Into a building, through a lobby where benches and tables had officers talking, some over work, others over lunch. Into the back, checking the papers taped to doors with more of that yellow construction tape. Everything on this floor was 1-0-something.

On the second floor, she found door 206, figured out what direction she was walking, and opened the door quietly, to let herself in.

Victoria was up at the front, sitting on a desk.

“…is going to be a sensitive topic. If you’re ever going to broach it with a cape in a moment of crisis, you want to give them the impression they have control of the playing field, while keeping control over the situation.”

She glanced at Missy before turning, hand raising to point the remote at the back screen. Changing the slide.

Victoria was wearing a tank top, her arms exposed, old scars to her arm and hand in plain view. Her jacket was tied around her waist, and her pants were tucked into boots. A Patrol uniform.

“Ask open-ended questions, if you have to ask any at all. Try to shape the questions so there isn’t a yes-no answer. Pause. Use breaks in the conversation to vent pressure, and to give them that feeling of control. Keep the encouragers minimal. That’s your ‘go on’s, or your ‘tell me more’s. If they feel pressed, they’ll shut down.”

She clicked.

“Mirror what they’re doing. If they sit down, sit down with them and try to stay on a level with them, instead of looming above or looking up at them. Listen to what they’re saying and repeat it back to them. Don’t be a robot. Try to pick out the emotions. Don’t judge.”

She put the remote down.

“Again, all of this applies only if they give you an in. If it’s a crisis point, or someone out of control, or they open the dialogue about their past. If you do that, if you take the right steps, then dialogue is possible.”

“Can we ask?” a man in the front row asked. “About yours?”

“Mm,” Victoria paused, seeming to consider. “That’s tricky. At the end of the day, a trigger event is rooted in a whole lot of personal history, and I’m not that comfortable laying my soul that bare.”

The man nodded.

“I guess I could sum it up by saying I was the child of superheroes, I wanted to be a heroine, and I wasn’t. I got injured with half my school and my parents watching, and it drove home how far I was from being that heroine. Momentary blackout, then powers.”

“You got what you wished for.”