Artemis glanced at his gold wristwatch—eight o'clock. The moon hung low, fractured by dark clouds, its pale light spilling through the tall windows of the Cape Cod mansion like spilled mercury. His fist pounded on the mahogany door.
Isabella answered the door, her face pale in the porch light. "Artemis!"
"Isabella." Artemis' voice sounded urgent like a smoke alarm. "Do you know where Maxwell has been? Haven't answered the messages I've been leaving on his phone."
Isabella bit her lip. "I'm afraid he was taken to the labour camp."
"What?" Artemis pressed his palms against his temples. "How can that be?"
"Blame Lolita." Isabella's voice cracked with bitterness. "I can't believe you're still working for that cold-hearted bitch."
"I know she's in the wrong, but there's nothing I can do to stop her. I can't stand up against her; if I do, I get the axe."
"If Ethan were still in power, Maxwell would be here with me." Her eyes glistened. "Ethan was kind. Lolita is his exact opposite. This war with the Technate is pointless—pure ego. Maxwell was the only one with the guts to call her out. The rest of you just let her walk all over you."
Artemis sucked in a deep breath and looked at his black derby shoes. "I don't know what to do. I can't change her. She's an alcoholic. I don't know if it's because of the alcohol that she can't think rationally."
"I've got no sympathy left for her." Isabella's tone turned venomous. "I hate her. I wish someone would just assassinate the woman."
"Isabella!" Artemis's head snapped up. "You can't mean that. We've already lost Ethan—he was murdered!"
"Maxwell is suffering in a detention centre because of her! I can't forgive her for putting him there! The only way he would get out is if she were to die! I'm losing the house—I can't keep up the payments without him. I have to finish packing. This is my last night here. You'll have to go."
She shut the door in his face, the click of the lock louder than any shout. He slipped into his black sports car, the leather seat cool against the back of his brown coat. The engine growled to life, a restless heartbeat in the silent night. As he eased onto the empty street, every tail-light blur reminded him of the choice ahead: scrape by under Lolita's iron rule or risk everything for a sliver of freedom. The road stretched before him, dark and uncertain—yet somehow less suffocating than the life he was leaving behind.