose, unquestioning, to his feet, moved towards the door, and peered out into the sea of cubicles that at once gave a sterile sort of enormity and anonymity to the congregation of Aurors, already reporting in for the day.  He gave a quick, beckoning motion in the air, and it was not long before an Auror responded to the summons.  A few quick words were exchanged before the door clicked shut once more, and Adnan stood behind his desk.  Without making eye contact, Musallam slid the warrant with one finger back towards him.  Wordlessly, he tucked it back into a file that lay open on the desk.
 
“You presume—incorrectly, I will add—that we are not already discussing matters pertaining to Dreogan Eleor.”  He thumbed through several papers in the file, finding what he was looking for—a stack of artists' renderings—and dropped them onto the desk where the warrant once lay.  "That is currently the priority in this office--as well as the occurrences of several hours ago--and so, I need hardly state," he said with an arch eyebrow, "that your particular knowledge would be indispensable to us."  It was no secret--and likely Raizel Cohen knew as much--that she had withheld information, if not evidence, in the investigation regarding her brother.  With the intervention of her elder sister, further extraction of the information she had held had been impossible.  Which had, unfortunately, been to their detriment, and potentially to Dreogan Eleor's as well.  Adnan found himself in the position of hoping that several factors--the nearness of present events to her own life, the apparent affection between herself and Adon Eleor, and fear for her own future might have loosened her tongue.  However, entangled as she was, it would take a great deal more than a hot-headed Estzer Cohen to release her without the information that Adnan Musallam wanted just now.
 
Adnan pressed his fingertips into the desk surface as he leaned forward, nudging the sketches with his finger for emphasis.  It was best to start small.  They would work themselves up to the bigger questions once the smaller acknowledgements--or denials--were made.  Raizel Cohen would not like it much. She seemed like Adon and the 100 other Israeli mages he had to deal with on a daily basis: direct. To the point. Blunt.  He could not afford to give her that sort of treatment, here.

“Have you seen—or heard—of any of these items before?’  An ornate mirror, a jeweled breastplate, a pair of simple, bronze candlesticks, and an intricately carved silver blade and bowl.