"Well, you look like a mess." The grating teenage voice was already getting on my nerves. "Did your new boyfriend beat you up like that?"
Brittany wouldn't let up. She was becoming more and more intrusive.
"No. New job," I clarified, glancing at Derek.
He was just watching me with that calm, distant gaze of his.
"You're obsessed, clearly. Can't go anywhere without violence," the little stepsister pressed on.
"Be grateful for this job. I can pay your entire college tuition. So sit down and chew your sandwich in silence," I threw over my shoulder and walked into my room.
Derek followed.
"Need help?" he asked calmly.
"Get the stuff out of the closet. Help me with the shirt. My arms aren't working," I said, trying to keep my tone polite.
He didn't ask anything. Just pulled out what was needed while I fumbled with the buttons. He sighed heavily when he saw the scars, fresh scratches, and bruises. But he helped silently. I tried not to make a sound.
"You can, with me," he said softly, as if he wanted only me to hear. Though we were alone.
"I can't. Because of myself," I answered, still bearing the pain without a sound.
"I'd like to say 'Hey, you're alive, that's good enough,' but..." he muttered ironically while peeling the shirt off me.
I couldn't help it. I smiled just a little.
"Alive. For now. That part's still unclear," I whispered, low enough that even Brittany, eavesdropping behind the door, wouldn't catch a word. "The absurd part is I need to be in the office at nine tomorrow."
Derek paused for a moment. A flicker of surprise passed across his face. But he kept helping, carefully pulling a loose T-shirt over my head.
"Well, I guess it didn't count as getting fired," he said, handing me the glasses from the dresser. "Maybe more of a test?"
"Fun tests they've got," I muttered. "Let me tell you."
I took the packet the doctor had given me and started sorting through the pills. Painkillers. The only thing I needed to fall asleep.
"There's a bunch of ointments, too. Want me to rub them in?" he asked, eyeing my wounds from head to toe.
I ignored him. Still searching for the painkillers.
"You think it'll help? I heal like a dog already," I said with a sarcastic snort, swallowing the pill dry.
Derek let the remark slide and simply began applying the ointment to every wound he could reach.
"You two are like a married couple," came that irritating voice from the hallway. "Why don't you just get married already?"
That tone. That comment. I had forgotten how unbearable she was.
"You staying long?" I asked.
"Just the weekend. Though it looks like they'll send me back sooner than I'd like."
"You'll stay with Derek tomorrow. I've got work."
"I can stay here alone. I'm sixteen, in case you forgot," Brittany reminded me.
"This isn't a discussion. Just do as I say. I'm tired."
I had seen her for barely an hour, and already I felt as though I'd been hauling concrete all day. Teenagers were unbearable.
"Don't worry. I'm leaving for work in the morning too," Derek added. "So the fridge and free TV are all yours. No one's going to bother you."
"Then what's the point of going to your place?" Brittany grumbled.
"This." I pointed to the bruise near my ear.
"Fine, fine." Brittany backed off and went to watch television. "I need a new phone. There's a new model out. Since you've got money now... maybe you'll buy it for me?"
She said it like we were some rich family tracking all the latest releases, able to afford whatever we pleased.
"Your phone works fine. You'll manage until you're eighteen. Then you can buy yourself whatever you want," I replied more curtly, hoping she'd finally drop it. I went to make tea.
The wine had to wait. The pills had made that clear. For now.
"How are your grades?" I didn't want to talk to her at all. But as her guardian, I needed to know. "Still growing into a natural-born idiot?"
She snapped back, clearly signaling that it was a rhetorical question and there'd be no follow-up.
"I'm doing the bare minimum, don't worry. Your tuition payments aren't going to waste," she said without taking her eyes off the screen.
"If your grades aren't enough for university, don't think you'll get the leftover tuition money. After you're eighteen, if you don't get in, you're on your own. Don't count on me."
Silence. I think she knew that already.
After tea, Derek joined Brittany to watch TV. I went to the bedroom.
My body had forgotten what a bed felt like, what comfort meant. Everything ached and didn't ache at the same time. Probably the pills starting to work.
I set the alarm. Closed my eyes.
In the morning, I found a note. Brittany had gone to Derek's.
I dressed in a black, loose-fitting classic oversized suit, put on a matching black cap and mask, checked my badge once more, and set out for the office.
I wasn't thinking. I didn't even try to guess what awaited me—dismissal or a hearing. I simply sat in the taxi, my mind blank. My eyes watched the autumnal streets of New York with indifferent detachment.
But I didn't make it all the way there. A message came from Ostin.
9:42 — "Once you arrive, go straight to Theron's office. They're already waiting for you."
Since I had to go directly to him, I entered through the main door. The security guards eyed me with suspicion until I swiped my badge at the turnstile. After that, their attention wandered. I became invisible again.
The lift crawled upward too slowly. Perhaps I truly didn't care anymore. But the need to know what would happen hadn't vanished.
In the reception area, Hilda met me. She said nothing, simply opened the door without announcing me.
I walked into the office.
Theron sat at his large desk in the centre of the room. On either side of him were two unfamiliar men—both older, reserved, unsmiling. Slightly behind them sat Dave. Standing behind him was Ostin, notebook in hand, dictating something aloud, as if he hadn't noticed my arrival.
The door shut behind me. I didn't move. No one offered me a seat. Every gaze in the room was fixed on me.
Silence. A minute passed. Then another. Then a third.
"Take a seat," Theron said at last.
I sat down carefully, removed my cap and mask, exposing the bruises and scratches on my face. The expressions of the two men didn't shift—no surprise, no sympathy, only dry indifference.
They were all hunters. And I was prey, squarely in their sights.
"I'm surprised you didn't go to the police," Theron said evenly, his tone devoid of any inflection. It sounded almost procedural.
"What would be the point?" I replied calmly, without the slightest emotion. It was the only way not to lose.
"My brother was convinced you'd run straight there," he continued, linking his fingers together and leaning forward slightly, watching me closely.
"Well, suppose I had. Then what?" I shrugged, as though it cost me nothing, even though my body protested every small movement. "There's no evidence. They'd come, question you all, find nothing. I'd be fired. And over time, I'd simply vanish—quietly."
Did Dave really believe I had leaked the information? I had hoped, until the end, that he was simply protecting himself. That all of it—everything he was—was still hiding behind the Phoenix Company's signboard.
"I knew who I worked for. And I was well paid," I went on. I wasn't in the habit of explaining myself; it exhausted me. "If I go to the police, I come out worse off."
The two unfamiliar men exchanged glances, then turned back to me.
"You spoke to the FBI?" Theron asked finally.
"Yes," I answered, flatly.
"For what reason?"
"One of their agents turned up at my place a couple of times. He asked me to share any information I might have about the company. Apparently, as a new hire, I might have noticed something odd."
I said it all with composure. Indifference was my only protection.
I hadn't done anything. I had nothing to be afraid of. Any emotion, even a flicker of nervousness, and they would take it as an admission. That's how things worked here.
"Did you give him anything? Break under pressure?" asked one of the men seated to Theron's right.
I didn't know if I was supposed to respond. Theron was the one in charge here.
I stayed silent, trying to determine whose questions were allowed.
Theron made a small gesture with his hand—permission granted.
I noticed a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. It vanished a moment later.
"I simply told him I didn't know anything and couldn't help."
They were asking the wrong questions. It wasn't about whether I had spoken to the FBI. The question was—why had the FBI come to me in the first place? But I didn't say that aloud.
"Why did you leave work with the documents?" Theron finally asked the question that mattered.
I knew I could speak plainly. I could even get away with a jab at his former lover—that would still be tolerated. But his brother? That was different. One wrong word, and I would disappear. Not him.
"Due to certain circumstances, I decided to work from home," I said. I paused for a fraction of a second. Theron noticed.
I saw Dave tense up. He wanted to speak but remained silent under Theron's gaze.
"That was my mistake. I acknowledge it. And I believe I've already paid for it."
"What circumstances made you go home?" the stranger asked, clearly sensing that this was the point I was avoiding.
"Answer," Theron added quietly.
I couldn't lie. But telling the truth would be suicidal.
"A personal matter. It had nothing to do with the FBI or anything else," I said calmly, trying to soften the edges, to make it clear this was indeed my fault—nothing more.
Theron's expression changed. It turned unfamiliar. Once again, I was facing the same man I had seen when I was hanging suspended.
"Answer," he repeated. His voice had dropped dangerously low.
"You want me to say it out loud?" I asked. Perhaps saying it to him in private would have been easier. But I had no choice.
"Yes. Don't test my patience."
The predator inside him wasn't asleep. He was simply waiting.
I looked at Dave. He understood before Theron even turned his gaze.
Dave shrank back into the chair.
"That day, your brother—Dave Vescari," I said, holding Theron's gaze, "attempted to sexually harass me. Perhaps I'm wrong. But I believe he even implied I should become his mistress."
I hated those words. They always sounded like excuses.
"You're exaggerating. So I touched you once. Big deal! Doesn't seem like anything scares you, seeing as you survived torture!" Dave shot up from his chair. His voice cracked into a shout. "Don't hide behind me. Tell the truth!"
I saw something shift inside Theron. He was no longer listening. He had already made his decision. And it wasn't in my favour.
He looked at me. I looked at him. No reaction. No fear.
"Theron, come on. This is ridiculous. Alright, fine—I admit it. I touched her, said some things," Dave began defending himself. "But that doesn't change the fact that she left with documents. And there was an FBI agent at her home."
Theron stood. He unbuttoned his jacket. His gaze didn't leave me for a second.
I had no cards left to play. Even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered. They'd already tortured me. What else could they do to scare me?
I ran through every possible outcome—but my mind was blank.
"Leave," Theron said.
His voice sliced through the air.
I sank back into the chair.
For a moment, I thought it was over. That it would happen right now.
But I straightened. Calm. Even. I wasn't going to cower under his stare.
Dave faltered. Took a step back.
"Not you," Theron said, his gaze shifting to Dave. "Mirey, leave. Return to your station."
He didn't raise his voice. It was a command.
My stomach dropped.
I rose slowly, put the cap and mask back on, trying not to show how much every movement still hurt. Walked to the door. Unhurried. Steady. Opened it. Stepped out.
The door clicked shut behind me. Air returned to my lungs. I had survived. I had survived one more day in this place.
Inhale.
Exhale.