the world is not enough ➔ DEATH NOTE X READER

16. en prise

June 1, 2004

That's odd.

Her hands lay flat on the outside of the door as she pressed in one more time. No luck, the door still hadn't budged. She was sure she had a lecture this morning...

Her eyes darted from the watch on her wrist to the clock on the wall. 10:15.

But why was the door locked?

(Y/n) huffed, teeth grit, as she mourned the loss of her time. Stupid. She abruptly turned on her heel and went back the way she came. It wasn't any use to stand there waiting in the hall-- with nobody in the lecture hall and no one waiting outside, she couldn't even reason that it was worth it to stay there. Maybe she got the room numbers switched?

Instead, she took to the stairs, on her way to the library. If she had time to kill, she should probably spend it studying.

Typically, on a Friday morning like this, she'd expect to at least see one other person in the stairs-- someone rushing to class or even wasting time with their phone on the landing. But, just like the lecture hall, no one was there. Just the far off sound of distant footsteps that, no matter how much she sped up or slowed down, remained at the same volume.

She felt a chill run up her spine. Something wasn't right here.

She reached the landing for the floor below and paused to draw her phone out of her pocket. With practiced speed she flipped the lid open. Her thumb hovered over the speed-dial button, preparing to press as the footsteps suddenly grew louder.

"(L/n)-san?"

Her name was spoken from the hallway, and not in a voice she recognized. She reeled back, thumb squeezing the trigger, in an attempt to find the person calling out to her.

Behind her stood a man, larger than her in both height and build, in a pristine pressed suit. A visitor pass was affixed to the breast pocket of his suit jacket and noisily crinkled as he moved. She could just hardly make out the first letters, M and O. Though, whatever it was, she was sure it was an alias. "(L/n)-san," he spoke again. This time, however, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a black leather badge wallet. He held it up for her and continued, "if you have a second, I'd like to ask you a couple questions."

"Questions?" (Y/n) repeated. She quickly squirreled her phone away in her book bag, careful not to end the call. "About what? I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"Not exactly." He paused. His dark eyes peered back behind his shoulder and, almost as if he had just remembered their surroundings, leaned in with a lowered voice. "We shouldn't discuss this here. Would you come with me?"

His words were cryptic and shrouded in a sense of factitious mystery, like an old-timey detective in the crime dramas her mother used to watch. It had to be part of an act– put on an intriguing show so (Y/n) would go along with the officer to be questioned for crimes they couldn't legally detain her for. Was L really that hard up for evidence against her? Was this elaborate nonsense really worth it just to get to her?

Nonetheless, she agreed. All the while knowing full well she was playing into L's hand. She had always been a glutton for any type of excitement. And as luck would have it, the excitement would be plentiful.

(Y/n) was blindfolded shortly after consenting to the questioning– subsequently led into a vehicle and assured that the strange measures were enforced merely for anonymity of their destination, and that she was perfectly free to leave any time she desired. The man repeated that last message often, especially after her blind walk through the unknown building grew long and tiresome, almost to assure his own self rather than (Y/n).