The next few weeks passed with an eerie sort of calm, the kind that left Arielle O’Neill feeling unsettled and on edge. Her sessions with Julian had continued without major incident, though his cryptic remarks often left her with more questions than answers. It became increasingly clear that the organization holding Julian was not just seeking justice but something deeper, control, influence, or information—she couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

Julian , for his part, was guarded but cooperative enough to keep the sessions moving forward. His answers were riddles, layered with meaning that required careful scrutiny. Arielle’s notes grew dense with conjectures, but her instincts told her there was something more beneath the surface of his cool demeanour. Maybe she would do her own research on this man.

It wasn’t until one particular morning that everything shifted. Arielle entered the cell to find Julian sitting on his cot, his posture rigid and his eyes were dead cold. There was none of the usual sardonic warmth that marked their interactions.

“Good morning, Mr. Marcus,” she said, setting her bag down and taking her usual seat.

Julian didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her.

Arielle frowned. “Silent treatment today? I thought we were past this stage.”

He finally turned his head, his piercing eyes locking onto hers. “I need the cameras turned off.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone clipped. “Turn them off. Tell them to.”

Arielle crossed her arms. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to dictate the terms of these sessions.”

Julian ’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might lash out. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice low and measured. “If you want this session to mean anything, Dr. O’Neill , you’ll make it happen. Otherwise, you’re wasting both our time. Turn. Them. Off.”

She held his gaze, weighing his words. There was an urgency in his tone that unnerved her. “Why?” she asked. “Why do you need the cameras off?”

“Because I’m about to say something that your handlers won’t want you to hear,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s your choice, Doc. But if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll listen.”

Arielle hesitated, her mind racing. Breaking protocol was a serious offense, but the look in Julian ’s eyes told her he wasn’t bluffing. Reluctantly, she stood and walked to the guards stationed outside the cell.

“He’s requesting the cameras be turned off,” she said. “He’s refusing to speak otherwise.”

The guards exchanged glances before one of them picked up the phone to relay the request to Clinton Richmond . Arielle could hear the muffled sounds of an argument on the other end of the line. After several tense minutes, the guard hung up and turned to her.

“Mr. Richmond says no,” he said.

Arielle sighed, already anticipating Julian ’s reaction. “Tell him the session will be a waste if he doesn’t comply. I’m not saying it’s the right call, but it’s the only way we’ll make progress today.”

The guard looked doubtful but made the call. When he returned, his expression was grim. “Fine. The cameras will be disabled for the duration of this session. But you’re to report anything of note immediately afterward.”

“Understood,” Arielle said, though she wasn’t sure how truthful that was. Julian was on edge for a reason, and she was starting to trust his words over that of her employer.

Back inside the cell, Julian watched her with a hawk-like intensity. “Well?” he asked.

“The cameras are off,” she said.

Julian ’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Before she could respond, he lunged forward, grabbing her wrist. Arielle let out a startled yelp, her heart racing as he pretended to choke her with his cuffs.

When no guards came bursting in, Julian released her, raising his hands in mock surrender. “See? No one’s watching,” he said with a smirk.

Arielle glared at him, her pulse still pounding. “Was that necessary?”

“Just making sure,” he replied coolly. “Now, sit down. We don’t have much time.”

Reluctantly, she complied, her hand trembling as she picked up her notebook. “What is it you wanted to say?”

Julian leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Be careful who you trust, Dr. O’Neill . The people you work for aren’t the saints they pretend to be. They’ll use you for what they need, and when you’re no longer useful, they’ll discard you.”

Arielle stared at him, her mind struggling to process his words. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re in over your head,” he said. “And I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Julian stood abruptly. “That’s enough for today. Go.”

“Julian —”

“It’s Mr. Marcus to you. Go!” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Arielle hesitated but ultimately gathered her things and left the cell. The guards escorted her to Clinton Richmond ’s office, where the man himself was waiting, his expression dark.

“What the hell happened in there?” he demanded.

Arielle met his gaze, her own resolve hardening. “What I discuss with my patients is confidential.” she said evenly. “I’ll report anything relevant to the case when I deem it necessary.”

Clinton ’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “That’s not how this works, Ms. O’Neill . You work for me. You don’t get to decide what’s necessary.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Richmond ,” she said, her voice firm, “I’m the therapist here. If you wanted someone to parrot information back to you, you should’ve hired a parrot instead.”

His fist slammed onto the desk, making her jump. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?” he roared. “Do not test me, Arielle.”

Arielle swallowed hard but held her ground. “I don’t think we’re on first name basis, Mr. Richmond . I understand the stakes better than you think. But I’m not going to jeopardize my professional integrity because you’re impatient.”

Clinton glared at her, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. For a moment, she thought he might actually hit her, but he seemed to regain control, taking a deep breath and straightening his tie.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But don’t forget who you’re dealing with, Arielle. Push me too far, and you’ll regret it.”

She left his office with her heart racing, her mind replaying both Julian ’s warning and Clinton ’s outburst. For the first time, she truly wondered if she’d made a mistake getting involved in this mess. Julian ’s words echoed in her mind.

Arielle stepped into her apartment, shrugging off the day’s tension. The encounter with Julian and Clinton had left her drained, and all she wanted was to unwind with a quiet evening. She kicked off her heels, tied her hair up, and wandered into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. The hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of utensils against the countertop were soothing, a small reprieve from the chaos.

As she pulled out vegetables from the fridge, her phone buzzed on the counter. Picking it up absentmindedly, she froze when she saw the message;

Maxern : Cover up. Leave the house. Now!

Her heart stuttered. The cryptic tone and urgency of the message sent a chill down her spine. She stared at it, her mind racing. Was this a joke? A mistake? She typed back a quick response.

Arielle: What are you talking about?

The reply came almost instantly.

Maxern : Do not argue. Put on something dark. Leave. Now.

Arielle’s breath hitched. Something in his words—or perhaps the sheer authority in them—compelled her to act. With trembling hands, she grabbed a dark hoodie from her bedroom and pulled it on over her clothes. She hesitated only briefly to slip on sneakers and tuck her phone into her pocket before heading for the door.

As she opened it, her chest tightened. The hallway was empty, but an unsettling silence loomed. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time, and exited through the back entrance of the building, careful to stay out of sight of the main road. Her mind raced with questions: What was happening? Was someone watching her?

The shelter. She remembered Andy’s stories about his brother and father’s obsession with security. They’d built a fortified den beneath an old workshop a few blocks away, complete with supplies and surveillance equipment. At the time, she’d thought it was overkill. Now, she was grateful.

With her hood up, Arielle kept her head low and walked briskly, her ears straining for any unusual sounds. The evening was dark, the streets nearly deserted, even Maxern ’ car was nowhere to be seen. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

By the time she reached the workshop, her heart was pounding. She ducked inside and found the trapdoor hidden beneath a workbench. She pushed it open and climbed down the ladder into the shelter, locking the door securely behind her.

The space was dimly lit but well-organized. Canned food lined the shelves, and a sturdy table sat in the centre, surrounded by mismatched chairs. A large monitor displaying multiple camera feeds dominated one wall. Arielle dropped onto one of the chairs, her hands shaking as she reached for the laptop connected to the monitor. Logging into the security system her apartment building shared with Andy’s brother, she pulled up the feed for her apartment.

What she saw made her stomach churn.

Masked men—three of them— armed, were inside her apartment. They moved with precision, ransacking every corner. One of them overturned her couch while another rifled through her drawers. A third man stood near the door, clearly on lookout. They weren’t just robbing her; they were searching for something.

Arielle’s throat tightened as she watched one of them rip open a cushion, scattering feathers across the floor. Her books were tossed aside, her carefully arranged desk upended. They’d destroyed her home in minutes.

She hit the button to zoom in on one of the men, but their faces were completely obscured by their masks. A sense of helplessness overwhelmed her. She was safe here, but her sanctuary had been violated, and she had no idea why. No. She did.

Her phone buzzed again. It was Maxern .

Maxern : Stay put. They’ll leave soon.

Arielle clenched her jaw, typing back furiously.

Arielle: Who are they? What do they want?

It took a few moments for his response to arrive.

Maxern : They’re after something they think you have.

She frowned, her mind racing. What could she possibly have that warranted this kind of attack? She thought back to her sessions with Julian . Was this connected to him? To Clinton ?

Her fingers flew over the screen.

Arielle: Is this about Julian ?

Maxern didn’t reply immediately, but when he did, his message was succinct.

Maxern : Yes.

She stared at the word, her breath catching. A mixture of fear and anger boiled within her. She wasn’t a part of Julian ’s world, not really. She was just his therapist, a cog in the machine trying to keep him locked up. Why would anyone think she was important enough to target?

The men in her apartment finished their search, leaving behind a trail of destruction. Arielle watched as they filed out, one by one. The camera feed showed them disappearing into the night, their identities and intentions still a mystery. She slumped back in the chair, her body shaking with a mix of relief and dread.

Her phone buzzed once more.

Maxern : It’s safe to go back tomorrow. I’ll handle the clean-up.

Arielle stared at the message, her exhaustion giving way to frustration. She typed back.

Arielle: What is going on?

There was no immediate reply. She let out a shaky breath, setting the phone down and burying her face in her hands. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Whatever this was, she was in it now, whether she liked it or not.

She would need answers—from Maxern , from Julian , from anyone. But for tonight, all she could do was wait and try to steady her nerves.