Theresa sat on the cold cement floor, alone. After using the bottle Jane had given her, she'd been escorted back to the cell—but Janette hadn't returned. Not since their argument. Though she didn't agree with Janette's way of thinking, she didn't want her to stay away just because of her.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor—steady, unhurried, growing louder with each passing second. From where she sat, Theresa caught a flicker of movement beyond the bars—just past the narrow stone archway that marked the entrance to their block. She lifted her head, hoping it was Janette at last.
It wasn't.
A familiar figure stepped into view, and her heart braced itself before her mind could catch up. Thompson.
Her pulse quickened as he pulled out the keys. Just hearing them jingle brought back the word she'd shoved into the farthest corner of her mind.
"Where have you been?" he asked, not meeting her eyes as he unlocked the bars. "I stopped by this morning and found an empty cell."
Theresa tried to keep her voice steady. "I went with Janette... to the bath."
"And why didn't you use the assigned bath?"
"I thought it was better to stay close to her. She knows her way around."
Now inside, with the bars no longer between them, Thompson studied her. She wasn't as tense as she'd been yesterday, but she looked troubled.
"And where is she now?"
"I don't know. I had to return alone."
He exhaled. "Keep your distance," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "That kind of freedom doesn't last long... unless you want to follow in her footsteps." He turned. "Come with me."
With Thompson saying nothing else, Theresa quickly caught up to him, pulling the cell door shut behind her.
Theresa tried her best to avoid eye contact with anyone as they walked, keeping her gaze down. Her hands clasped each other, her heart still racing as she waited for whatever was about to unfold. Surely all her efforts wouldn't backfire, she thought.
They soon stopped before a door, which Thompson opened and left for Theresa to close. Still standing by the door, she watched her supposed master warily, ready to bolt if he tried anything funny.
Noticing this, he asked, "Are your feet glued to that spot?"
"You want to brand me..." Theresa's words wavered between a statement and a question.
Thompson scoffed. "There's a room designed for that—and you're not in it, are you?"
"That means you won't brand me?" she asked cautiously.
Thompson leaned back in his seat, one brow raised as he regarded her. Her features were pleasing to the eye, but he kept his voice flat. "I don't remember saying that. What I do remember saying is that it depends on what I get in return for helping you."
The redhead stood speechless, staring at the man in front of her, who looked far too serious for comfort. Her mind drifted to their last encounter.
Thompson let out a soft chuckle, "And here's the one who follows Janette around. Come over here."
"Why?" she asked.
His brows lifted. "Why?" he echoed. "Because I said so."
"I can hear you just fine from here. You can talk."
Thompson tilted his head, watching the slave who—after a brief, stubborn pause—slowly stepped forward. "You're in no position to act strong-headed," he muttered. "Sit."
Theresa quietly obeyed, settling into one of the seats under his watchful gaze. His stare felt both uncomfortable and unsettling.
"Wh-why are you l-looking at me like that?" she stammered.
Leaning forward, Thompson rested his elbows on the desk between them. "What should I do with you..." he mused aloud. "That face of yours seems to attract trouble. I'm shocked you haven't already been caught in something here."
"Y-you could just let me go," Theresa said quickly, seizing the opening. "I doubt I'd be any help to you."
Thompson chuckled at that, and for a moment, tried to see things from her perspective. "And where would you go if I set you free? Back to Eastern Briggs?"
Theresa hesitated. For once, her thoughts went beyond just escaping. She hadn't really considered what came after. Life wouldn't be like it was before. The people in town wouldn't treat her the same—and neither would she. What happened had carved deep into her sense of self, leaving a wound that hadn't begun to heal. Her dignity, her self-respect—gone. People wouldn't look at her the same way. They'd always have something to whisper when she passed.
Could she ever regain the normalcy she once knew? No apology could undo the moment her dignity was stripped away in front of them. The fact that she had been disgraced before their eyes, had left a stain that would never fade.
She had no home, no family to return to, no one to offer comfort. She had endured so much, and neither the universe nor her cruel fate had given her even a moment to cry, grieve, or heal. Staying in the slave establishment... perhaps it wasn't so bad. Despite how she would be treated, at least she was guaranteed food and a place to sleep. What more could she ask for? Her freedom would only bring painful memories of how her life had been torn apart overnight. What could be worse than that? Perhaps it was easier to stay here. At least Thompson seemed to care for her, and maybe, just maybe, he was a good person.
Thompson watched her in silence, before speaking. "Seems like you haven't really thought this through. You just keep asking for your freedom."
He won this round, Theresa thought. She had never let herself wonder what life would look like once he gave her the freedom she kept asking for. But was that a reason to give up? Life outside these walls might be harsh, but it was still hers to claim. She could leave her town for good, start over somewhere new. The memories would follow her, no doubt, but she could bury them beneath better ones.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, he broke in, his tone laced with amusement. "You don't actually plan to leave your town, do you?" He chuckled, but it was hollow. "If you were to do it the proper way, you'd need to go back to Eastern Briggs and travel from there. Security is tighter now, with all the slaves trying to escape, thinking they can just run off and start over. If you're caught—" He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in. "Not by me, of course, but by those who deal in humans illegally, they'll drag you right back to where you escaped from."
His words hung in the air, a reality check. Theresa had never known survival outside the shelter of her home. Thompson could see that.
"Now, come here," he ordered, his voice soft but firm.
Theresa stood, her movements slow and stiff, as if her mind were elsewhere. She walked toward him with no resistance, without the usual protests. When she reached him, he tapped the surface of his desk.
"Sit," he instructed.
She obeyed without thinking, her body moving before her mind could catch up. Theresa sat, barely aware of the weight of his gaze. The world around her felt distant, suspended in a frozen silence.
"Good girl," he murmured.
The words reached her ears, but didn't quite land. She couldn't tell if it was praise or mockery—and she couldn't bring herself to care.