Unchained

Chapter Five: Present Day

Rhea stood in front of the mirror, her reflection a paradox of strength and fragility. At twenty-six, her incredibly skinny frame was draped in a fitted black blazer that accentuated her sharp cheekbones and defined silhouette. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that had seen too much yet wore a mask of indifference. The dark circles under her eyes hinted at sleepless nights, while her skin bore the marks of an internal struggle—bruises of a past she was determined to leave behind. Today, she had an appointment with a contact from the precinct, but her mind drifted as she focused on the small things that kept her grounded: the way her blazer hugged her frame, the softness of her cashmere sweater, and the small silver necklace that hung around her neck—a token from a life long past. She needed to be ready for anything. As she stepped outside, the chill in the air pricked her skin, awakening her senses. The bustling sounds of the city enveloped her—the chatter of pedestrians, the honking horns, and the distant rhythm of a street musician strumming a melancholy tune. Rhea welcomed the chaos; it was a reminder of the life she had chosen, a life of control, devoid of emotion.

She arrived at the coffee shop, her footsteps echoing with purpose. The barista greeted her, but Rhea barely acknowledged the woman's smile, her expression unchanged. "Black coffee, no sugar," she ordered, her voice steady and devoid of warmth.

As she waited for her drink, she observed the other patrons. Couples laughed, friends chatted animatedly, and children played in the corner. Rhea felt a flicker of disdain. She didn't need anyone; people were messy, unpredictable. She preferred solitude and the clarity it brought, but sometimes, the weight of isolation pressed on her, reminding her of the darkness she carried.

"Here you go!" The barista placed the cup in front of her with a smile. Rhea took it without a word, moving to a small table by the window. She sipped the hot liquid, its bitterness igniting her senses, and pulled out her journal, ready to jot down her thoughts, her escape from reality.

Today, however, felt different. She found it hard to concentrate, the weight of her past creeping back. Just a month ago, she had written those three words, "I'm safe now." Each entry since then had been an exercise in denial, a way to convince herself that she had overcome the shadows of her childhood.

With her pen poised above the page, her mind drifted to the first time she had fought back. The memory was vivid—a moment of rebellion that had changed everything. Her father had come home late one night, anger radiating off him like heat from a fire. He had stumbled into her room, expecting submission, but something had snapped inside her. Instead of retreating, she had grabbed a lamp, swinging it toward him, the sound of shattering glass echoing in her ears. That had been the moment she realized she wasn't just a victim; she was a survivor. The years spent in training had sharpened her instincts and honed her skills, turning her into a weapon, both physically and mentally. She had learned to channel her pain into power, to use her trauma as fuel for her fight.

Rhea snapped back to reality, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the past. It was time to move forward, but the ghosts of her past always lurked just beneath the surface. They were a constant reminder of the battles she had fought and the ones still ahead.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Riven. "Meet me at the precinct. We've got a case that needs your skills."

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. This was what she was made for—solving puzzles, chasing leads, uncovering truths hidden beneath layers of deception. She responded with a quick acknowledgment, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

As she stood to leave, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again. The woman staring back was powerful, but she still felt the remnants of her past clawing at her. She couldn't afford to let anyone see her weakness, not in a world that demanded strength. Rhea stepped out into the bustling street, her heart a steady beat against the chaos around her. She made her way to the precinct, her mind racing with possibilities. She was a detective, a fighter, and she was ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead. When she arrived, the familiar scent of coffee and paperwork enveloped her. She strode through the precinct with purpose, her heels clicking against the floor, ignoring the nods and whispers from her colleagues. They respected her, feared her even, but they also knew little of the darkness that lurked beneath her calm facade.

Riven was waiting for her at their usual meeting spot, a cluttered desk covered in files. He looked up as she approached, his brow furrowing slightly. "You good? You seem a little... off."

Rhea narrowed her eyes, the walls closing in around her. "I'm fine," she snapped, the edge in her voice making it clear she wanted no further discussion.

"Alright, just checking," he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We've got a situation. A series of disappearances in the area, and it looks like there's a connection to the underground scene."

Rhea leaned in, her interest piqued. "What do we know?"

Riven handed her a file, and Rhea's heart raced as she scanned the information. Each name, each face, resonated with her—a reminder of the lives intertwined with the darkness she had fought so hard to escape. "We need to dig deeper. This is connected to something bigger."

Riven nodded, his expression serious. "I knew you'd want to take the lead on this one. I trust your instincts."

As they strategized, Rhea felt the familiar rush of adrenaline course through her veins. She thrived in this chaos, her mind sharp and focused. The past may have shaped her, but it would not dictate her future. She was Rhea—trained, resilient, and unyielding.

In this world, she was a force to be reckoned with, and she would stop at nothing to uncover the truth.