The door clicked shut, and the muffled echo of footsteps faded down the hallway as the Mafold brothers left. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning, the stillness pressing in on Hope like an unseen weight.
Her mind replayed their parting words.
"We're leaving now," Mice Mafold, the blue-eyed brother, had said with a grin that bordered on playful, though his tone carried a calculated edge. "We've answered all your questions, so don't go suspecting us of anything, alright? No sudden vendettas or dramatic stabs in the back."
Rodigez, the green-eyed brother, had been more composed, his words steady and measured. "And try to relax. We wouldn't waste our time here if we meant harm. If you're feeling uneasy, it's probably just your nerves. Take it easy, Hope."
The ease in their voices didn't sit right with her. Beneath their polished charm and carefully chosen words was something unsettling—a sense that they were performers, hiding a deeper truth.
"We'll see you again," Mice had added with a lingering grin before they disappeared into the hallway. "Stay safe. Or at least try to."
Now alone, Hope exhaled sharply, her fingers threading through her hair in frustration. The air still seemed to carry the brothers' presence, a residue of their unsettling calm. Something felt incomplete, as though they hadn't entirely left.
The silence wrapped around her like a vice. Driven by instinct, she moved, her nerves propelling her into action. She needed to know if something had been left behind—or planted.
She began with the living room, pulling apart cushions and checking beneath furniture. Nothing. She moved to the bedroom, yanking open the closet and running her hands along the walls, searching for seams or hidden compartments. Still nothing.
In the bathroom, she tapped the edges of the mirror, opened the toilet tank, and even checked the soap dispenser for anything unusual. Every absurd possibility had to be ruled out.
The kitchen, gleaming and spotless, made her uneasy. The countertops were too pristine, the cabinets too neatly arranged. She rifled through drawers and cupboards, expecting to find something out of place. Yet all she uncovered were neatly stacked utensils and ordinary plates.
Finally, she stepped onto the balcony. The early morning sun bathed the small garden in a soft glow. Her eyes darted to nearby rooftops, scanning for signs of surveillance, but the city below hummed with ordinary life—nothing out of place, no shadows lurking in the distance.
Defeated, Hope returned to the living room, her frustration simmering. She dropped onto the sofa, grabbed a glass of water from the table, and drank it in one gulp, the cool liquid doing little to calm her racing thoughts.
What have I gotten myself into? Her mind churned, replaying every detail of the past few hours. The image of DRC White's detached authority loomed in her thoughts, intertwining with the Mafold brothers' polished words. The threads of her situation tangled further, knotting her uncertainty into a growing unease.
The phone's sharp ring pierced the silence.
Hope froze, staring at the device as if it might bite. After a moment, she reached out and picked it up, her voice cautious but firm. "Hello? This is the customer in room 369. Why are you calling?"
A calm, efficient voice responded on the other end, devoid of emotion.
Her brow furrowed. "Oh… okay," she muttered, processing the words. She hesitated, her mind working through the implications. "Yeah, so my codename is Hope. I'm… under the jurisdiction of DRC White, Criminal Division." The words felt strange on her tongue, a reminder of her precarious position.
"Just give me a moment to get ready," she added, her voice tightening with resolve.
The voice on the other end continued, measured and precise.
"Yes," she replied, firmer this time. "I'll take a taxi to the Police Department and complete the task. Thank you."
She hung up, the click of the receiver echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, she sat there, staring blankly at the phone. The reality of her situation pressed down on her—a suffocating reminder that she wasn't free. She was a piece on someone else's chessboard, bound by rules she didn't fully understand.
Rising from the sofa, Hope crossed to the wardrobe. Inside, she found simple, functional clothes. She selected a dark jacket and jeans, slipping into them quickly. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she paused. Her pink and red eyes stared back at her, reflecting a blend of determination and dread.
"Get through today," she whispered to her reflection. "Then figure out the rest."
She grabbed her bag, stuffing it with a few essentials, and stepped out of the room.