Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
013. under pressure
𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓. The kind that gnawed at her, warning her that things were about to spiral. It was the only explanation for why the day had carried on as if nothing had happened a few hours earlier. But she wasn’t naïve. She knew better than to believe that peace could last.
A few minutes after retreating to her room, Ingrid emerged, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks stained with the evidence of a breakdown. Bruce noticed right away. He didn’t ask any questions — he never did when it came to her, as if he instinctively knew that words would only make it worse. Instead, he offered her dinner, a silent gesture of comfort. They sat together in the quiet kitchen, eating in that familiar, unspoken calm they shared. It was their routine, their way of pretending things were fine when neither of them wanted to confront the chaos of their lives.
Ingrid’s phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with texts from Evelyn, Dylan, and Lucas. Her stomach tightened at the sight, but when she opened the messages, her tension eased. None of the frantic questions or accusations she’d half-expected. Only a single inquiry: “Is it true?” And then they moved on. Talking about the usual — what movies they wanted to see, what they would’ve done if their plans hadn’t been cancelled. Mundane stuff. Ordinary things.
For once, Ingrid was grateful for the avoidance. It was a strange relief to have people who didn’t pry, didn’t demand explanations. They offered her an escape from reality, and she was more thankful for it than ever.
But peace, like always, was temporary.
A harsh, aggressive knock shattered the silence in the apartment. Ingrid’s breath hitched, dread creeping up her spine as Bruce stiffened beside her. He glanced toward the door, his face darkening. She followed his gaze, her heart sinking deeper with each passing second.
The badge flashed before her eyes: Department of Damage Control. It was over before she could even register it. One minute she was standing in the doorway, numb, and the next, handcuffs clinked around her wrists, cold metal biting into her skin as she was led away. Her father’s concerned voice faded behind her, the world around her narrowing into a single, suffocating moment.
In the back of the police car, Ingrid stared straight ahead, silent. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional murmur of the officers in the front seat. She caught them glancing at her in the rearview mirror more than once, their expressions tense, as if they half-expected her to do something — anything. Like they didn’t believe she’d actually stay put.
But Ingrid wasn’t thinking about escape. She wasn’t planning some dramatic breakout, or imagining the metal around her wrists melting away in a blaze of fiery power. Instead, her mind was elsewhere — racing through fragments of advice her Aunt Jennifer had given her. Lessons she hadn’t paid enough attention to. Words of warning that seemed so distant, so irrelevant, until now.
