Jonathan sat alone in his study, the clock on the wall ticking past midnight. The house was silent now, Angela hadn't called in days, and the air felt heavy with something he couldn't name. His desk was cluttered with papers, but his eyes were fixed on the small leather pouch sitting in the center. The suppression powder. The same one he'd used for years to keep Carla's strength contained… to keep her weak. To keep her from becoming who she truly was.
He rubbed his thumb over the pouch, the texture rough against his skin, and for the first time in a long while, guilt stirred in his chest. He pushed it down before it could grow.
His phone buzzed on the desk. The name flashing on the screen made his pulse jump.
Maren.
Jonathan exhaled once, steadying his voice before answering. "Maren."
Her tone came sharp and cold through the line. "You're late reporting."
"I know. Things have been… complicated."
