Life isn't fair - and it never will be. If you expect the world to be kind just because you are, you're a fool. You'll stay a fool until you accept that kindness doesn't buy safety. Some people simply don't care.
"Like expecting a lion not to eat yo...
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Octavia:
Their footsteps echo in unison as I follow, mine just a half-beat behind. Matthews doesn't look back—not once. He doesn't need to. The way the two men flank him, matching his pace without hesitation, says everything.
He's the one in charge. Has to be.
The shorter one on his left, the scowling type, was already introduced—Thomas. The other, tall and broad, hasn't spoken a word. His presence is quieter but heavier, like a wall you can't move. I don't know his name, so I make one up in my head: Grant. Fits the vibe.
We hit the stairwell. Matthews takes the steps two at a time, steady and precise, like even climbing stairs is part of some routine. I drag myself after them, boots squeaking against the concrete.
"What is this, a fitness test?" I mutter.
Thomas shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Matthews doesn't even slow down. "If you can't keep up, you won't last long here--."
"Octavia" I fill in the gap.
"But wow. Motivational," I shoot back. "Bet you're a riot at birthdays."
"I don't attend birthdays." His voice is calm. Final.
Yeah. Definitely Matthews. Too controlled to be anything else.
We stop at a set of double doors, polished wood gleaming under the dim hallway lights. Matthews pushes them open like they weigh nothing, revealing an office that could double as a library. Maps. Tall shelves. A desk that screams authority. This isn't just an office—it's a throne room.
He gestures toward a chair opposite his desk. "Sit."
I raise an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd let me touch your expensive furniture."
"You've already touched half my security system," he replies smoothly, lowering into his own chair. "One more thing won't make a difference.
Nice. Point to him. I flop into the seat anyway, leaving a dusty smudge on the armrest just to be petty.
Thomas stations himself behind Matthews, arms crossed, eyes locked on me like he's guarding royalty. Grant stands by the door, silent.
Matthews leans forward, folding his hands. He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't need to. Authority rolls off him in waves. "You sneak onto my grounds, slip past security, and reveal tech that should not exist outside highly restricted circles. Forgive me for being skeptical."
I rest my chin in my hand, giving him a lazy smile. "Forgive me for being bored already."
For the first time, his gaze sharpens. Not with anger—curiosity. Calculation. "Who built you?"
