Theresa, who had been shoved to the ground looked up, ready to glare at whoever had pulled her so roughly. But she caught herself halfway, remembering she wasn't in her hometown anymore—she was a slave now. Swallowing the frustration, she slowly looked up, meeting the man's eyes. Her brows drew together in recognition. It was the same man whose eyes had locked with hers earlier.
"I was just heading back to my cell," she said calmly. "Can I know what I did to be pulled to the ground?
The man made a tsk sound, loud and unimpressed. "So rude. Just like Thompson. Clearly, he hasn't trained you well."
Theresa blinked, quickly replaying her words in her head. If anyone was being rude, it was him. Was he trying to start something? Or maybe he had a problem with Thompson. Either way, she didn't want to get caught in it—she had enough to deal with already.
"Come with me," the man ordered suddenly, turning toward the entrance.
She didn't move, confusion and caution keeping her still.
"I'll have to ask Thompson first," she called out firmly.
The guard stopped and turned to her with narrowed eyes, clearly annoyed. "Who do you think sent me?" he asked. "Now move, unless you want to be whipped."
Theresa hesitated, weighing her options. She could make a run for her cell while his back was turned—but would she even get far? Though he'd mentioned Thompson, she couldn't be sure he was truly sent by him. They had spoken just yesterday—he had even walked her back to her cell after she lied about being sick. Could that be why he wanted to see her now?
She wanted to ask, to at least understand why she was being summoned, but what good would that do? She had no say here. She was nothing but a slave. If she ran now, who knew if she'd even make it to her cell before getting into more trouble?
With a heavy breath, she followed him, reluctant but without much choice. Each step felt uncertain, her eyes flicking briefly to the sides as they walked. Her brows drew together when he took a turn into a corridor she didn't recognize. The further they went, the quieter it became. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen many people since they'd turned.
Was this even the way to Thompson's office?
She came to a slow stop, waiting until the man had gained some distance before speaking. "I don't remember his office being this way."
The guard turned, his face tightening with annoyance. "And how long have you been here to remember anything?"
"Not long," she admitted, "but I know it's not around here."
He scoffed—dry, dismissive, like he found her naivety entertaining. Turning away from her, he strode ahead and stopped at a door a short distance away. Without a glance back, he pushed it open and disappeared inside.
Theresa stood still, staring at the door now just a few steps ahead. Her body tensed. Was this her chance to run? But what if Thompson really was inside? Maybe she was just overthinking it. The guard hadn't forced her in or touched her since pulling her earlier, and she didn't know anyone here who might want to settle a score.
Taking a slow breath, she moved forward, closing the distance to the door.
Far from the bathhouse where the slaves were gathered, Thompson stood by the window in his office, lost in thought. A knock at the door drew him back to reality. His eyes shifted toward it, skeptical, as though trying to see through the wood.
"Come in," he said, making his way to his seat.
The door opened, and a young man stepped in, stopping in front of the desk that separated them. "I was told to hand this to you," he said, holding out a stack of papers. "Patrick mentioned he'd already informed you."
Thompson sighed, his gaze landing lazily on the bundle. "So he wasn't joking about needing help," he muttered. "Though it looks more like he's dumping his entire workload on me than asking for assistance."
"Should I take them back? He's clearly milking the fact that you agreed to help."
"I never agreed either," Thompson replied with a short laugh. "But leave them here. Lucky for him, I've got a bit of time."
Jason set the papers down carefully. "Are you sure? I'll be happy to dump them right back on his desk. He said he needs them done by tomorrow."
"He's awfully demanding for someone who needs help," Thompson said. "I'll get through what I can and send the rest back."
"If you say so." Jason turned to leave, shaking his head.
Thompson squinted at him. "And where are you going?"
Jason lifted both hands in defense. "I never agreed to help Patrick," he said sarcastically, already heading for the door.
Thompson narrowed his eyes. "Fetch Theresa. She should be back from her bath by now."
"You planning to make her help too?" Jason asked with a smirk.
Ignoring him, Thompson went on, "Looks like she's coming down with something. Just early symptoms, but it might get worse. Bring her here—and come with her."
"I'll make sure to bring her," Jason called over his shoulder, slipping out before Thompson could say another word.
Letting out a sigh, Thompson reached for the stack Patrick had dumped on him. It had surprised him when Patrick asked for help in the first place, but he couldn't find a reason to say no. Honestly, the sight of Patrick swallowing his pride was something he could watch over and over without ever getting bored.
A few minutes passed with Thompson's attention buried in the dense text. When Jason finally returned, Thompson lifted his eyes from the records in hand.
"I remember telling you to come back with someone else—not just yourself," he remarked. "Where's the girl?"
Jason scratched his head, looking a little unsure. "I checked her cell and the bathhouse, but she wasn't in either place. I thought maybe she came here on her own—but apparently not.
Thompson frowned. "She hasn't been here long enough to know her way directly to my office. And the guards wouldn't just let a slave wander freely. Are you sure you checked the bathhouse thoroughly?"
Jason gave a tired sigh. "I did. Honestly, I didn't even need to look that hard—most of the slaves were already back in their cells. Except her."
Thompson's eyes narrowed. Where could she have gone? She couldn't seriously be trying to escape—could she? After yesterday's talk, he assumed she'd at least put those thoughts on hold. She had nowhere to go... unless she planned to return to that man, Malcolm. But even that didn't add up. She wasn't foolish enough to ignore the consequences. The guards wouldn't hesitate to shoot any slave caught fleeing. It wasn't just the rule—it was a harsh reminder that even survival had limits here. Losing her now would cost him, and it would cost her everything.
Jason shifted in his seat, then added, "Also... it looks like Patrick's got a lot of free time after handing off all his work to you. I heard he and his crew are messing with a slave right now."
He shook his head with a grim look. "Poor girl. She's going to be just as messed up as the others."
Thompson's expression sharpened. "Who is it?"
Jason shrugged. "I have no idea, but I heard it's some new slave." He glanced over, only to jolt slightly when he noticed Thompson's eyes locked onto him. His own widened slowly as the pieces clicked into place.
While it took Jason a moment, Thompson had already connected the dots. Patrick had conveniently dumped his workload yesterday, leaving Thompson stuck in the office. Now Theresa was missing, and Patrick was nowhere to be seen—except with a slave. He didn't want to believe it... but what if this was deliberate?
Without a word, Thompson shot to his feet and headed for the door. "Where's Patrick?" he asked, his tone clipped.
"I'll find out," Jason muttered, already out ahead, scanning for someone who might know.
"God, let me be wrong," Thompson breathed, a hard edge in his voice.