Teeth | Agatha All Along

04

Agatha sat at her desk in the dimly lit office, the harsh glow of a flickering lamp casting long shadows across the room. The smell of stale coffee hung in the air, and her desk was cluttered with papers—case files, witness statements, notes scribbled in haste. She rubbed her temples, the weight of her work pressing down on her as it always did. Every day blurred into the next, the cases piling up faster than she could solve them. She hadn't slept properly in days, maybe weeks. Time was a blur, and the constant hum of exhaustion dulled her senses, though her sharp mind refused to stop working.

This case was different. She could feel it. The threads were unraveling too fast, slipping through her fingers before she could grasp them. And every time she thought she was close to a breakthrough, she showed up.

As if summoned by the thought, the door to Agatha's office creaked open, and in walked Dahlia, her heels clicking against the cold linoleum floor with a rhythm that sent a jolt of irritation through Agatha's body. The sound was so familiar, so purposeful, that Agatha didn't even need to look up to know who it was.

"Hard at work, I see," Dahlia's voice was smooth, dripping with that honeyed sarcasm Agatha had grown to loathe—and yet, couldn't seem to escape.

Agatha's jaw clenched.

"What do you want?" She muttered, not bothering to lift her gaze from the papers scattered across her desk.

She wasn't in the mood for this—not today, not after everything that had happened in court.

Dahlia didn't answer immediately, and instead, she let the silence hang in the air, thick with tension. Agatha could feel her presence, the way she seemed to fill the room, making the already small office feel impossibly cramped. When Dahlia finally spoke, her voice was low, calculated, "I thought I'd check in on you, dear. You seemed a little... off in court earlier."

Agatha's fingers twitched, but she didn't look up, "I'm fine."

"Are you?" Dahlia asked, her tone lilting, as though the question were more of a tease than genuine concern.

Agatha's eyes snapped up, her irritation flaring, "You knew. You knew, and you still let him walk free."

Dahlia's smile widened, her lips curling into a slow, predatory grin as she stepped closer to the desk, "That's my job. I don't decide guilt or innocence. I simply make sure the jury sees things from the right perspective."

"Your perspective," Agatha bit back, her voice laced with frustration, "You manipulate the system. Twist the truth."

Dahlia shrugged, unbothered by the accusation, "And you don't?"

Agatha stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she planted her hands on the desk, leaning toward Dahlia, "That's not the same, and you know it."

For a moment, their eyes locked, the air between them charged with an unspoken tension that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with them. It was always like this with Dahlia—every conversation, every encounter was laced with something deeper, something darker. Agatha hated it, hated the way Dahlia could make her feel so unbalanced, so out of control, and yet there was something else there, something that kept drawing her back.

Dahlia's eyes gleamed with amusement as she stepped even closer, closing the already narrow gap between them.

"Oh, Agnes," She purred, her voice soft but dangerous, "you're always so righteous. So sure of yourself."

Agatha's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as she glared at Dahlia, "I am sure."

"Are you?" Dahlia's voice dropped lower, a whisper that sent a shiver down Agatha's spine, "Because from where I'm standing, you seem anything but. You're overworked, under-rested, and losing your grip on this case. Maybe that's why you keep lashing out at me."