His Sin ✔️

FIVE

Word Count: 1856

I breathe in deeply, trying to stop my hands from quivering.

I'm nervous because this meeting may end up in me losing my job, and I can imagine why that may be. I've been speaking to Cian, and although he is a patient here as much as any other, I've been told by all the other staff to avoid him, which is a demand that has been entrenched into their minds since they were hired.

The elevator glides to a stop, doors pulling open to reveal an office reception. I've made it to the top floor as requested, at a far higher level to where my interview was held. As I walk in and sit down, waiting to be called into the office, I think through what I'm going to say to defend myself, knowing I'm about to lose my job.

Suddenly the door opens, a figure stepping out to lean against the doorframe.

I freeze. "Oh...Stace."

I'm surprised to see the man who interviewed me in the first place coming out of the office that is labelled on a small silver plaque, overseer. I got the impression he was just another manager, although an intimidating one at that. I haven't seen him since I got the job, although technically he's my boss.

"You look disappointed to see me," he notes, motioning for me to step into the office. I do so stiffly, watching him carefully as I pass by his large figure, breathing in his lavender and sandalwood scent.

"Renna, one of the workers told me that you were an overseer who only came around a couple of times a year," I note, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. I'm confused, since I saw this man only a few months ago, and he didn't claim to be the overseer of this entire establishment. In fact, with an office like this, I'm convinced he owns it.

He brushes past me, going to stand in a small sitting area to the left of his main office space, sitting down in one of the grey lounge chairs. He is dressed formally, although it doesn't suit him, like he is putting on some sort of an act.

"I am the overseer, and I don't visit often," he notes. "But I was in town and decided to conduct your interview."

I narrow my eyes. "Okay...You wanted to see me?"

"Sit down Amolet," he offers, motioning to the chair opposite him. I oblige his command, at this point desiring to do whatever I can to keep my job here. "I wanted to speak to you about a patient here named Cian."

I fight the urge to wince, tucking my hands under my thighs. Like I predicted, the overseer is here to fire for my attempt to communicate with him. Stace doesn't appear angry, though, watching me carefully with those tumultuous dark eyes of him, bearing secrets I will never uncover. Whoever he is, overseer or not, he's a fascinating enigma.

"Ah yes, I've finally managed to get him to speak," I say, a hint of pride on my voice knowing I achieved that when no other staff member could.

"I understand that may be exciting, however you should know how dangerous he is," he murmurs, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his thighs, hands clasped together. I lean back in my seat, noting each curl atop his head, the way the tips brush against his dark eyebrows.

"Everyone in here is dangerous," I remind him uneasily.

"Yes, but others are no pure-blood Sins. Do you understand what I'm saying?" he questions, tilting his head.

My eyes linger down to the tattoos on his neck. I'm almost convinced it's not just a trick of the light that makes them look like they are moving ever-so slowly, like they have a life of their own. They stop at his jawline, curling and twisting around in an incoherent pattern, tinted with the most subtle shade of crimson. It officially creeps me out.