Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Helena stood motionless before the towering mirror, the chill of her peacoat’s wool grounding her against the tide of apprehension rising in her chest. To her left, the night stretched beyond the panoramic window like a silent void. Only the estate’s tall light poles fractured the darkness, casting twin beams across the U-shaped driveway.

Her fingers smoothed the coat’s fabric with mechanical precision, more ritual than necessity. Alone in her room, away from Father’s watchful eye, the omnipresent board, and the suffocating expectations of Lumon, she should have felt free. But freedom didn’t come. Not really. It clung to her skin like mist: deceptive, always just out of reach.

She practiced the handshake again. And again.

Smile. Extend. Grip-not too firm, not too soft.
Like a politician at a charity gala searching for votes.

“Mark Scout…I’m Helena Eagan. It’s really great to run into you,” she rehearsed, her voice lilting into something airy and casual. No matter how she tried, it still tasted like glass in her mouth.

Her eyes stayed locked on her reflection and caught a flicker of something underneath: fear, maybe. Or longing. A memory of honesty, long buried, simmered beneath the surface. It had hurt before.

She checked her makeup one last time, the soft waves of her hair falling into place with practiced ease, as if appearance alone could shape the outcome of the night.

Could Mark see her? Not the Eagan name, not the corporation responsible for his wife’s absence. It wasn’t her fault. She had no authority over the testing floor.

A cold gust rattled the window. Down below, the driver waited, headlights aglow like judgmental eyes.

With a trembling breath, Helena slipped her gloved hands into her coat pockets, the cold leather a stark contrast to her flushed skin. Her stomach churned with an emptiness that had nothing to do with hunger.

This wasn’t just a meeting or a twisted severance experiment. She was putting her heart on the line. Would he even feel their undeniable magnetism in the same way she did?

As Helena stepped into the dimly lit hallway and descended the grand staircase, her father’s voice drifted from the sitting room. Calm. Unemotional. There was no love left in it after all these years.

“You’re leaving late.”

She kept her eyes forward. “I’ve scheduled a real-world assessment tonight.”

“I wasn’t informed.”

“I know, Father. It was last-minute. I apologize,” she said evenly. “We need observation outside controlled conditions. Especially after the ORTBO.”

Silence. She could feel him studying her from the shadows.

“You think that’s wise?”

“I’ll be careful,” she murmured. “If it fails in the lab and fails in the field, we’ll know conclusively.”

Another pause. She could almost hear him weighing the cost of pressing further.

“You’re certain this warrants your personal involvement?”

Her gloved hand rested lightly on the banister, the polished wood cool beneath her palm.

“It’s the most important test of all.”

His voice dropped, softness more unsettling than accusation.

“I see.”

She descended the last step without looking back. The door felt lighter in her hand than she’d expected. With a final, silent exhale, Helena gripped the knob and slammed the door behind her.

Let him hear that.

Fuck you, she thought, and for a single, fleeting second, it felt good.

Her pace quickened until she reached the waiting car. The driver opened the door without a word.

Inside, warmth enveloped her. It should have been comforting, but it wasn't. It didn't matter where she was, she was still a prisoner and always will be.

Her muscles slowly relaxed. Breathe in. Out. Just like she’d been taught.

She closed her eyes and imagined it: the sterile white walls, the fluorescent buzz, the quiet obedience of the severed floor. The week she spent getting to know him. The way he looked at her made her feel like she wasn't just the company's latest PR stunt. Even if she was lying the entire time. It was strange how that place, designed to strip identity, had become more comfortable than this mansion she slept in, full of all the things anyone could ever want.

She was tired of the gifts and the fake smiles and the bent truths. She wanted more.

Suddenly her legs stiffened, as if the ground beneath her had turned to quicksand. Her doubts surged like a flood.

What if it was all a fantasy? Childish. Dangerous. What if he looked at her and only saw a trap?

“I’m Helena…it’s really great to run into you,” she whispered one more time, tweaking the script. It felt lighter now. Less threatening. More approachable.

The partition lowered. The driver waited.

“Baird Creek Manor,” she said.

Even hearing it aloud made her stomach twist. Reckless. Stupid.

But it thrilled her, too.

“As you wish, Miss Eagan,” he replied, gentle and obedient.

The car jolted forward.

The estate gates rose like jaws unlocking. As they passed through, Helena felt the full weight of her choice settle on her chest.

But the doubt, for once, didn’t stop her. It rode beside her, silent, as anticipation slowly pushed its way in.

Back in the sitting room, her father stood alone in the hush.

He reached for the phone and dialed without urgency, as though he’d planned this contingency all along.

“Drummond,” he said evenly when the line connected. “She’s leaving the estate. Follow her.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Chapter Text

The street was still.

Helena sat in the back of the black car, motionless, staring out at the modest house tucked into the quiet neighborhood like a secret. The porch light was off. No movement behind the windows. Just the silhouette of a life that had folded inward.

Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, leather gloves clutched loosely in one fist. She looked immaculate. Not a single strand of her dark hair was out of place. The pearl buttons of her coat shimmered softly in the light from the dashboard. But her eyes—her eyes were wide, uncertain, trained on the front door like it might open any second and change everything.

She had been sitting there for almost twenty minutes.

“Would you like me to circle around again, Ms. Eagan?” the driver asked gently from the front seat.

“No,” she replied. “Just wait.”

He gave a quiet nod and settled back in.

She looked back toward the house. Her thumb grazed the edge of her glove. The doorbell was right there. She could walk up the steps, ring it, and see for herself. See if he remembered anything. If his eyes lit up or just went blank.

She had imagined it too many times. The expression on his face. The moment of pause. The tension between knowing and not knowing. But tonight, something held her in place. The air was heavy. The silence felt loaded. There was a feeling in her chest—tight, like something was trying to get out.

Then, a light flicked on.

Not in the main house, but along the side—a small, basement window. A narrow band of golden light spilled onto the lawn.

Helena leaned forward slightly.

For the next twenty minutes, she didn’t move. The light stayed on. The faintest shadows flickered past the glass—someone pacing, or maybe just shifting restlessly. No music. No TV. Just the quiet hum of a man doing something in the dark shadows. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

She pressed her lips together. Her heart beat faster, but she didn’t know why. The instinct to go up there—to knock, to interrupt—buzzed at the edges of her fingers.

Then, just as she reached to tell the driver to leave, the basement light clicked off.

Moments later, the front door opened.

Helena froze.

Mark stepped out, wearing jeans and a worn jacket like he’d dressed without thinking. His hair was a mess. In his right hand, he carried a whiskey bottle—empty.

She watched him walk slowly to the garbage bin at the edge of his driveway. He opened the lid and dropped the bottle in with a hollow clatter that echoed across the street.

Then he stood there for a second, staring at nothing. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, as if trying to wipe something off his face—grief, or exhaustion, or both. Then without glancing in any direction, he got into the driver’s seat of a dusty old car parked in front of the garage. The headlights came on. The engine stuttered, and she wondered if it would turn on at all. Then….a low rumble. He pulled away from the house, turning slowly down the street.

Helena sat in silence, watching the taillights fade into the darkness.

“Follow the car,” she said quietly.

The driver nodded once more and shifted into gear without hesitation .

As the car rolled forward, Helena finally leaned back against the seat. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, but her face remained calm. Composed. Inside her, memories churned like a storm held in a sealed jar.

She had come here for answers, and maybe even an offbeat connection, but it seemed the man she once loved, the other him, had already started moving.

And she wasn’t going to lose him again.

Chapter Text

The car rolled to a stop in front of Zufu, a run-down Chinese buffet with a cracked red neon sign that buzzed faintly in the cold air. Snow piled in patches along the sidewalk, and the windows, facing the parking lot, were fogged unevenly from the steam of overworked heating units inside. A few burned-out letters in the neon flickered like they struggled to stay awake.

Helena didn’t get out right away. She sat still in the backseat, the curve of her cheek catching what little light leaked through from the streetlamp. Beautiful in a way that looked inconvenient, like something that didn't belong in a place like this. There was something too composed about her, too deliberate, like even her stillness had been calculated. She cracked the door open and leaned in toward her driver.

“Wait here,” she said quietly. “This is an official investigation.” She loved how important it sounded rolling off her tongue. Finally, she had a purpose. The driver didn’t answer—just gave a slight nod, then stared forward again.

Helena stepped out, her heels clicking against the salted concrete, and walked through the double glass doors. Inside, Zufu smelled like soy sauce and fryer oil that had been used a few too many times. The lighting was a sickly yellow. The buffet line gleamed under heat lamps, mostly empty save for trays of sticky noodles and a half pan of pepper chicken congealing at the edges. Somewhere in the back, a radio played muffled Cantonese pop. The song sounded oddly familiar, but Helena couldn’t place why. The melody was sweet and haunting in a way that stirred something in her chest, and it made her smile. She was unsettled by the feeling. Then, she walked across the room toward Mark Scout, who sat at the booth in the back. It looked like he didn’t want company. Behind him, a row of dusty sports trophies sat on a high shelf, each bathed in the dim glow of the neon lights. The trophies, tarnished and a little mismatched, seemed to be forgotten by time, just like the restaurant itself.

Mark was hunched over a small mountain of Chinese food. The scattered plates piled high with fried rice, sweet and sour pork, and half-eaten egg rolls. He was picking off the pieces slowly, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for another piece of chicken, like he was forcing himself to finish it all. To get the best bang for his buck. Little did he know, Helena was looking for this too.

His shirt was wrinkled, and his jacket was slung carelessly over the back of the seat. There was a tiredness to him, a disheveled kind of exhaustion. He was the same person as Mark S., but different, all at the same time. His eyes were glassy, his face pale and emotionless, she wondered if he had finished off the bottle that same evening. The upbeat gentleness in Mark S. was replaced with pain and anger at the world.

Helena paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on him, before she took a step forward. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the scene unsettled her, even though it drew her in closer. What would she have in common with him? An alcoholic with seemingly nothing else to give.

Mark looked up, his eyes slightly bleary as they met hers. He looked like he was falling apart. The recognition flickered in his gaze for just a second, but it was gone before he could act on it. He thought she was breathtaking. Her presence overtook the room. She stopped a few feet away and tilted her head slightly. “Mark Scout,” she said, tantalizingly, her voice just enough to pull his attention.

He blinked, focusing on her now. “Yeah?” His voice was a little rough, like it had been a while since he’d spoken.

Helena smiled coolly, taking another step closer. “I think we've met before,” she added, almost matter-of-factly, but her eyes held something else—curiosity, maybe even a hint of amusement.
Without waiting for him to get up and leave, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his palm as they shook hands. His touch was warm, though it seemed a little unsteady, as if the last drink had pushed him over the edge. She didn’t mind. The connection felt electrifying, as if it had been destined all along.

“Helena,” she introduced herself, her voice soft but firm. “Helena, from Lumon. Maybe you’ve seen me around before.” Her hair flowed effortlessly down the sides of her cheek, she had spent a lot of time getting ready earlier that evening. She hoped he noticed it too.

“Helena from... Lumon?” Mark echoed, a little off-balance by the name. “Wait...are you following me or something?” Helena raised an eyebrow, sensing his confusion. “It’s okay,” she said, almost like she was reassuring him. “You’ll understand soon enough.” She added with a light, teasing tone.

Then, with a quick, confident motion, she asked, “May I?” as she motioned toward the seat across from him. Mark, still squinting through the haze of alcohol and confusion, took a moment, but then gestured for her to sit.

“Of course,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes still searching her face. Helena slid into the booth without missing a beat. The moment she did, the air seemed to shift. Her presence made everything feel quieter, more intense. Mark, though a bit surprised, didn’t say anything right away. He just studied her as she settled in. He fumbled with the wadded-up cash in his hands, ready to leave at any moment. For a minute, they simply sat there in silence, broken only by the muffled clink of cutlery and the distant hum of the radio. Helena glanced around the room, her gaze landing on the tired, flickering neon lights and the clutter of mismatched trophies along the wall.

“There’s something about the name of this place,” she remarked casually, almost to herself. "Zufu... Do you know what it means?"

Mark blinked, still distracted by her sudden presence. “No. I always thought it was just some random name,” he said, his voice still rough from whatever he'd been drinking.

“It’s Cantonese,” she explained. "Zufu means 'ancestor,' or sometimes 'forefather.' It’s about lineage. I suppose it’s an odd name for a place like this." She looked at him with an unreadable expression. "A little too grand for... this place, don’t you think?”

Mark snorted, the alcohol slurring his words just enough to make him sound slightly unhinged. He tasted bile in the back of his throat like any second he could vomit. "Yeah, maybe. Guess they missed the memo on what they were aiming for." He grabbed another bite of food, chewing slowly. He wanted to ask why she was here, but held his tongue.

Awkward silences turned into casual banter, and casual banter turned into meaningful conversation. A natural connection began to flow harmoniously between them. Later in the night, across the narrow booth, Mark was laughing at something she’d said, something sarcastic, probably. But her mind wasn’t on the words anymore. It was on the curve of his mouth when he smiled. The sharp edge in his voice when he got serious. The way his knee had brushed hers under the table, and neither of them had moved. It had started innocent enough: dinner, some quiet conversation, a few looks that lingered just a second longer than they should have. But somewhere between the egg rolls and the second round of tea, the air had thickened between them. Neither of them named it, but it was there.

Helena lowered her gaze to his hands as he reached for his drink. She knew those hands would feel different on her—rougher, heavier. She wanted to find out.

She was about to reply to a question about her role at Lumon when Mark suddenly coughed—hard. It was a deep, wheezing cough, the kind that seemed to rattle his whole chest. He covered his mouth with one hand, the cough lingering longer than it should have, making the discomfort in his face more noticeable.

“Are you okay?” Helena asked, her voice a little sharper now, concern slipping through. The sudden vulnerability caught her off guard. Mark waved a hand dismissively, his other hand reaching for his glass of water.

“Just a little... something in my throat. I’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it. The brief moment of weakness passed as quickly as it had come.

Instead, he glanced toward the door and let a brief silence hang between them before he asked, “Would you want to get out of here with me? We can talk somewhere more... comfortable.” He rationalized it in his head, they were just work associates having a nice meal, getting to know each other better. The fact that she didn’t have a bite of food that night didn’t factor into his rationalization.

She blushed, hoping he would notice. He was sick and needed her help. Helena blinked at him as though weighing the offer. He felt the urge to pull back, something about the way she looked at him felt too intense, too consuming. He’d barely known her for an hour, and yet it felt as though he had no control over his choice. The draw was undeniable. There was something about her presence that made everything else fade, as if his usual defenses were being slowly dismantled by the way she spoke, the way she looked into his eyes as if they were already lovers.

She hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded, a strange smile curling at the edges of her lips, like she was expecting this. Mark gave up trying to figure her out tonight, it ruined the fun.

“Yeah... sure.” She replied with a smirk. He picked up his glass, drained the rest of the drink, and stood up, his movements wobbly. Helena stood too, walking beside him out to the car. She wondered if he was about to fall over in the parking lot in front of her. She smelled like spring rain and flowers. His hair was greasy, and he smelled like the stock room at a liquor store. The night air hit them like a shock, cold and crisp, but neither of them flinched. The walk to the car was quiet, and the low hum of the town seemed distant and irrelevant in the face of whatever this was between them.

The rear car door opened, and she slid in first, Mark following behind. The moment the door shut, the world shrank. The silence pressed in. The closeness was sudden, electric. She could feel his breath now, warm in the dim space between them. It smelled like the bottom of a bottle and sweet chicken all at the same time. It didn't bother her. It didn't bother him either; he knew who she was, but this felt right.

“I can’t figure you out, and usually I see right through people.” He said calmly, with a hint of a smile. “I like that about you.”

“What else do you like about me?”

“Well, I like that you’re different. Most women wouldn’t have the guts to approach a guy like that at a shitty place. I could be a real freak or something.”

“I hope so.”

She leaned into him, pressing her hand to his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. He cupped her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, studying her like he was memorizing her expression. No confusion—just clarity, and a want that felt like it had been waiting for the right moment to break loose. On instinct, he pulled her over onto his lap.

Their lips met, not urgently, but with that kind of slow burn that made everything feel inevitable. She tasted like Zufu green tea and heat and something heavier beneath it. She finished off a few drinks before leaving, too. Helena exhaled against his mouth as she pulled him closer, her hands curling into his shirt, anchoring herself there.

He kissed her back like they had done it before, choosing to surrender to the feelings of guilt and betrayal Gemma would feel if she ever found out. He rationalized it in his head that she never would, it would be his and Helena’s secret. Just a drunken kiss in the back of his car, that’s it. He wondered if Helena knew he had a wife. Was she the kind of woman that cared? His thoughts were interrupted by Helena nibbling the soft part of his earlobe. Every touch sent a shiver up his spine. Her coat fell to the floor of his car, which was covered in empty shot bottles and discarded receipts. His hand slid beneath the hem of her dress, not demanding, just curious. He waited for her to give a sign to stop. She arched slightly into him and released a sigh as their bodies aligned in the cramped space. Heat coiled low in her, this was risky, scandalous even. It was the kind of moment that didn’t deserve a bed or candles, it was sloppy, rushed and desperate. He reached his hand between them to slide her panties to the side. He didn’t even need to touch her, he already knew she wanted him. The windows fogged slowly as they moved together, an ache long held back now flooding forward in stolen kisses and hands that had run out of patience. He needed her.

He murmured her name once, rough and low, and it lit something in her. She kissed him harder in reply, threading her fingers into his hair, not letting go.

Time seemed to blur as they explored what they liked and wanted to try. Being in the back of his car kept it realistic.

“That was fun,” Helena said finally, “But I wish our night could continue.” They stayed there, tangled in silence, their breathing slowing as the fog on the windows began to clear. Her makeup was smudged, and her hair was tossed across her face in sweat. Helena rested her forehead against his.

“You don’t remember me,” she said softly.

Mark blinked, still catching his breath. “Should I?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she bit his earlobe seductively. “You will.”

Chapter Text

Helena’s phone buzzed. Just once, then again. She pulled it from her coat pocket on the floor of his car, brushing away airplane bottles to reach it, and glanced at the screen. As she studied it, something in her posture changed. The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something more serious. She didn’t answer it. She just stared at the name. Then, quickly swiped it away.

“Sorry Mark, but I have to go,” she said softly, already shifting to the other seat to get herself together. “I really enjoyed our time together.”

Mark blinked, then turned to her, confused, “Is something wrong?”

Helena hesitated and turned away. It hurt him to see her look sad. “Not with you.”

He sat up with her, still trying to read her expression. But she was moving quickly now, gathering her coat, brushing down her dress. Her mind had already stepped out of the car, even though her body was still inches from him. She pulled out his phone from the center console where he’d tossed it earlier and typed something fast.

“My number,” she said, handing it back. “In case you… want to talk again.”

He looked down at the screen. Just her name. No message. No emoji. Just Helena.

“In case I want to talk again? You really think I’ll call?” he asked, a small edge of challenge in his voice.

“I don’t know, but I hope you do” she said, leaning in, her voice suddenly gentler. “You’re easy to talk to.” And then he kissed her. Quick at first. But then slower, lingering, like he was memorizing everything about her. Their noses brushed against each other and Helena let out a soft giggle.

“Thank you,” she whispered when she pulled away. “Tonight was fun.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out into the night, disappearing into a waiting car partially hidden in the shadows of a tree on the other side of the restaurant. The door shut behind her, and the silence came rushing back in. He felt a familiar twinge of emptiness. “Back to the normal routine.” He told himself as he stepped out and circled around the car, this time to the drivers seat. He slammed the door as he sunk down into the seat. He should have invited her back home. Now it was too late. He’d lost Gemma, his sister thought he was a few drinks away from a second DUI, and now the CEOs daughter found out he was a complete failure. She probably put a random number in his contacts because she felt sorry for him. Self-doubt creeped over his shoulder as he put the keys in the ignition and sped away. Only two of the lights at the front of the restaurant were still lit.

Mark didn’t go home right away. He drove aimlessly for what felt like an hour after Helena briskly left the backseat of his car, practically tripping over a mess of empty shooters on her way out. He should have cleaned it, he thought to himself angrily. The city blurred into a haze of lights all strung together reflecting off wet pavement. Helena’s presence still clung to him—her voice, her mouth, the heat of her pressed against him in the back seat. The way she rubbed her thumb and pointer finger together before she spoke. The way her hair swooped to the side and she brushed it away to smile. He wondered if she was home safe too, he really hoped she was.

When he finally stepped into his townhouse after midnight, the quiet hit like a wall. He dropped his keys on the counter, pulled an unopened bottle from the cabinet, and took a swig. He didn't use glasses unless he had guests over. He wasn’t trying to feel better. Just numb. It burned the back of his throat, a familiar friend. A way to cope as of recent. And then the memory came back. It had to have been a month and a half ago. He’d been pulling out of the parking lot in front of Lumon. There was a bright ray of sun, almost blinding off the concrete. She’d walked right in front of his car, casual, not startled. She didn't seem to have been a visitor, it was a normal routine for her to walk to her car. There were white flowers in her hands. And she had looked right at him. One glance. No smile. Just calm, steady recognition, like she knew exactly who he was and how little he knew about her. He hadn’t thought about it again. Until now. Mark emptied his glass and poured another, slower this time. He let the hours slide by, dozing off on the couch, sweat chilled on his skin. The bottle stayed half full beside him, untouched now. By the time the dull light of morning crept across the apartment through the overcast, he was awake again, hungover and exhausted. He picked up his phone, thumbed through it absently, and stopped when he saw it. Her name.

He wondered if it would be too much to text her so soon. It was too early in the morning to be getting drunk texts from a man you made out with in the back of a car. Helena had put her number in his phone because she wanted to see him again, but not like this. Next time he talked to her, he wanted to be sober, or at least less drunk.

He knew there was no way he could show up at work like this. His head was throbbing with a dull rhythm and years of experience taught him that the only effective remedy was sleep. So instead, he made another call.
It was just after 7 a.m.
“Seth speaking.”
Mark cleared his throat. “It’s Mark.”
“Mark. It's early, is everything okay?”
“Not coming in.” He made his best effort to sound as worn down as possible.
Seth paused with a heavy sigh. “You're sick again?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh. I was really hoping you'd be here. There's a lot of work to be done.”
“No. I can't. I've been coughing. This might be contagious.” He made his voice artificially raspy.
Seth was quiet for a moment. “You sound like hell.”
“I’ll live, see you tomorrow,” Mark said, then hung up, leaving no room for negotiation.
The bottle on the end table still had a few sips left. He swung it up to take another shot and collapsed onto the couch, letting sleep pull him down fast and rough. He fell back asleep to the faint whisper of a drill downstairs. Reghabi was up to her usual research, or maybe just readying things for Saturday. He reassured her he’d be ready by then to finish what they had started.

Mark didn’t wake again until late afternoon. Dreams had chased him all day—cold white walls, a sterile hallway, everything about it seemed wrong. Light buzzing overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a voice calling, just out of reach. When he opened his eyes again, it was dusk. The house was heavy with silence. Only the refrigerator and beta fish tank hummed. Reghabi was probably sleeping. His phone was face-down on the floor, across the wall from the sofa, still charging. He sat up, felt the dull pounding in his head, and took another drink straight from the bottle. Then he grabbed the phone. And called her.
Helena answered on the third ring.
“Mark,” she said—his name calm and low and full of something he couldn’t name. “Wow, I’m really surprised you called. I was just thinking about you.”

His heart began to race. He knew it was wrong to be talking to her, but it felt so good, like a new addiction. He hadn’t felt the excitement of an evening phone call in what felt like forever. Thinking back, it was when he met Gemma at Ganz College. He had a habit of overthinking every word back then, afraid to make a mistake and let her fall into the arms of a better man.

Mark walked around the room just a little and sat back against the wall, eyes half-closed.

“That wasn’t the first time I saw you.” Silence stretched a little on the line.

“I know,” she said softly.

“You walked in front of my car. At work...Lumon. I was leaving for the day.”

“I was really nervous, probably wasn’t paying attention either, it was a difficult day for me. I remember,” she said.

“You looked right back. I thought you’d be angry. I was distracted…" His hand tightened around the phone. “You did it on purpose. There’s no way you didn’t hear my car coming,”

“Yes.” Her breath on the line was quiet, steady.

Mark was silent.

“I didn’t know who you were yet,” she added. “Not really. I'm glad we’re acquainted now, though.”

He blinked. His chest felt too tight. “I should be angry,” he said. “I should feel used. You're following me around like I'm in a sick experiment.”

“Do you...feel used?”

“No, I think I’m about to get myself into trouble though.” His voice cracked a little when he said it. “I almost didn’t call, but I feel like I need to,” he eventually admitted.

“You did the right thing, because I miss you already.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I got in the car. My mouth still tastes like yours.” Mark swallowed hard, his hand tightening around the phone.

“What would you do,” she whispered, “if I were there right now?”

His voice came out calm and certain. “I'd rip off whatever designer garbage you have on, run my fingers through your gorgeous hair, pulling just a little...then maybe if you're a good girl I'd bend you over the side of this couch.”

“I’d let you, and I’d never want to leave.” she said with a sigh.

Mark stood, walking toward the window, needing the night air, the view, something to ground him. The neighborhood looked fake, unreal. He hated being alone in this house. Well, sort of alone, Reghabi was still staying there for the meantime. He wished Helena was there with him instead of on the other end of a phone call. That day, he felt so alone that it hurt.

“Can I see you again soon?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, immediate. Certain. “But not like the other night.”

“I want to take my time with you,” he said, still looking out the window into the cold. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what that would feel like: her standing by his side.

“I want that too,” she said. Suddenly he heard a crashing sound, maybe a slammed door. Then a second later, a mans voice.

"Mark, I have to go." She said quickly.

"House 34, Baird Creek Manor. Come over Friday." Mark blurted out without thinking. He knew he should be looking for his wife instead of inviting her over. Plus, he would have to keep her quiet with Reghabi still in the basement and all...Oh shit, yeah she was still there. He braced himself for rejection, was it too much too soon? His mind wandered to the liquor cabinet, two unopened bottles beckoning his call.

"I have a lot going on Friday, but I think I can fit it into my plans," She lied with a light playful tone. She had a meeting with Drummond earlier in the day, but nothing else to do.

“Goodnight Helena.”

She abruptly hung up. Mark wondered if her phone died or if another man was with her. He cringed at the thought, then got up to shower, his first in two days.

Chapter Text

The smell of lemon soap clung faintly to his skin as Mark stepped out of the shower, the tile still slick under his feet. Steam curled upward from the drain. He stood there for a moment, towel slack in his hands, staring at his reflection in the fogged mirror. There were small red lines in his eyes, dark crescents under them. His hair was damp and combed back, still fighting to fall into place.
He looked older. More haunted than usual.
Downstairs, the house creaked softly, like it was remembering something. Reghabi hadn’t stirred—not that he expected her to. She rarely came upstairs, kept mostly to the basement, where it was cold and quiet. He didn’t know what she did down there all day, friendly banter wasn’t her thing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. The last round of “reintegration”, she called it, caused him to forget his morals and drunkenly kiss Helena Eagan, a stranger, in the back of his car in a parking lot. It seemed to be causing any last glimmer of common sense to slip away. The next time he saw her, he had to find out more. Gemma was still alive, there was a chance to get his old life back. He needed to stay serious and focus on the real goal at hand. This was an opportunity to save her. At least that’s what he told himself.

Friday morning, Mark dressed for work. White button-down. Charcoal slacks. Navy wool blazer. Belt, matching shoes. He knotted the tie with practiced hands, paused to adjust the collar, and finally slipped on his coat. The mirror gave him a version of himself that almost looked normal. It was a new day. He was clean, sober and ready for whatever came next. He continued his routine and grabbed his keys from the counter where he had left them the previous morning, after drunkenly stumbling home from the restaurant. Reghabi must have heart the clatter because she shouted something from the basement about needing to speed up the process. Mark grumbled under his breath while speeding towards the door to the garage and yelled back, “Later tonight, then!” Without a second thought, practically rushing out the door.

By 5:30, Mark was already home again. A sense of happiness filled the house. That night, he had a purpose. He changed clothes. He wore dark grey chinos and kept the white button down. He chilled a bottle of wine in the refrigerator, figuring she would enjoy a drink or two. Then, he stood staring at the salmon and asparagus in the fridge. He pulled them out. Seasoned them the way Gemma used to. Automatically. Wouldn’t she appreciate him going through all this work to get her back?

By 6:45, the kitchen smelled like rosemary, citrus, and butter. The table was set—two plates, real silverware, cloth napkins. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath, constantly checking his phone until the knock came at 7:03. He worried she would forget about this night, about their plans. He usually thought about things too much when he was sober. The knocking startled him, more than he’d ever admit. And he ran to the door immediately.

There she stood.

The overhead porch light cast a soft golden wash over her skin. Her wool coat was open just enough to reveal the light tan dress underneath—thin straps hugging her bare shoulders, the hem stopping mid-thigh. Her collarbones were clean lines. Her legs were long and bare and ending in sharp black heels. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, catching the light. And her earrings swayed just slightly when she moved, like they too were holding their breath.
Mark forgot whatever he’d meant to say.
Helena’s eyes met his. Calm. Direct. “You gonna let me in, or just stare at me like that all night?”

“I—” he blinked, stepped back automatically. “Yeah. Come in.” He was worried she was cold. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Lincoln Continental pull off.

“You came,” he murmured, shutting the door behind her quietly, hoping not to disturb Reghabi. He had told her a woman was coming to visit but left out some important details.

“I had to cancel something,” she said vaguely, brushing snow from her sleeves. “But it was worth it.” She smiled again, revealing her teeth ever so slightly. “Where should I put this?” She slipped off the same coat she had worn before, and folded it over her right arm, waiting. Mark had a coat closet next to the door and took it from her arms then hung it up carefully. He closed the closet door and turned around. It wasn’t just the dress. Or the heels. It was how she stood—casual, but ready for a fight if needed. The way her mouth tilted up when she was amused but didn’t smile. The lines of tension at her shoulders, like her past was always clinging just out of sight. Her beauty wasn’t delicate. It was one of a kind.

“You’re staring again,” she said without turning around.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize... how beautiful you are. Maybe I had a few too many the other night.” Helena turned slowly then. And this time, she looked at him like she’d been waiting for him to say exactly that.

“Now you do,” she said coyly, without acknowledging his drinking problem.

Dinner had ended an hour ago. The scent of flavorful herbs and lemon still lingered in the air, caught in the folds of the curtains and drifting lazily over the hardwood floors. The empty plates sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, while a low hum of jazz swirled softly from the speakers tucked into the corners of the room. Everything felt suspended in amber—slow, warm, intimate. Mark sat on the sofa beside Helena, the stem of a wine glass balanced between his fingers. The burgundy liquid caught the lamplight like blood. Her laugh from earlier still echoed faintly in his mind, but now a charged stillness had settled between them, more meaningful than any conversation. She was close enough that he could feel the heat of her bare shoulder through her dress, the way her body leaned toward his without touching.

He glanced sideways, a smirk teasing the edge of his mouth. “So… what do you do right now…since you’re not the CEO yet ?”

Helena raised an eyebrow, her lips curving slightly in amusement. “A little bit of everything,” She sipped her wine, then added, “You think I do something shady?”

“You said it,” he replied, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. She didn’t laugh this time. Instead, she met his gaze directly, unblinking, and said, “Its an emotionally draining job. Dangerous even. Sometimes I worry for my life. Other times I don’t care.” The air in the room seemed to shift.

Mark’s spine straightened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden weight in her voice. It was now or never. This…date…it couldn’t happen. He needed to find out more. Gemma was depending on him, missing him, needing him the same way he needed her.

He let the comment hang, then said carefully, “Do you know the truth about my wife, Gemma?” The name seemed to catch in the room like a splinter as soon as it left his lips. It was the perfect opportunity to find out what he needed.

Helena stilled, her wine glass suspended in midair. Her fingers circled the rim once, then twice, as if trying to conjure some invisible answer. “I’ve… heard the name before,” she said quietly, still fidgeting with the glass as she watched him with dark, unreadable eyes. Before he could press her further, she took a slow sip, letting the wine linger on her tongue, before setting aside the glass on the coffee table. She brushed a strand of hair out of his face and looked up at him in a way that could melt butter; then leaned in without a word. Their lips collided—urgent, hungry—and in the heat of the kiss, she let the wine spill into his mouth. The taste, rich and sharp, mixed with the heat of their breath as he pulled her closer, the line between control and surrender dissolving. Her hands on his shoulders, his face, through his hair. Mark’s slipped instinctively to her waist, feeling the softness of her dress, the warmth of her skin beneath it. He lifted it over her hips, just a little. She wore a tan thong that matched the color. He adjusted the position of his right hand and reached around to grab her ass.

“You’re a tease. You know that? I should just strangle you right here for what Lumon did to her. I have nothing left now.” He was certain that she knew more about Gemma than she told him. This distraction was merely a blip in her grand scheme. “What was she really here for?” He wondered, brushing the cold reality of the moment out of his mind. He was touching her body while his thoughts lingered on about his wife.

“Some truths ruin everything,” she whispered, her breath brushing his lips. “Why do you want me so badly, then. Don’t fight it.”

He pulled her onto his lap without thinking, her dress slipping higher on her thighs as she straddled him. Her black heels hit the floor with a soft thud. She couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he grinded slowly, the sound low and desperate. His breath came faster now, each kiss a deeper descent. Her lips moved to his neck, tasting, teasing, biting the soft part of his ear. He grabbed her hips, steadying her, grounding himself in the weight of her on top of him.

His voice broke as he whispered, “Helena… what are we doing?” He shouldn’t have let it go this far, but now that it had, what was the point in stopping? The moment felt inspiring, and deciding he wanted to try something new, he reached forward to her throat , squeezing tightly, his left hand lingered around her waist. He thought he heard her whisper his name.

“You like this, don’t you?” She couldn’t answer.

His pulse quickened. He’d never done anything like this before—not even with his wife. She made a gurgling sound like she couldn’t breathe. It made him want to hold her tighter. She fought a little like a wounded animal.

With one hand still at her throat, he pushed her back roughly, pinning her beneath him as he straddled her. She moaned again, their bodies gently grinding together as he leaned down, bracing himself with his left hand. He kissed her softly—then tightened his grip, watching her flinch with a sharp, involuntary wince. Then, placing most of his body weight on his right hand, still tightly groping her neck, he reached under her dress with the other to touch her, pushing the already skimpy fabric to the side. He stroked her gently in a “come closer” motion, then in circles. They were so close that he could hear her pulse. She tilted her head back, surrendering to it, and he felt her melt against him.

FLASH.

The room is stark and sterile. White walls, green carpet, and a single metal desk positioned in the center. Mark sits behind one of the desks, fingers tapping lightly on a keyboard. The ancient computer in front of him hums softly, its screen flickering as if it might give way to something more important. The blue keyboard beneath his fingers looks as if it belongs in a different decade.
But the voices—familiar voices—pull his attention. They come from behind the dividers, not visible but unmistakable.

“We should confront Milchick. He’ll know where Ms. Casey is.” An older man.
“You think so? He doesn’t care about us.” A different man.
“We don’t have a lot of better options here. He hears himself say. Then: “Helly, do you have a better idea?”

Then her voice. Clear. Teasing. A younger woman.
“You guys are seriously overthinking this. If you’re that worried about Milchick, maybe we should check out other departments.”
Helly. That was her name.
The sound of her voice rattled him.
And just as suddenly—it was gone.

His head was spinning, his thoughts tangled between the present and the fragmented memory of Helly, Milchick, and the search for Ms. Casey. The conversation doesn’t quite make sense, but the urgency and fear in it sticks with him. As he was brought back into the present moment, he loosened the grip on her neck and brushed her hair out of her face in return. Her neck was dark red, with a clear outline of a handprint. He didn’t mean to hurt her. “I’m sorry, that was too much, Helly,” He said the name softly, like they were sweethearts instead of enemies. Helena seemed startled by the mention of the name. “…I like it,” She replied with a slight gasp, a hint of confusion in her voice. Mark S. was long gone and replaced by someone else. Someone who had nothing to lose anymore, a man with dwindling morals. She felt herself ache at the thought of him climbing on top of her again and finally punishing her. Suddenly, her fantasy came to an abrupt end. A drop of liquid fell onto her lips, “But I think you’re bleeding.” Mark tried to stay as calm as possible, how would he explain the nose bleeds, the coughing, the beginning signs of reintegration? It sounded insane. His hand flew to his face. “Shit,” he muttered, and when he looked down, his palm was streaked with blood. “Mark! Are you okay, really? You look pale,” It took everything inside of her not to immediately find something to wipe off his nose and make everything better. Instead, she hesitated, a dirty night on the sofa was one thing but revealing her entire deck of cards on the same night was another.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Something’s wrong. I felt like I was… somewhere else.” “Breathe,” she said, steadying him carefully. “It’s okay, just clean up…don’t worry about it,” A minute or so later, Mark leaned over the sink of his guest bathroom, it was rarely used. Mark looked as disheveled as ever. He had led her upstairs, forcing himself to avoid the thought of the bedroom on the way there. The entire night felt like one huge tease. The cold water washed away the blood, he wished it would wash away his sins from earlier, too. In the mirror, he noticed lipstick marks and makeup smudges on his neck and around his mouth. He didn’t bother wiping them off. It made his pulse race even faster. Helena stood in the doorway, leaning against it for balance, or maybe just to get a closer look. A sense of dread began filling the room between them.

“I felt something,” Mark finally said, voice low, as if admitting a secret. “Like déjà vu. Or a memory I wasn’t supposed to have. I was at Lumon sitting at a desk, but it had partitions on the sides. There were three other people in the room, hidden. I was somehow at work instead of being here with you,” He paused. “I heard a conversation, too. I was there, in the moment, listening to it, but I couldn’t have been there because I don’t remember the conversation. It felt so …real,” he said at last, sounding completely paranoid, while wiping his face with a pile of toilet paper. “And a woman’s voice. She said something about checking other departments on the floor and she sounded like…you?” Mark almost didn’t finish the sentence, it sounded crazy to say out loud. “I…guess I don’t really know who you are.” His mind struggled to put A and B together after years of alcohol abuse and recent experimental brain surgery. He had so many questions he didn’t know which one to ask first.

Helena didn’t respond right away. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Yes, you do, you know me better than…” Helena stopped before finishing. Her whole life had been about obedience. Appearances. The right answer, the right expression, the right devotion. But that version of Helena—the one Father trained, the one Kier approved—she was a costume. And she didn’t fit anymore. Something had cracked open, and no amount of protocol or punishment could seal it back.

“What else did you see? Did you get a chance to see their faces?” she asked softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

“No,” he lied with a sigh. “That’s all. His lie hung in the air like smoke—thin, weightless, and yet impossible to ignore. She didn’t press him. Not yet. Maybe she already knew he wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe it didn’t matter.

A pause.

“I feel like I need to say this,” Helena began, her voice low. “It’s been on my mind for about a week now. Just… please don’t freak out when I tell you.” She dropped her gaze, shoulders curling inward. The tension in her posture made her hesitation clear. “Do you remember hearing about the OTC? Your… innie, or whatever you call him—he woke up on the outside, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” he replied. “At my sister’s house. I had invited Mrs. Selvig there.”

Helena’s head tilted slightly, brows furrowed. “Mrs. Selvig?” she echoed, visibly confused.

“Yeah, my next-door neighbor,” he said. “But I found out through my sister that her real name is Harmony Cobel. Do you know her?” His tone sharpened, the question more urgent than casual.

Helena rubbed the back of her neck, choosing her words with care. “Our professional relationship was… strained,” she admitted. “We didn’t always see eye to eye. She had a lot of distant theories—you might’ve heard some of them.”

The way she said it made him pause.

“Did she know about reintegration?” he wondered silently. “Is that why she’s here—to report back to Lumon?”

But before he could speak the thought aloud, Helena stiffened. Her spine straightened, her eyes flicked past him to the hallway. Something had changed in her expression—alert, almost alarmed.

Mark noticed her fear, “What is it?” He asked with a whisper. Reghabi was probably messing with her equipment again, it had to be her. Helena held her pointer finger to her lips. “Shh. Did you hear that?” A soft creak from downstairs. Careful. Deliberate. They both heard it again. “You locked the front door, right?” she asked quickly.

“I thought I did,” he said, the tension rising in his voice. “Why?”

Helena didn’t answer. She moved fast, reaching the switch next to her and turned off the light.Darkness swallowed them.

Another sound, a door shutting. Boots squeaking against tile flooring. Did they break in through the garage?

She leaned into him, breath hot at his ear. “If he followed me,” she whispered, “we don’t have much time. Get rid of the bloody tissues, and hurry up. He can’t see me upstairs like this.”

“And here I was, under the assumption that you were the only stalker in my life…and you know what? You could have mentioned earlier that you might be getting followed,” Mark replied, in a teasing tone that showed a hint of anger for her lack of honesty.

“We can talk about that later. Shhh…listen…below us,” She added, reaching her hand out towards his shoulder. He could only see her figure off the faint glow of the oven hood light in the kitchen on the main floor.

“In my bedroom. There’s a baseball bat in my closet, I think” he said, already rising to make a move. His voice was calm, but inside, his chest tightened.

Why was a man following her?

The thought hit like a spark to dry kindling. Did she have a boyfriend? He didn’t want to believe it—but even if she did, no decent man would make her look that afraid. Whoever this creep was, if he raised his voice at Helena for being here, it wouldn’t end well.

This wasn’t just about jealousy—it was something deeper. Instinctive. Protective.

He’s in my house. The thought turned his unease into anger. Maybe it was irrational. Maybe none of it made sense. But he didn’t care. This was his moment to act—to step in where he had failed with Gemma. He wouldn’t be a bystander again.

“That’s smart, lead the way.” She said in a low whisper. Neither of them hesitated. He tossed the toilet paper, streaked with dark red blotches, into the dark without a second thought and took her hand.

Chapter Text

Mark felt frozen with anxiety as they slipped into the bedroom. The door was already cracked—no need to turn the handle and risk a sound. The stair creaks were no longer distant. The intruder was just outside view of the bedroom. Presumably deciding where to check first. Whoever it was had closed the gap fast. Way too fast. Helena’s eyes darted across the space, instinctively. “Closet,” she whispered, already moving. The room was entirely dark, save for a dim glow shining through the doorway. As she opened the walk-in, Mark stepped inside, fingers finding the aluminum bat. The door eased shut behind them with a click that sounded far too loud in the hush. Mark reached for the bat, his sweaty palm gripped the handle. The space was narrow but deep enough for two, barely. They were in near darkness, pressed close, the sound of their breathing shallow and tense.

Mark settled into the corner nearest the wall, instinctively placing himself between her and whatever danger might come through that door. Helena eased down beside him, close enough that their arms touched.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Somewhere in the hallway beyond, a floorboard creaked. They both held their breath. His hand tightened on the strap of the bag. “If he comes in,” he whispered, “I’ll handle it.”

She turned her head just slightly, enough to see the outline of his profile in the dim light leaking under the door. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

The quiet held, stretched thin and full of things unspoken. She should have felt cornered. Trapped. Her mind should’ve been calculating outcomes, loyalty, survival, her father’s voice echoing in her head. But it wasn’t. Instead, Helena found herself watching Mark’s chest rise and fall slowly beside her, the way his hand had instinctively moved in front of her just moments before, the way he crouched now, not out of fear, but out of determination. And for the first time since childhood, she didn’t feel like her life was being dictated by bloodlines or boardrooms.

She felt…chosen.

And she felt herself choosing back.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t see it. He was staring straight ahead, listening, focused. But she leaned just a fraction closer, resting her temple against his shoulder. Her body betrayed her loyalty before her mind could catch up. And when he didn’t pull away—when he let her stay—something in her caved.

“I think I’m...” she whispered. The words cracked and died in her throat. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t name the feeling unraveling her from the inside out.

Mark didn’t speak. For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then, softly, like a secret shared: “So am I.”

He shifted beside her, and Helena turned toward him without thinking. The darkness made it easier to look, there was no way for the look in her eyes to give her away. She wished she could let herself completely enjoy the moment. "Maybe in another life." She thought to herself, feeling the weight of her heartbeat in her throat. She leaned in enough that she felt the heat from his breath against her cheek. They stayed like that for just an instant, caught up in something neither had planned for.

his hand had found her wrist somewhere in the hush. His fingers rested there lightly, steady, as if he needed to know she was real and didn’t want to let her go.

She felt herself lean in closer. It was just enough to change the air between them. Her eyes fluttered shut. His breath caught, and in that single suspended moment, she let herself imagine it. What would it feel like to be able to care for someone and have the feeling returned? She tilted her face up, lips parting by instinct more than intent.

One more inch.

But she stopped.

Her body froze just shy of his. For a moment, she hovered there, heart pounding, afraid to move forward.

If they kissed, like this, she wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore. It would mean she had to be vulnerable again.

And control was how she’d made it this far.

For years, it had been the only thing that kept her safe—measured silences, carefully chosen loyalties, rooms full of powerful men who smiled as they used her. She’d mastered the art of reading people before they could read her. This, however, felt more like a sign of weakness.

Meeting someone who didn’t ask for anything. Someone who just looked at her like she was already enough.

It terrified her.

Slowly, she pulled back, just far enough to break the tension. Her pulse was a thunderclap in the silence. “I…” Her voice cracked. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Mark didn’t say anything. His hand slipped from her wrist to the floor, soft and deliberate, as though he already knew why.

She waited for something, anything. Nothing; then another step. Wood bowed under a boot. The intruder had entered the room. Mark could hear the faint rattle of something brushing the wall beside the closet door. A weapon? Helena moved carefully, one hand bracing Mark’s arm as she shifted in the narrow closet. She pulled out her phone, the faint blue glow lighting her face for a brief moment. She prayed the light wouldn’t shine outside of the doorway. Her thumb moved quickly. She angled the screen behind the hanging clothes, shielding the glow. Before she did anything else, she slid the screen down and tapped Do Not Disturb. Then, with a flicker of hesitation, she opened a message thread labeled Drummond.

Text from Drummond:
Where are you? His car is here but the house is dark.

Helena:
We left to go for a walk. He doesn’t seem to know much, but he is sure being flirty—can’t wait to ditch this freak. Wait in the car.
She hit Send. Bracing for the reply.

A moment later, a quiet vibration in her hand. The reply lit up the screen.

Drummond: You left without wearing a coat?

She could hear the muffled sounds of his boots retreating. Lying was not her strong suit. Helena’s mouth twitched— frustration and nervousness swept across her face before she killed the screen and tucked the phone away. Mark noticed.

“We have to move. Drummond’s here,” she said, voice low and urgent.

Mark blinked. He couldn’t picture a woman like her with a guy named Drummond. It sounded gross, he thought. “Drummond? Who—?”

“Drummond works security for Lumon. We work together on occasion. He followed me here. Broke into your house—a diversion from my plan,” she said quietly. Finding out their night together was a set-up made him want to punch the wall in rage. He felt deep regret for ever applying to work at Lumon and getting caught up in Helena’s “security” plans. His stomach began to sink; this was humiliating. Why did this Drummond guy want her to grind on him at his house? The thought made him sick, but he brushed it away to focus on the silence outside the closet, which was now more unsettling than any noise had been. No footsteps. No voices. Just stillness. Then, the floorboards creaked again—this time farther off, back toward the main floor.

“He’s heading downstairs,” Helena whispered. “Waiting for me by the front door, I assume.”
Mark’s grip tightened on the bat. “So we stay here?”
“No,” she said, already moving. “He’s boxing us in. I need to find a way out of your house. You can come with me,” She turned to him in the dark, her voice low but decisive. “I need you to trust me. No matter what happens, I'm on your side,” He nodded. Adrenaline surged through his chest. Questions burned his tongue, but he bit them back. There was no time.

Mark leaned in, his voice barely audible. “There’s a way out… maybe.”
Helena turned to him, eyes steady.
“The basement,” he whispered. “There’s a staircase down there that leads to a patio behind the townhouse. If we can get to it, we can slip out without using the front door.” She thought through their options and couldn't think of anything better. Plus, they were running out of time. The longer they stayed in the house, the more likely their presence would be revealed.

“Where is it?” She asked.

“In the kitchen. It's easy to miss, and if we can get down the stairs without him hearing us, it’s our best shot.”

Helena exhaled slowly, calculating. “We’d be out in the open with nowhere to hide. I don’t like this.” She shook her head in fear. “Exactly. Quiet. Fast. No noise, no hesitation. If he sees us, I hit him with this and we make a plan from there,” He gripped the bat tightly, then set it down briefly, fumbling for a suitable coat to offer her and a hoodie for himself. They slipped into their clothes without a word. Outside the closet, the floor creaked again, closer to the side of the house this time. The intruder was shifting position. Helena found his hand in the dark, gently joining their fingers together.

“Then we go, now.” Mark hesitated for just a breath, then opened the closet door slowly, inch by inch. The bedroom was bathed in soft, indirect light from the kitchen—just enough to see shadows, not enough to be seen clearly.
They stepped out in unison, silent and low. Mark led, bat in one hand, the other guiding her behind him.

The hallway stretched out like a trap, every board a possible betrayer.
They made it to the top of the stairs. One flight down. Just past the kitchen island. Just past the door. Then they’re gone. Helena touched his shoulder again, a silent warning: she heard something. A floorboard near the entry shifted. Someone was right there. Mark turned his head slowly, locking eyes with her.

Now or never.

Mark squeezed Helena’s hand once, as if to give her a sign it was time to go, then released it softly. He moved first, crouching low as he crossed the landing. The floor beneath him groaned softly, but not enough to give them away.

The living room opened off to the left, and as he passed, he caught a brief glimpse of a figure. A stocky man stood by the fish tank, back turned, silhouetted in the streetlamp’s amber glow. He was tall, heavyset, and had an awful haircut. He wasn’t searching the house anymore—he was waiting. Standing perfectly still, hands in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the window as if expecting Helena to return through the front door.
Mark’s pulse spiked. The intruder was only ten feet away.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t turn.
Just stood there, watching.
Mark ducked behind the kitchen island, Helena close behind. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, but neither made a sound. She nodded, and they stood in unison. One step. Another.
The basement door loomed ahead, painted the same white as the trim, easy to miss in the low light. Mark reached for the knob with deliberate care. Turned it slowly.
A soft click.
He opened the door just enough for them to slip through, then eased it shut behind them. They stepped forward into near darkness.

The narrow basement stairs descended into cool, musty air, and the creak of each step echoed ever so slightly. But the door above remained closed. No footsteps followed. No voice called out. They had nearly reached the concrete floor. The basement was dim, cluttered with jury-rigged equipment—coolers humming softly, wires snaking across the floor, a battered cot shoved into the far corner. The air carried a sharp chemical tang, something metallic and sterile, but underneath it lingered a faintly human scent—sweat, nerves, fear. This wasn’t a guest room. It was a makeshift lab. A bunker disguised as a refuge. Built not for comfort, but for science. Reghabi stood by the workbench, hunched over a neural scanner she’d been calibrating for days. The basement was otherwise silent. Mark’s old hoodie hung from a rusted hook behind her—she’d been living here for days now, unseen and untraceable.
When the basement door creaked open, she didn’t flinch, like she was expecting him. Mark descended first, barefoot and pale, tension etched across his features. Helena followed, her stance alert, her lips pressed into a thin line. Reghabi finally looked up without turning around, brushing a dark strand of hair from her cheek.

Reghabi spoke casually as if it were any other normal conversation, “Another bleed?”

Mark stepped down first, leaving Helena in the shadows. Her jaw dropped when she heard the voice, unmistakable. He nodded faintly. “And… a voice.”

Reghabi straightened, her eyes flashing with urgency. “You’re getting closer. That’s good. The system’s already breaking. You’re almost at the edge.” She seemed thrilled.

Helena stepped forward, trailing the stairs behind Mark but keeping close. She felt safer next to him. She also knew that they had to be quiet and didn’t have time to have a long, drawn-out fight. Her voice remained calm but taut, coiled with underlying tension. “Reghabi, not now.”

Reghabi turned slowly toward her, her expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Helena crossed her arms, shoulders squared. “You shouldn’t be here. And yet here you are—living in his house, experimenting in his basement. Just as I suspected from his behavior the other day, you’re back at it again.” She surveyed the equipment Reghabi had set up on the side of the room, ready for another reintegration session at Mark’s request.

Helena’s eyes snapped to him, sharp. “You didn’t tell me you had her living with you.”

Mark didn’t flinch. “You didn’t tell me a lot of things either. Like how you knew about my flashbacks before I even said a word.”

“I watched the tapes after I noticed something…different…after work. Before we talked at the restaurant. We don’t have time for this…let’s just…”

Mark’s gaze moved between them, the weight of something unspoken beginning to settle on his chest. Whatever respect they had for each other was long gone. But the fallout was not his problem. Still, Reghabi thought Helena was a joke, “It’s surprising that you’re here. Usually, the wives were dead before you swooped in, if I remember correctly.” Reghabi had a habit of making sarcastic, rude comments when she felt cornered. “So this is the new routine for you, huh? Watching low-level employees this closely and dressing up when you check in on them? They have you working for every penny these days. Just as I suspected, Kier hasn’t taught you a thing. You like being a whore.” Reghabi turned to Mark. “Wipe the lipstick off your ear next time.”

A charged silence filled the room.

Reghabi turned back to the scanner, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “He deserves to know the truth. Both versions of him do. You may not like how I operate, but at least I’m not still pretending this is about corporate damage control. Look at you, you’re in over your head. Who did you have to lie to so that they wouldn’t ask questions?” Reghabi saw through Helena. She read her like an old book, it wasn’t hard to when they worked practically side by side for years, always discussing the chip, and the future for Lumon. Helena didn’t respond. Not right away. Her jaw tensed, but her eyes betrayed something deeper—conflict, recognition, maybe even guilt. She knew this had gone too far; she couldn’t play both sides effectively.

Reghabi cleared her throat and stepped between them, holding up a small device. “We don’t have time for half-truths. I’ve almost perfected it—the bridge. In one session, and you’ll remember everything. Your wife, the floor, what Lumon did to you.”

Helena cut in. “No, there’s no time.”

Reghabi looked at her. “Or you’re afraid he’ll remember you.”

Mark's breath hitched.

The three of them stood in tense silence, the buzz of the scanner pulsing through the air like a second heartbeat.

Then, without warning, Reghabi turned to Helena. “I could do you next,” she said. “You want to know what your father’s company buried in your mind?” Helena’s composure cracked for a moment—her eyes flickered, jaw clenched.

“I don’t need your machine,” she said. “I live with the truth.”

“Keep feeding into your delusions, but I have work to finish here. Mark, I just thought you had more self-awareness than this. You know this is a trap and you're walking into it anyway." Reghabi shook her head and turned towards the workbench to finish the recalibrations. She couldn't believe Helena was in Mark's house. The reintegration timeline would need to be sped up as a result. Lumon will be onto them soon.

Mark stepped back, staring at them arguing together. “Can’t you see? This is what they want. They want us to hate each other so they can keep ruining people’s lives, just like they did with Gemma”

Helena turned to him, a strange tenderness in her expression now—something deeper than guilt. “Mark… let’s just talk about this later. I promise. Listen- We have to go. Where is the stairway to the patio?” But before he could respond, all three froze. Another noise from upstairs.

Helena’s phone buzzed in her pocket—one short vibration. She pulled it out.

Text from Drummond: "It’s taking too long. Where are you? Stick to the plan."

Upstairs, Drummond stared at the message thread, Helena’s silence stretching longer than it ever had. He tapped once on the screen, then slid the phone back into his coat. “She better not be compromised,” he muttered, sensing the distance between them now along with her dwindling reverence for Kier. Turning from the window, he moved with purpose, silently casing the house for signs of deception. It didn’t take long. Two nearly empty wine glasses sat on the coffee table, and a pair of black heels lay discarded nearby. They hadn’t left—they were still somewhere in this house, hiding. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the room more carefully. Just beside the armrest, he spotted a single earring—one he knew Helena only wore at public events. Two tiny droplets of blood stained one of the cushions, near the earring.

” What the fuck was going on tonight…” The thought curled cold in his mind. Something about the scene disturbed him deeply. She hadn’t been walking in Kier’s footsteps for a while now, and tonight confirmed it.

From his jacket, he drew a long, slender object—a telescoping baton, worn and ready. He wasn’t here for drama. He was here for resolution.

Mark Scout had to go. There was only one part of the house he hadn’t checked yet.

Text to Helena: “I know you’re in the basement. Do you need me to get rid of him?”

Downstairs, Reghabi swore under her breath, already moving. “We can’t use the stairway to the patio—he’ll have eyes on the yard. You need to do something, Helena, you’re the only one with leverage.” Helena’s eyes darted around the room, She hated making choices under pressure. She turned to Mark as if to suggest he create the next plan.

Mark’s response came fast. “So what do we do? Wait for him to come down here and try to fight him? He probably has a weapon already. He came prepared. I’m not ready to end up like Gemma over this. We can’t just stand here like idiots.”

“No,” Helena said, her voice calm despite the fear flickering in her eyes. “We turn you in.”
Reghabi paused. “What? Turn him in how? Do you seriously have no conscious left? They’ll put him on the testing floor, or worse. Drummond will just take him back to Lumon if he thinks he’s reintegrating, you know how it will end.”

Helena glanced at Mark. “He still thinks I’m on his side.”

Mark blinked. “You want to walk me into his hands?”

“Not walk. Lure.” Her tone sharpened. “I sell it. You play scared, cornered. He gets close enough, then we flip it. Just hurry up and hide this equipment, fast. And take my lead. Don’t talk unless spoken to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He scoffed, hastily pulling the blanket Reghabi was sleeping with off the cot. They spent the next thirty seconds covering up whatever evidence away that they could, then in a barely audible whisper, Mark instructed Reghabi to hide in the furnace room, handing her a crowbar.

“Just in case,” He said with a grin. “You know what women like, Mark.” She replied sarcastically, like she usually did.

Reghabi looked between them, calculating. “You’ll need to prove it to him. He doesn’t trust sentiment.”

Helena nodded once, jaw tightening. “Yeah, I know what he expects.” She looked down at the floor.

Mark took a step back. “What does that mean?”

“It means this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us,” she said quietly.

Reghabi moved to the far wall, tugging at a wood storage cabinet. Behind it, a door, rarely used, led to a small, damp space that functioned like a utility room. Inside were old tools and snowboarding gear. “Cover the door behind me,” She slipped into the dark space. “I’ll wait here and push this door down and buy us five seconds if it turns ugly.”

Helena exhaled, then turned to Mark, revealing a hint of an empathetic smile. Her eyes softened for just a second. “You trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not this time,” She reached towards the table where Reghabi had left some spare wires and pulled out a small metal object—one of Reghabi’s stun rods. “It’ll hurt. But it won’t kill you.” Mark stared at it. “That’s comforting.” She hesitated. Then, before he could brace, he lunged to press it to the side of his ribs. He didn’t flinch—he trusted her. Then came the crackle of current and the searing jolt through his side.
Pain split his chest open.
She—
He hit the floor, gasping, his vision doubling. For one fractured second, he thought she’d turned. That it had all been an act.
Her voice came like smoke: “I’m sorry.” He flailed his arms and knocked down a pile of Gemma’s things, tucked away in storage boxes, on his way down. Helena knelt beside him, just as the door at the top of the stairs burst open.

“Helena?” Drummond’s voice was calm, almost amused. “What’s going on here?”
She looked up toward the stairs, hand still on Mark’s shoulder. Her voice transformed, and she removed it without even a glance in his direction. She sounded like she called the shots in the situation now, “He’s down here.”
Drummond descended, boots thudding against the wooden steps. As he neared the bottom, the shadows shifted—and Reghabi tightened her grip on the crowbar, waiting for her moment.

Every second stretched like a wire. And still, neither Mark nor Reghabi truly knew whether Helena would keep playing her part… or betray them both in the same night.

Helena’s hand still held a stun device. She gave Drummond a satisfied look. Drummond’s boots paused at the bottom of the stairs. Then his voice, smooth and low: “Where’s the other one?”
Helena stood slowly, brushing dust from her dress, already slipping into the version of herself she’d perfected over years—controlled, Eagan, untouchable.
“There’s no ‘other one.’ Just Mark. And me.”
Drummond stepped into view, his eyes scanning the room, sharp and assessing. “You said you’d get answers out of him, then lied about your location, but I don’t see a mess.”

“I changed the plan,” she said coolly. “He was talking. I didn’t like what he said, but killing him now? That would’ve been loud. Risky. And premature.”

Drummond narrowed his eyes. “So you what—interrogated him with a stun rod, a mini dress, and a glass of red?”

Helena allowed a small smirk. “You always underestimated me. I learned from you, Drummond. Don't waste blood when fear works just as well. He knows we’re always watching and listening. He won’t talk.”

Drummond stared at her, as if trying to catch her in a lie. She didn’t flinch.
“I got him to tell me everything he knows. Or thinks he knows. It’s scraps. Paranoia. He’s not a threat anymore—he’s a shell of his previous self, with a fading memory. I’ll keep him on a leash and pull him in if he talks.”

“And what makes you think you’re still fit to handle this? I leave, you let him go. Then what?He’s going to talk eventually. Drummond looked down at Mark in disgust, then at Helena, now stepping closer. She remained steady, refusing to let any signs of weakness show. They were face to face.

“Because you weren’t sent to make decisions,” she said sharply. “You were sent to execute mine. If you leave now, I can say you responded quickly and efficiently. If you stay, this becomes your mess too. The board won’t like that.”
Drummond’s mouth twisted. He hated being spoken to like this—but more than that, he hated complications. His gaze slid back to Mark, who was upright now, dazed but silent. After a long pause, Drummond finally gave a low, almost amused exhale. “Still your father’s daughter.”

Helena tilted her head. “You have no idea who I am.”

Drummond holstered the baton, turned for the stairs. “Clean it up,” he said without looking back. “And don’t call me again unless there’s a body.”
Then he was gone.
Only when the door leading to the basement stairway slammed shut did Helena let her shoulders drop. She turned to Mark—his eyes were wide with disbelief, half-trusting, half-terrified.

Reghabi pushed open the door to the utility room, and the shelves made a low grinding sound across the floor. She stepped out from the shadows, weapon still in hand, to use the bathroom upstairs. “You’re a better liar than I thought, I can respect that,” she said before finally shutting the basement door behind her.
Helena didn’t respond. Her hands were trembling.

Helena leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the floor as if it might open up and swallow her. Mark sat on the old basement cot, ribs still aching, the sting of the stun rod pulsing like a phantom heartbeat. He couldn’t believe Reghabi slept on this garbage. Reghabi had waited with them in silence until they heard the garage door rise and fall. Mark shuddered at the thought of Lumon having complete access to his house.

He watched Helena. She hadn’t looked at him since Drummond left. “You didn’t have to hit me that hard,” he said softly. Her arms tightened. “I had to make it real.” There was a pause, brittle and sharp.

“You were going to let him kill me,” he added, “And things could have gone down differently. You’d have no way to stop him either.”

That made her finally look up. “No. Never. I was going to let him think I might. It was never his call, only mine,” Her voice cracked just enough to betray the weight beneath it. “And that was bad enough. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want to hurt you.”
Mark fumbled with the cool metal frame of the cot, “I didn’t know who I was listening to when you spoke with that guy. It’s so messed up that you can play a different part at the drop of a dime.” He said finally.

Helena stepped toward him, slow, uncertain. “I want to be real with you. I want it so bad. That’s just a part I’m forced to play sometimes.”

He gave a bitter half-laugh. “You’ve got this switch you can flip. Become someone else, whenever you need to. How can I listen to someone who just lies, lies, lies. So effortlessly, too.”

“I didn’t just flip a switch,” she said quietly, sitting beside him. “At Lumon, I sit in board rooms, I attend all the meetings, and go to the conferences. But really, I’m just another tool that they use. I’m nothing to them. I’m the face of my father's company, and I don’t even want to be on the severed floor. I’m forced to go down there every day.”

That stopped him cold. She knelt in front of him, finally meeting his eyes. There was no armor left in hers. Just a hint of exhaustion along with a dash of guilt mixed in, like a deadly cocktail. And something fragile, flickering beneath it.

“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” Helena whispered, her voice splintering the quiet like glass. “I wanted to keep you out of it. But I needed a reason to leave the house, an excuse to see you.” Helena let herself smile, just a little.

Mark blinked, chest tightening as her words landed. “Why do you still live with your dad? Sneaking out seems like something a teenager would have to do.”
She hesitated. No answer came. The silence between them was louder than any confession.
“That’s all I need to know,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Helena…” His voice softened, almost cracked, “I feel an energy between us. I don’t know why, maybe I’m just dumb. That’s why I invited you to dinner. But earlier, before your… security… broke into my house, I had the best night I’ve had in years. With you. But…we can't. My wife is still alive,”

“You’re not,” she said, barely audible, choosing to ignore his sentiment about his missing wife. His hand rose—slowly, carefully—and brushed against hers. She didn’t pull away. And in that stillness, beneath the bones of the house where everything had nearly unraveled, something passed between them. Not quite forgiveness. Not yet. But something close and maybe…something beginning.

Helena spoke again, softer this time, like a confession spoken in an empty church. Only the dull hum of an old light bulb filled the air around them.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said. She felt herself slowly surrender to the moment, and finally took the chance to admit what was holding her back, even if it hurt, “Something I’ve been deciding what to do about for days now.” Mark looked at her, unsure whether he wanted to hear it, but incapable of looking away.

“Inside Lumon,” she continued, “the severed versions of us, your innie and mine—they are together.”

Mark didn’t know how to respond, but he thought back to the night Milchick stopped by his house after the OTC. “Together…how?” The corner of her lips curved into a smile. “Milchick had told me the other version of me had found love,” he said, slowly. “I thought he meant… a passion for the data.” Helena let out a dry laugh, clearly exhausted from the night.

Mark’s voice turned raw; it felt like a bomb had just been dropped on his life. Again. “That’s not what he meant, was it?”

“No, I don’t think it was that.”

“And it was with… the other you.”

“Yes…well…sort of. And the crazy part is that I think it was real, despite everything.” She paused, then added, “I saw it, too.” Her eyes met his. “I tried to push it away,” she said. “Told myself that innies aren’t people, that they didn’t deserve a life of their own. Tried to tell myself it wasn’t part of me. But it is. All of it. And when I look at you now, I see him. Mark S. I know it was real… because I felt it.”

Mark frowned. “I thought you said it was our innies down there. What do you mean you felt it?” Helena hesitated, then spoke with quiet gravity. “After the OTC… I went to the severed floor. As Helly. The elevator didn’t switch the chip. I was… me.”

He turned away, jaw clenched. “That sounds insane. Why would you go down there? And even if it’s true, why does it matter? It’s not like it’ll ever be us.”

“It already is. I think you feel it too, even though you can’t describe it.” She said, barely above a whisper. She knew if she kept going and told him the entire truth about their intimacy, it would ruin whatever thread of connection was still between them. So, she stopped herself from saying more. She rested her hand on his knee, hoping it might ease his worries.

“We just met,” he said. “I don’t remember any of it. What you're asking me to do is abandon my wife and be with you, while she stays trapped inside Lumon...Helena, you get how this sounds, right? It sounds absolutely crazy. And you’re beautiful and all but….”

“But I remember,” Helena said. “And the rest will come naturally. I know it will.” Mark’s gaze dropped to the floor, eyes glinting with something he wasn’t ready to name. “That part of you is trapped on the other side of an elevator,” She leaned in, pressing further. “He’s you. That energy between him and her—it came from me and you, us. And I’m putting my heart on the line because you deserve more than grief. You deserve to feel something again. So do I. We could try..”

“Just because we have something in there, what makes you think it'll be the same in the real world? And how am I supposed to just accept that your company took my wife away from me? I… I loved her so much. So much. And you took her.” He looked like he was about to have a breakdown right in front of her, it took everything he had to hold it together.

Helena reached for his hand, unsteady, still deciding what to say next. “You already did. We admitted it to each other upstairs. We can’t deny it. And… I’ll save her with you. I’ll help get her out and we can make a plan from there.”

Mark let out a short breath and looked away. “What we said in the closet... I think it only happened in the heat of the moment because we were scared, I’m not saying it wasn’t real,” he added. “But I don’t know what it meant. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was just two people pushed to the edge, clinging to something that felt safe for half a second. There's no way you'll sabotage your father's company for this, We should just call it a night and move on."

Helena’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. She hid how much it hurt, “Oh...”

Mark hesitated, searching for the cleanest lie to protect them both, but none came. “I think it’s just…too messy. You’re still tied to the company that tore my life apart. And I—” He stopped, voice low. “I’m still not sure who you are. We can't run away from our lives and pretend things are different than how they are.”

Her eyes dropped. “You know who I am. We’re us. It doesn’t matter what the context is. The setting is just the here and now. What we have is stronger than the chip my father’s company supposedly perfected. If this whatever’s between us—still found a way to exist out here, despite all of it… How can I keep defending a product that doesn’t even work as promised? Wouldn’t that just be wrong?”

Mark let her words settle before he answered. “This existential crisis you're having right now is not because of me. We can’t just fall into something because we’re broken in the same places. That’s not how this is going to work.” He looked at her then, really looked. “And it does feel wrong.”

Helena studied his face. Thinking of the words "going to". It gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope, “But it feels good. Doesn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He thought about their dinner and the way they laughed together about the stupidest jokes. She complimented his cooking even though the salmon turned out dry. The way she moaned against his body on the sofa just an hour earlier, like they already knew what they liked. The way she kissed him in the car was just a little too rough at the restaurant, when they had only just met. How beautiful she looked on the porch as he opened the door. She was insane, but made him want to forget the past and move forward. Everything about her made him want to, even though he shouldn't. The ache in his eyes said everything that words were unable to.

Chapter Text

The cot creaked beneath their weight as Helena shifted, tucking one leg under the other, a gesture meant to ease the tension. The cot smelled faintly of dampness and must like it had been left in storage for years, and maybe it had. Mark hadn’t expected to use it again until Reghabi had convinced him to let her stay in his basement. He’d reluctantly agreed. “Just a few days until I find a better spot.” Was her only argument for moving in. Mark didn’t want to at first, but it gave him hope that this would be the one and only way to help Gemma escape. Plus, she needed more space to set up this equipment and deep down the feelings of loneliness were getting to him as well, though he’d never admit it. So in the end, he gave up arguing against it and told her to stay.

Mark sat beside her, head bowed, elbows resting on his thighs. His fingers brushed over a small tear in the faded fabric, worn thin from camping trips he and Gemma used to take up north. It gave his hands something to do, a small distraction to calm the storm in his mind. He wanted Helena to stay; almost as much as he wanted her to leave. She could go back to whatever dungeon she’d crawled out of so he could return to the misery he’d grown used to. But she was right there beside him, close enough that their shoulders would brush if he turned. Close enough that he caught the faint trace of her perfume again. It was sweet and strangely comforting, it was almost familiar. He tried not to focus too much on it. Her body seemed to radiate warmth. Despite everything standing between them, he found himself wondering what it might be like to pull her just a little closer and…

Her voice broke the silence, low and tentative. “I wonder how things would’ve gone if our night hadn’t been interrupted.”
Mark didn’t look up, but smiled faintly. It was like she knew what was on his mind. “That was on me. The nosebleed.” He hesitated. “Drummond breaking in? That one’s yours.”

“Something always happens,” she murmured, glancing at him with a crooked smile. He finally turned and met her eyes. She wore that guarded expression she always pulled on when trying not to feel too much. She looked even more beautiful like this, the sadness in her eyes making him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go. He wanted to, but couldn’t.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s a sign from the universe.” He didn’t explain further. She understood. The silence that followed felt like just another reminder of who they were, and why this was a mistake. “I wish we could start over,” she said softly. “Without Drummond. Without Reghabi. Just us. I know it’s wishful thinking. You and I are an odd pair.”

“Oh, that’s what’s holding us back?” His voice was dry. “You’re being delusional. You know why we can’t. It wouldn’t stop at one night, and we both know it. What… tomorrow you wake up and sabotage your father’s company for a man you’ve known a week? Next you’ll say we should run away together.” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. She didn’t flinch. “Not a week. And sure, that’s one way to look at it. Or maybe we don’t plan the ending. Maybe we just... let it happen. Take a chance. Then we’ll know. I’d try, if you did.” He turned fully now. Her eyes were steady, but behind them he saw it, need. Not necessarily desperation, but a yearning for something. Maybe even love. He wanted it too. But wanting didn’t make it possible.

“Everything around us…” He exhaled slowly. “None of it supports this. Not the timing. Not who we are. Nothing.”

She blinked slowly, struggling to keep her composure. “You don’t think it’s real?”

“I didn’t say that.” He held her gaze. “But I think we’re on a one-way trip to disappointment.” She looked away. Every time she let herself hope, it ended in pain. Mark felt it too. He already knew how this would go.

“Then tell me what you’re thinking,” She asked quietly. Her hand shook slightly with nervousness, but he didn’t notice.

He swallowed hard. “I want you. I really do. Not just here, not just in some moment that gets swallowed by everything else. I want to take the risk. But…” He moved his hand, letting their pinkies loosely intertwine.

“I’m scared,” she said, voice cracking. She didn’t try to hide it. Her eyes welled up, the same way they had when she’d walked into the kitchen and the chef was chopping onions—except this time, there was no excuse. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She hated herself for being weak and desperate.

He looked away, focusing on the mess his basement had become—tools and wiring scattered across the floor. “Me too. There’s nothing wrong with you, I hope you know that. I want to…you’re so perfect to me….”

The space between them began to thin. But crossing it felt like stepping off a cliff. She stayed still, savoring the moment, just for an instant, ignoring the electricity coursing through her veins. She wanted him so bad it hurt. She felt her gaze drop lower, then lower. She froze. Even now, even as he let her down easy... it proved this wasn’t just in her head. He wanted her too. He wanted her like she wanted him.Then she swallowed, hesitated, and studied his eyes one last time. She pulled her hand away, accepting the truth. He was right. The only ending was disappointment for both of them.

“I should go,” she said quietly, but with finality. Mark didn’t stop her. He wanted to more than anything, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt frozen in place, sitting on the dirty old cot. If he asked her to stay, he wouldn’t be able to let her leave again. He’d lose himself in everything about her—and he’d be letting Gemma down. He’d be breaking his vows for another woman. Helena stood slowly, unsteady. She didn’t look back. If he turned around she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from jumping on his lap and ripping off his shirt. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, he’d give in. They’d end up together. Maybe miserable, maybe not. Mark watched her walk toward the stairs, still wearing his coat. It looked good on her—the way it swayed effortlessly to the side as she moved. At the bottom step, she paused, still unable to meet his gaze.

“We probably shouldn’t see each other again.”

He kept staring at the floor. If he looked in her eyes he wouldn’t be able to let her leave. “I know.”

And he meant it, because he already knew how this ended. If he asked her to stay, he’d lose himself in her and he’d never get Gemma back. He could never forgive himself for that. She climbed the stairs, passing Reghabi in the doorway without a word. Mark stayed on the cot, listening as her footsteps faded above him. The space beside him still felt warm. The pit in his stomach felt like it could swallow him whole. It was devastating in a way he couldn’t describe.

Chapter Text

“Oh no,” Reghabi said dryly as she stepped down. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“You didn’t,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. His heart shattered for the second time tonight. He had let her go.

Reghabi reached the bottom step and leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “Mmhm. That pause before you answered says otherwise.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, rolling his eyes. “What do you want? It’s late.”

“Just making sure you’re still breathing,” she said coldly. “You do realize she’s the daughter of the man whose company tore your entire life apart like it was nothing, right? Wake up from this haze and open your eyes. She lied to Drummond because she felt guilty. That’s it. Now we need to finish what we started, because by tomorrow, they’ll have eyes on this house.”

He looked up at her, face unreadable. “I didn’t forget.”

She pushed off the railing with a sharp breath. “You’re lucky it’s just the two of us down here, because you’re a disaster. And she’s lucky I’m not a less patient woman, otherwise she’d be leaving the house rolled up in a carpet. Helena Eagan walking away in tears was the only positive outcome of this night as far as I’m concerned. You just risked the small amount of progress we’ve been working so hard for. You risked both of our lives. She knows. That means they’ll know. Give it a few hours and they’ll be watching your place, maybe they already are.” She took a step closer. “And what happened to getting Gemma back?”

Mark stood slowly. His voice was low, quiet. He couldn’t think of any other words. “We’ll still get her back. I don’t think Helena is the enemy. You didn’t see her face when she left. I think I broke her heart.”

Reghabi didn’t blink. “Oh, I saw it. I saw yours too. So what? You don’t know her. You spent what, one night with her? But for what it’s worth... I get it. Loneliness can make you do stupid things.”

Mark turned, jaw tightening, frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he couldn’t control. He chose to ignore the comment about his loneliness. He wasn’t lonely, he just happened to live alone, at the time. “Uhh, sort of two nights… but… given the situation we’re in now… just do it,” he said. “The reintegration. Finish it, then you can leave.”

Reghabi stared at him. “You should rest. It’s too late to attempt it tonight, but I’ll start the next phase of the process. As soon as you wake up tomorrow, I’ll flood the chip and we go our separate ways, if that’s what you want.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I want to start the next phase tonight. You’re right, they’re closing in on us. They’ll probably have eyes on the house by morning. We’re risking even more if we wait.” He rubbed his face, breathing shakily. He didn’t know if he was ready, but it seemed he had no choice.

Reghabi didn’t respond right away. She waited a moment to gather her thoughts, then nodded. “Okay,” she said finally. “I have something in mind I want to try.”

They worked together to uncover the equipment hastily hidden before Drummond had come down the stairs nearly an hour earlier. Mark reflected closely on her words. Something in mind? That didn’t seem like a sure thing. “You haven’t done it before?” Mark asked, second-guessing his decision to move forward.

“It’s been more of a hypothetical idea until now,” she replied cautiously, though confident in her ability.

“So this is the testing phase? Actually, it’s more like I’m the testing phase.”

“It won’t hurt, if that’s your main concern. And I’m nearly certain it will work. You should gain a glimpse of the other side—maybe even more. We’ll work on the rest slowly; it can’t happen all at once.”

Mark exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the cables and cold metal laid out in careful disarray across the floor. “Nearly certain,” he repeated under his breath. Reghabi didn’t respond. She was already moving, pulling a folding table into place beside the cot and unzipping a heavy black duffel. Inside were coils of wire, thin needles, and a set of sterile glass ampoules with handwritten numbers scrawled across the labels. The equipment looked both clinical and improvised, a disturbing combination for brain surgery. She worked in silence for a moment, fitting a small transcranial headset into shape. “Lie down,” she said flatly. Mark obeyed, but his hands trembled as he settled onto the cot. The warmth Helena had left behind had faded completely.

“This part will feel like pressure, but not pain,” Reghabi said as she adjusted the headset around his temples. “You’ll be conscious the entire time, but your perception may distort. You may see flashes and memories you don’t recognize. Maybe voices. It could get intense, but you should try to stay as calm as possible. Whatever you see is a version of yourself who’s never known the outside world. He might not have the same objectives as you do.”

He nodded. “Anything I should avoid thinking about?”

Reghabi gave a dry smirk. “That’s not how the brain works. Turn on your side.” She snapped on a pair of gloves and inserted the long, thin needle. He felt only a pop, then a pinch. A cool, faint burn followed as she injected the stimulant. “This accelerates conductivity through the severance boundary. If it works, it’ll crack the barrier, just a little. Enough to let something through. We might only need a follow up session in a few weeks to finalize the procedure. If this is successful.”

The machine whirred to life beside him. Mark’s vision blurred at the edges almost instantly. He blinked rapidly, then clenched his eyes shut. The pressure in his head deepened, like a thickening fog pressing behind his forehead. “Just ride the wave,” Reghabi said, her voice strangely distant. “Don’t fight it.”

The first memory hit like a ricochet.

White hallways. Fluorescent lights. A scent like antiseptic and pine cleaner. A face—Helly’s, not Helena’s, but still her… just different. Laughing. Then screaming. Her hand pounding against glass.

“Let me out of here!” She screamed at the door. The scene fell away just as fast as he saw it.

There was a boardroom with green carpet. Milchick’s approaches him. “Whatever you say Mr. Milchick. Praise Kier.” They’re inside an elevator.

“Did you and Helly R catch up?”

“We did.”

“Did you tell her that you fucked her outie at the ORTBO…Helena Eagan, leader in waiting of this company.”

A projector humming. The feeling of being someone else. Mark S. Not just a name, but a self. Loyal yet broken and trapped all the same. Another flash, this time, slower. A woman across from him, hair tucked behind her ears, a soft sadness in her eyes. Ms. Casey. She reached toward him. Not in desire. In familiarity. “You miss her.” Mark gasped, confused by what she meant. His chest arched off the cot. “Gemma.”

Reghabi steadied him, voice calm but firm. “Let it come. Don’t push it away.”
He saw himself walking down a long, dim hallway lined with file cabinets.
The sound of his own footsteps. Then—
A mirror. His reflection.
Except it wasn’t just him.
It was him, staring at himself.
Two Marks. One behind the glass, one in the flesh. The Mark behind the glass spoke first.

“You’re late.”

Mark jolted. The cot squeaked beneath him.

“I see him….I think I see him…” His voice cracked under the strain. Reghabi was watching the monitors, eyes narrowed. “Keep going. You’re close.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

The other Mark smiled faintly.

“I’ll show you.”

Another wave hit.

Pain. Overwhelming grief. The feeling of sitting in his car in the parking lot outside Lumon, crying so hard he thought he might never stop. The need to go inside, just to escape the weight of his wife’s death. The chip being his salvation. And now, the weight of undoing it.

The images start to blur together. He hears himself reciting a string of words in the dark, reading off an illuminated screen. Mark gasped for breath. The pressure vanished. His eyes snapped open, heart pounding against his ribs.

Reghabi hovered over him, scanning his pupils with a flashlight. “Talk to me. What did you see?”

He sat up slowly, dizzy, every nerve jangling. “I saw… everything. Not clearly, but enough. I remember being in there. I remember her.”

“Gemma?” Reghabi asked quietly.

He nodded once. “Helly. She’s there too, well I guess it’s basically Helena. And…” He trailed off, then looked her in the eye. “My innie. He wants out.”

Reghabi’s expression hardened, but her voice softened slightly. “Then we’ll get him out. Both of you.”

Mark leaned forward, hands shaking, sweat clinging to his skin. The ache in his chest wasn’t just emotional anymore; it was raw, like his very identity had been stretched thin and stapled back together. He didn’t know how long he had before Lumon closed in, but he knew one thing for certain now: both halves of him were real and they could still be aligned. If he stopped the procedure, he’d never get Gemma back. If he didn’t try, she’d be lost forever.

And Helena? That window was already closing. He’d lose her too. He’d have nothing left; nothing but a job at a company he despised, soon to be run by a woman he could have had, but let get away.

“Let’s add another milliliter.” Reghabi said with complete certainty.

The heat in the room shifted, first like a fever blooming under his skin, then warmer, more specific. The chill of the basement fell away, replaced by the slow press of heat on his bare chest, the smell of melted snow and cotton pajamas and body warmth.

He blinked once.

A tent was on either side of where he laid. Low light flickered from a propane heater near their heads, casting deep orange-red shadows along the rippled walls. His breathing sounded strange, muffled by the insulation around them. Sweat clung to his spine. The sleeping bag beneath him rustled as someone moved over him.

She moved over him teasingly. Her thighs straddled his hips, bare legs pinning him down in the tight space. Her skin glowed in the heater’s light. Soft orange against pale blue shadows. Her breath came short and steady, misting faintly in the cold air. Her fingertips pressed against his ribs, then slid upward to his collarbone like she was memorizing him by touch.

“Oh my god.” He said. Unsure if it was to her or Reghabi.

Helly. No… it was Helena. It didn’t matter anymore, did it? She was real. She was here. And he couldn’t tell if it was memory or fantasy. If this was the past, or something new his mind was stitching together in desperation. All he knew was the way she felt: grounding him, claiming him. His body responded before he could think. His hands trembled as they traced her spine, feeling the shift of muscle and the damp heat where their skin met. He leaned in and angled his head slightly, so he could kiss her neck, then he started sucking her skin.

“What a good girl, come closer.” He said without thinking, looking up to meet her gaze. She looked at him like the world was gone and they were the only two left. Their foreheads nearly touched, breath mixing in the tight space between their mouths. Her eyes never left his. She was flushed, lips parted, strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. Her rhythm was slow yet intimate and deliberate. She moved like she wanted to remember every second. Like she was testing whether this was real, or maybe a fantasy like his.

Mark’s chest burned. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to break the spell. There was something terrifyingly honest in her gaze, something that made his throat close and his pulse hammer in his ears. Every nerve in his body felt exposed, like she could see right through him. His right hand curled around the front of her neck, with his left, he dragged his index finger across her, feeling where they met, and curled it up slightly to move in gentle circles. She pressed her hips down harder, drawing a gasp from his throat. He pushed up rougher in response, feeling her shiver against him, and something cracked inside him, something deep, something permanent. A feeling that you just knew existed, it didn't have words to describe. He didn’t say it out loud. But he felt it.

There was an emotion below the surface that she was holding back. She leaned in, her lips brushing just beneath his ear, and exhaled. It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t his name. Just her breath, hot and trembling, the sound of someone trying not to feel everything all at once. He flipped her onto her back to take control.

“Don’t stop.” She said softly, out of breath in the passion of the moment. She looked like she was at the edge. The space around them flickered, seams of the tent glowing brighter.

“Why would I?” He replied, confused at such a statement, as her body tensed beneath his, causing a helpless, cresting wave. Her thighs squeezed around his hips and her legs crossed around his back, keeping them intertwined with no room to back away. He leaned in to kiss her and as their lips met, the heater buzzed faintly above their heads. A rush of complete bliss pooled around them both. “Stay with me, just for a second.” She asked pleadingly, wrapping her arms around his upper back. She smiled, fighting away tears.

“I’ll never leave you.” He heard himself reply against her ear, his nose nestled in her hair.
Suddenly, the light flared.
The tent collapsed.
In an instant, the moment was gone.

The tent dissolved in a wash of red light. Her breath still warm against his ear, his weight still wrapped around her waist. He clung to the memory like it was oxygen. He felt his toes curl, the vision sent him over the edge. He prayed Reghabi wouldn’t notice.

A blinding, searing snap at the base of his skull. Mark gasped, his whole body jerked. The image of her face—Helly, Helena, both—fractured Another jolt, There was no warmth left in the room. No skin pressed against his. No whisper of her breath. Just cold metal and harsh fluorescent lighting enveloped an otherwise dark space. And Reghabi’s voice, sharp and immediate.

“Mark. Mark, look at me. Damn it! Stay with me. Please.” He flinched as her hand slapped his cheek, hard. His body convulsed again. He was freezing. He tried to sit up, but every muscle locked in rebellion. He saw Reghabi’s face hovering above him, panicked, sweat beading across her forehead. Her gloved hands hovered over the exposed wires near the back of his neck, trembling as she yanked something free. His head dropped back. The pain lanced through him like a migraine detonating behind his eyes.

“What the hell did you see?” she asked. “You started seizing, you almost coded.”

He blinked slowly, still half-lost in the fog of it. “She was there,” he rasped. “Under the heater. Oh my god. I didn’t even…And I left her…oh my god….” He cut himself off. The weight of emotion caught in his throat.

Reghabi’s expression sharpened. “You went too far. Your brain was overstimulated, the neural bridge wasn’t holding. I told you this needed to be gradual. You’re lucky I pulled you when I did.” Reghabi scribbled in her notebook: “First full body memory achieved.”

Mark tried to push up onto one elbow but faltered, nausea spinning through him. “It felt… real. She’s going to be devastated.”

Reghabi didn’t fully understand what he meant. “Gemma will understand why you got severed, what’s important now is that we send a message to your innie. He needs to know that getting the upper-management level keycard is the only way. This must have been an intense memory. Try to stay calm. You’re back with me now. We’re in your basement. It’s Friday night. You went to work today at Lumon, and afterward, you met with Helena Eagan. One of her associates entered the house, and she convinced him to leave. She left about thirty minutes ago. Do you remember saying anything during the vision?” she asked, adjusting the saline drip she’d hastily hooked into his arm.

“No,” he lied, the image of her leaning into him still vivid, he thought of the sensation of his fingers threading through her hair, pulling him in deeper. He closed his eyes against the thought of her. He’d give up everything just to experience it one last time. He felt his thoughts transform into reality and deliberately forced it of his mind. This was insane.

As if a call to the present, his phone, still sitting on the workbench, began to ring. Loud and Incessant.

Devon.

Chapter Text

Mark hesitated before answering. Devon would hear it in his voice if something seemed off. She had that special way of getting him to talk about what he was thinking. Although it occasionally annoyed him, he appreciated her concern anyway. Tonight was just the wrong night. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and prepared the lie.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound normal.

“Hey,” Devon replied. “I just stopped by. I knocked for like ten minutes. Where are you? Your car is here, so I don’t want to hear excuses.”

His mind stuttered. “Uh… sorry. I was in the bathroom. Remember I said I’ve had trouble sleeping? I took something to help. Guess it worked too well…” His words trailed off; the white lie sounded even worse when he said it aloud.

“Uh-huh,” Devon said, she was already fighting with her keys, and he heard the car turn off.
Across the room, Reghabi glanced over but stayed silent, looking away as she continued to jot down notes.

“You alright, seriously?” Devon asked with a sigh, knowing he wasn't.

Mark forced a breath out through his nose. “Yeah. I’ve been okay. Just trying to rest, and I turned on a movie.”

“You don’t sound like you’re watching a movie.” She replied plainly.

“It’s paused.”

Devon didn’t press further, but the silence that followed was telling. “Okay, whatever. I just wanted to check in,” she said. “You haven’t been texting much. I got worried.”

Mark nodded reflexively. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just been in my head.” He looked around at the objects thrown around the room haphazardly. Surgical tools, a stun gun on the floor, a haze of quiet dread. What the hell had his life turned into?

Devon’s voice softened. “You’ve been thinking about her, haven’t you?”

Mark stared down at the concrete floor. Of course, he had. “I have,” he admitted. “But I’ve also been trying something new.”

Devon’s tone sharpened. “Mark, I swear to God...if this is about self-medicating again…”

“It’s not that.”

“You can’t lose another job. You can’t...things seemed to be improving for you these last weeks,” She seemed disappointed. It hurt him to hear her like this.

“It’s not drugs.” His voice rose just enough to stop her. “It’s different. I met someone. She’s…helping me.” Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he was referring to Reghabi, Helena, or both.“Oh, and I’ve been doing this new thing,” he added. “The thing that lets me send a message to my innie. If I can reach him, I think I can convince him to find a way to get Gemma out. I know he will.”

Devon’s voice dropped into cautious disbelief. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Yeah. But there’s one issue.”

Another pause.

“I’m still outside,” she said. “In the car.”

Mark blinked. “You’re still here?”

“I figured something was off.” She didn’t sound mad, just concerned. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated. Just long enough for it to seem obvious. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll unlock the door,” he said, trying to sound normal again. She hung up without replying. Mark lowered the phone and looked across the basement. Reghabi didn’t speak. She knew it was crucial to stay quiet and keep Devon out of the basement.

“Stay here,” he said quietly. She nodded without a word.

He turned toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The low buzz of one of her contraptions echoed against the walls. Lumon was going to be watching him closer now, he knew that. Would Devon understand the risk he was about to take? Would she sympathize with his desperation or condemn him for going to such an extreme? Did she even need to know? Mark brushed the thoughts aside as he ascended to the last step. He would tell Devon the truth, he told himself.
He swung open the front door calmly, he forced himself to yawn as he met her eyes.

“What happened to your neck?” She asked, scrunching her face, “Did you have someone over tonight?” Devon pushed past him and looked at the living room. Mark had forgotten to put the glasses of wine in the dishwasher. One had a smudge of lipstick around the rim, “Oh…I didn’t mean to interrupt; you could have just told me.” Her voice was tangled with confusion and surprise. She slipped her coat off and put it in the coat closet near the doorway. “Whose is this?’ She asked, taking Helena’s off the hook and holding it up. She studied the coat a little more closely, almost examining it. “This looks fancy. Who came by?” She hung it back up in the closet and shut the door. “I assume she didn’t plan on leaving this behind.

Mark didn’t answer right away, he wasn’t sure how he would defend sharing dinner with Helena Eagan. Instead, he diverted the conversation and walked to the fridge to offer her a drink. “It was just dinner.”

Devon gave him a look; she wasn’t going to drop it. “Dinner with who?”

He avoided her eyes. “Someone I’ve been… talking to.”

Devon raised an eyebrow, her expression tightening. “Since when?”

“Like a week. “He replied, looking at the stove, unsure of what to say next.

“You didn’t want me to meet her?” Devon asked as she took a sip of apple juice that tasted like it had been sitting in his fridge for a month too long.

“It’s not like that.” He said with a sigh, “We’re just figuring things out right now.”

“Then what is it like?”

An awkward silence passed. Devon stared at him, her voice quieter now. “Is that someone from Lumon?” That stopped him cold. She knew something was off, she knew him too well. “You’ve been different,” she went on, “but not in a bad way. Just… secretive. Distracted. And now this.”

Mark hesitated, then said carefully: “She’s part of it. The thing I told you about. Trying to get Gemma out.”

Devon stepped back. Her brow furrowed deeper. “So, she is involved? She works with Lumon? What the hell, Mark?”

He didn’t answer, just continued looking at the stove. Then, he began slowly, “It's not how you think it is,” he added, too quietly. “She’s... helping.”

Devon looked at the wine glass again from across the room. “Well, what’s her name?”

He swallowed. “Helena.”

“That sounds familiar, I feel like I’ve heard that name on TV before…” Her voice trailed off. She stared past him for a second, trying to place the name with a face. Then her expression shifted.

First recognition, then fury. ”No fucking way.”

Chapter Text

The ivory overhead kitchen light buzzed faintly. A forgotten glass of water trembled in Mark’s hand, clinking against the counter. Devon’s voice was still echoing in his mind. The sound seemed to fade in and out like a video being repeatedly turned up and down. Gradually rising, then fading away to match the buzz of the light again. It felt like it would never end. His heart was fluttering like a bird panicking in a box. “Just breathe. It’ll go away.” He told himself, in a feigned attempt at calming the thoughts racing around in his head. He couldn’t keep track of everything. It was too much to consider all at once. He didn’t know which thoughts were his and which weren’t. His hands felt clammy like he had returned from a run. His temples prickled with heat, despite the room being set at a constant 71 degrees on the thermostat.

He blinked. Once. Twice. The room tilted to the side. Then shifted, back to where it was supposed to be. He placed the glass down carefully, afraid to shatter it with his now loosening grip. Something was off. Something was wrong. He took a breath, no, a gasp, and felt the world turn in on itself instead. The room began glitching out, being replaced with crisp corporate hues. He looked up and saw a track lighting system overhead. He lowered his gaze, and the room appeared in flashes, a destabilizing memory. A desk with four chairs. Then three. Upon exiting the room, a maze of plain white hallways seemed to fill the rest of the floor, with no obvious labeling or directions.

“Mark?” Devon’s voice again, sharper now. She appeared at the edge of the kitchen, her expression shifting. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

He tried to nod, but he was stuck in place.
The muscles in his neck wouldn’t respond. His jaw clenched. His fingers curled inward, unbidden.

“Mark…”

He stumbled, fell sideways into the wall, then dropped to the floor in one loose, terrible motion.

THUD

“MARK!”

Devon rushed to him. He was twitching, not violently, but enough to make her panic. His legs kicked against the floor like he was fighting something in a dream. He was moving his eyes, brows furrowed as he looked intently ahead as if a movie was playing right in front of him.

His breathing turned ragged. Then stopped.
“MARK!” she shouted again, her hands on his face, tapping, slapping, trying to keep him tethered.

He didn’t move.

“No. No no. No!! ” she screamed. “GET UP! I knew you were back on fucking drugs again. Stop. Stay with me. Stay with me, Mark. I’ll call 9-1-1.”

Seconds later, the basement door slammed open. Reghabi flew up the stairs and dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers under his jaw. “How long has he been down?”

“I don’t….who the hell are you? Thirty seconds, maybe. What is going on right now?! Are you two using together?”

“Using what? This appears to be a focal seizure. Maybe generalized. It could be status epilepticus if we don’t stop it now.”

Reghabi tore open the side pocket of her coat and yanked out a soft-sided medical pouch. Her voice was steady, but Devon could see her pulse racing under the skin of her neck. “I don’t know what a focal seizure means…what are you going to…”

“Roll him onto his side,” Reghabi ordered, stopping her mid-sentence. They turned him, and Reghabi checked his pupils, muttering to herself.

“Dilation. No response. Pressure’s rising. I need lorazepam—now.” Her statement sounded more like reciting practiced lines than telling Devon her next steps. She pulled out a pre-filled syringe of lorazepam and shot it into his thigh. Devon flinched at the sight. “What was in that needle?”

“Anticonvulsant. Slows down his nervous system and reduces the anxiety he’s feeling right now.”

Mark jerked once, then again, his limbs tensing. Reghabi reached back into the kit. "Midazolam, 10 mg intranasal,” she said to herself, grabbing a second applicator and placing it under his nose. “He might need two doses.”

“Jesus Christ,” Devon whispered. “Are you seriously reminding yourself of a procedure? Are you even a doctor?”

Reghabi stayed silent.

“Is he going to stop breathing?” Devon continued.

“He might. I’m watching his airway. You need to stay calm.” Mark let out a choking sound, then a sputtering breath. His back arched, then slumped again. “He’s overheating,” Reghabi muttered. She reached for another compartment in the bag. “If I had my full setup, phenytoin, a cooling vest, maybe Keppra…but it’s all back at my locker.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have what you need to save him? We need a real doctor.”

“I have what I need for this stage, but if he goes into postictal instability or has another wave, we need more meds and temp regulation or he could stroke out.”

Devon’s face twisted. “What kind of experimental bullshit are you trying to do with my brother? Don’t you see how vulnerable he is!?” Reghabi didn’t say a word, prompting Devon to change the topic in desperation, “So what the hell do we do?”

Reghabi looked at her, no humor in her eyes. “You drive him, or I do. But he needs everything I’ve got there. Now.”

For half a second, Devon didn’t move. Then she yanked the keys out of her back jeans pocket and threw them over. “GO. If he dies, I swear to God lady…you’re fucking done.”

“I’m not letting him die.”

They lifted him, barely conscious, damp with sweat, and moved him into the car. His body convulsed once more as they lowered him into the back seat. And Devon hurriedly clicked his seatbelt in.

“Elevate his head. He might aspirate,” Reghabi said.

Devon did as she was told. Her hands were shaking. Mark looked halfway to the grave.

Reghabi turned to her. “You need to stay here.”

Devon blinked, heart still hammering. “Why?”

Reghabi gave her a loaded look. “Because the moment Helena shows up, someone needs to get the truth. And he’s in no state to do it. She’ll come back, trust me.”

Devon’s mouth tightened. The car roared to life and Reghabi jerked it into reverse. Headlights slashed across the driveway creating a dark yellow beam against the garage. It was pitch black outside. Above them, snowflakes fell from the sky like feathers, already coating the driveway in a sparse sprinkle of white dust. The vehicle disappeared into the night, leaving her alone.

Devon stood in the kitchen, shaking. She had no idea Mark was this depressed. It made her even angrier at Lumon for taking Gemma away from him; from their family.

Then, her eyes caught something on the floor. It was Mark’s phone.

He didn’t have a password on it. He probably rationalized that it was harder to enter a pin when he was drunk. He didn’t trust facial recognition, either. ronically. He was still stuck in the past.

“That’s so him.” She thought, with a frustrated smirk on her face. Devon swiped up on the screen and it unlocked in an instant. A contact was opened, but no call had been made since earlier in the week. Besides one missed call, just minutes after she arrived. His phone was on DND. It must have gone straight to voicemail.
One missed call.

Helena.
And just beneath it, a message:
Please answer, I need to tell you something important

The house felt hollow without Mark.
Devon stood just beside the sink
, watching droplets fall from the faucet he never got around to fixing. The near silence rising around her like fog. She could still hear the faint hum of her car retreating down the street, carrying him and that woman with the medical kit into the dark. The “sort of” doctor that Mark had trusted with his life. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, hands balled into fists, heart still thudding from the sound of Mark hitting the floor. Her brother had dropped like dead weight. His eyes rolled back. His hands had seized. He’d gasped like he couldn’t breathe

She thought about the woman who left her coat in her brother's closet. Devon supposed she must have left with his instead. A wine glass with lipstick on the coffee table…The woman Mark swore was "helping." What bullshit.

She swallowed, thumb hovering just above the screen. Her fingers twitched once before she tapped to open the message thread.
There wasn’t much. Not a long conversation. But it was enough. And the timestamp on the missed call—5 minutes ago—made her eyes narrow in spite. She looked toward the basement. The door still hung slightly open, shadows pooling at the base of the stairs. Her hand closed tighter around the phone. She didn’t know why Helena had called. What was the urgent thing she needed to say? Either way, the details were less important, she knew what she had to do.

Devon stepped away from the kitchen and walked into the living room, still holding the phone. She sat down slowly, letting the silence settle again, gathering her breath. It took a moment longer to calm down and slow her racing thoughts.

Then she hit “Call.”
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
She was just about to hang up when the line clicked.

“…Hello?” Helena’s voice was small, cautious. She didn’t sound confident anymore. It sounded like she was outside, maybe walking along a busy road. The faint sound of traffic broke through interjected by splices of silence.

Devon leaned back, eyes locked on the ceiling, trying to keep her voice even. She spread her left arm out on the back of the couch as she held his phone against her ear in the other.

“Is this Helena?” she said, trying to make herself sound shaken, but not angry. “It’s Devon. I’m Mark’s sister.”

Silence crackled on the other end. Helena wasn’t sure how to introduce herself. She wanted to go back to numbing her thoughts with the can of lime margarita she picked up at a gas station outside of Mark's neighborhood. She didn’t know where she was going to go yet, but she knew that she couldn’t call Drummond for a ride, and she couldn’t call the house either, or else she’d be preparing herself for an additional “balancing of the tempers” for her recent behavior.

“He’s having seizures,” Devon said, quiet but urgent. “I don’t know what the hell you people did to him, but he collapsed. He just dropped. He couldn't breathe, couldn’t speak, nothing. It looked like it was hollow behind his eyes.”

Helena was silent. She couldn’t make the joke even though she wanted to. She snapped out of it. Focus.

Devon waited one beat, then added: “She took him somewhere. That woman at his house…she said she had medicine. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

Still nothing. Helena was speechless. Mark was really going to try to do it, wasn’t he? God that man was insane. She missed him even more at the thought, forgetting all about Devon’s spiel.

Devon exhaled, just enough to sound like she might break. “If you care about him at all, you’ll come back. He asked about you before he stopped talking.”

Click.

Call ended

She unlocked the phone again after ending the call and opened his messages.
They’d texted. A lot.
She scrolled through the thread. At first, it was vague. Tense. Mark asked questions. Helena hesitating. But then-

Mark: I keep thinking about you. Under me. Over me. Bent over. God, I can’t wait to see you. Only two more days.

Helena: Do you? And all this time, I thought you were a married man.

Mark: I guess figuratively. Legally, not so much

Helena: Oh. Then you won’t feel even an ounce of shame if you want me during dinner? Because I know you will

Mark: You’re something else

Helena: Is that you admitting you do?

Mark: I plead the fifth, give me my lawyer

Helena: Good thing you already have one on speed dial

Mark: You go crazy at the thought of being with a criminal, don’t you?

Helena: Maybe you’ll find out on Friday

Mark: I’ll be thinking about you all night and tomorrow too

Helena: Tell me what we’re having for dinner

Mark: Something I think you’ll love

Helena: How could I not?

Devon’s lips parted. She scrolled down further, to yesterday. She inhaled. Exhaled. Repeated. Then, once more. She couldn’t believe what she was reading.

Mark: I had a dream last night after we got off the call

Helena: Tell me.

Mark: We woke up together a little after sunrise. I don’t remember the rest

Helena: The dream ended there?

Mark: Okay, maybe it didn’t

Helena: Haha. I’m sure

Mark: You should stay the night tomorrow

Helena: I thought we were going to be friends. That’s what you said when you reminded me you’re married, remember?

Mark: I won’t tell if you don’t

Devon’s hand shook as she lowered the phone. Something cracked inside her. Her brother, who could barely speak Gemma’s name without choking, was telling this woman he wanted her. She dropped the phone on the cushion of the couch.

Thirty minutes had passed. Devon waited, heart pounding in her chest, while Helena hurried back to his house. She had thrown the can in someone's bushes before getting within sight of his windows. The front door creaked open with a low groan. Devon left it unlocked in anticipation. The messages confirmed that she would come. Helena stepped in, hesitant. The place was dimly lit now, with only the hood vent light above the stove illuminating the rest of the living room. It was quieter than she expected. Her eyes flicked around. The wine glasses remained on the table in the center of the room.
Devon stood between the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the wall.

“Thanks for coming,” Devon said softly, her arms crossed. Her tone was neutral, not welcoming or threatening. It sounded somewhere in the middle.

Helena nodded, stepping inside. “Where is he?”

“I just wanted to talk for a bit before he comes back,” Devon replied, voice low. “The woman he had over told me she knew where to find emergency meds. They’re driving to get them now. She said she’d call when she knew more.”

Helena let out a small breath, some of the panic easing from her shoulders. “He’ll be okay?”

Devon shrugged. “That’s what she said. I want to believe her. For now… he’s alive.”

Helena looked down, fumbling with the zipper to take off Mark’s jacket. “Somehow this feels like my fault.”

Devon didn’t respond.
A long pause.
Then Devon asked, too casually, “You two sleep together?”

Helena looked up, wary. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Devon stepped forward, just enough to be in Helena’s space. “My brother is still going through it, you know? He’s a risk-taker. Sometimes he makes bad choices.”

Helena’s jaw tightened. “If you seriously want to go there, you’re wrong. It's deeper than that.”

Devon’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. I know how Mark looks at someone when he thinks they’re the answer.”

Helena swallowed.

Devon’s voice dropped. “But here’s the part you don’t get…Helena. You’re not it. You’re just something to distract him. Something to fill the space while he works himself to the bone to get Gemma out.”

Helena flinched at the name. A reminder that she was always second and always will be second.

Devon stepped closer. “And when Gemma comes back? What then? You’ll sit in this house, folding their laundry while they pick up where they left off? Is that what you think this is?”

Helena turned her head, but her voice was firm. “I know what we have. And you don’t get to tell me otherwise.”

Devon laughed — sharp and cold. “Oh, you think you know. You think just because he touched your hand over wine and whispered to you in the dark, that it means something permanent. But you’re not permanent, Helena. This isn’t your house. This isn’t your life; he and you live in completely different realms. Leave my brother alone."

Helena’s chest heaved. “Where is he? When is he coming home? You can think what you want about me, but I don't have bad intentions towards him."

Devon stared at her, then barked out another humorless laugh. “Home? This is his home. You’re not part of it.”

Helena turned abruptly, back to the door she had just come through, “I’m done with this.”
She turned toward the door, reaching for her coat. “Please just tell him I stopped by.”

Devon turned away and walked into the kitchen. Her eyes lingered a little too long on the stove. Gemma deserved better, and she finally had a chance to get out. "This was the only way," She told herself.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the heavy skillet still sitting on the stovetop, the one Mark had used to cook earlier, now crusted and cold. She crossed the room in three strides.

Slamming it against the back of Helena’s head.

The sound was sickening- dull and sudden. Helena crumpled against the doorframe, caught off guard, her body folding to the floor. Her hand twitched once against the wood, then went still. Devon stood above her, chest rising and falling. She looked down at the pan in her hand, still panicking, then at Helena, unconscious at her feet.

She didn’t mean to hit her that hard. But now it was done. And she knew what had to happen next.

Chapter Text

Helena's eyes fluttered open. She let out a low groan as her gaze drifted across the room. For a split second, she braced for the sterile chill of the testing floor. Familiarity settled over her like a warm blanket on a rainy day, almost comforting. Mark Scout's basement was darker than she remembered. Before she could determine why she was still in his house, a searing jolt of pain surged through her skull. Her vision blurred as the room swayed back and forth. The ceiling above swam in and out of focus: a tangle of pipes, the rhythmic flicker of a single bare bulb, struggling to illuminate it. A sharp ache swept across her skull in pulses. Her wrists, bound behind the beam, burned and began to go numb. Zip ties cut deeper with every twinge. They’d been looped sloppily, circles within circles around the beam, done in haste. But it was effective. Her left ankle throbbed; skin scraped raw from being dragged. Devon must’ve dragged her down the stairs while she was out cold. Her first instinct should have been anger, fear, or apprehension. Instead, she felt the slightest glimmer of hope. For once, she hadn’t woken to a portrait of Kier or some sterile monument labeled with Lumon-speak. This, she concluded, was pleasantly refreshing.

As she came to, a bitter taste surfaced in her mouth, clinging to the back of her throat. The stale, coppery tang of blood. Her tongue felt dry and heavy; her lips were split at the corners. She tried to swallow, but it felt like chewing glass. Faint noises echoed around her, pipes knocking as the water heater kicked on. She was still in Mark’s house. Just not the version she remembered. No warmth in his voice. No hand on hers. No closeness they’d almost rediscovered. Almost. She was alone now. At least for the moment. Above, footsteps paced steadily, maybe in the kitchen, maybe the living room. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy. Her stomach turned.

Devon.

Each creaking step was a countdown. Helena shut her eyes tightly, willing her breath to steady, but her body betrayed her. Her heart kicked into a sprint. Muscles tense against the restraints. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The footsteps stopped. The door at the top of the stairs groaned open. A figure descended, casting long shadows across the basement’s clutter—wires, scientific instruments, brown storage boxes. Devon stepped into the light; her silhouette was sharp. “Perfect timing. You’re awake,” she said flatly, without surprise. She inched closer, dragging Reghabi’s stun gun lazily along the railing. The low electric buzz filled the space like a warning. A shiver went up Helena’s spine. She winced, her eyes stinging, and swallowed against the dryness.

“Devon… what’s going on?” But she already knew. This was payback.

Devon crouched a few feet away, inspecting Helena’s face like she was troubleshooting a broken appliance. Her expression was cold. Detached.

Then, in a voice like cracking ice: “Unfortunately, we’re on a tight schedule tonight, Helena, so try to focus. I only have two simple questions. First, where exactly is Gemma? And second, how do I get her out of Lumon? Alive. Keyword: alive.”

Helena strained to sit up. Her shoulders fought the tension in the zip ties. “I don’t know exactly where she is,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re doing this for nothing." She leaned forward, the words tumbling faster now. “When is Mark coming back? If you stop... whatever this is... we can go upstairs. Pretend it never happened. I won’t tell him. You have my word.”

Devon didn’t flinch. She only stared deeper into her eyes.

“You’re just trying to protect him,” Helena added quickly. “You’re a good person. A good sister. Someone who doesn’t hurt people.”

Devon’s mouth twitched-almost a smile. But her eyes remained icy.

“That would tie things up nice and neat with a pretty bow, wouldn’t it?” She glanced at Helena’s bound, slumped figure on the dirty floor. Then, without flinching, she pressed the stun gun to her side.

A sharp crack split the air. Helena’s body jolted. Her limbs convulsed violently as the charge ripped through her. A strangled cry tore from her throat. Then, unsettling silence. She collapsed against the beam, panting. Trembling. The floor tilted beneath her. Devon straightened; her eyes unmoved. She would get her answers, one way or another.

“Try again.”

Helena slumped forward, unable to brace herself. Limbs shaking. The aftershocks still pulsed through her like phantom lightning. The air reeked of scorched fabric and sweat. The dress she’d worn to Mark’s house hours earlier was ruined, soaked with blood where droplets spilled from her mouth like rain off a rooftop. Her chest rose in shallow gasps. Her cheek stung where it had scraped the beam. The iron taste was stronger now.

Devon didn’t move. She stood over her like a verdict waiting to be handed down. “I’m going to ask again,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Since it seems like you didn’t hear me the first time: Where is Gemma?”

Helena coughed. Wet. Ragged. She’d bitten her tongue. Slowly, she lifted her head, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “I told you… I don’t know. You’re wasting your...”

Devon’s hand moved before Helena could brace for it.

CRACK.

The slap knocked her head sideways. Her cheek blazed. Her ear rang. She blinked, stunned by the sheer casual cruelty of it. It was unexpected, even for Devon. A tear slipped from one eye, involuntarily. But she had not surrendered.

“You want to do this the hard way?” Devon stepped closer. Close enough that Helena could smell her soap, her sweat, her barely restrained rage. “You seem like a smart woman. You know how this ends.”

“I’ve already told you,” Helena rasped. Something reckless surged in her chest. Pride, defiance, maybe just stupidity. “But maybe if you hit me again, it’ll magically change the answer.”
Another slap.

Harder this time. Her head cracked against the beam behind her. Stars exploded in her vision.

“Drop the act,” Devon hissed. “Stop wasting my time.”

“I’m saving myself,” Helena croaked. “The same way you want to save your sister-in-law.”

Devon narrowed her eyes. “From what?”

Helena hesitated. The silence simmered. She closed her eyes, swallowing her pride. “If they find out I talked…” she whispered. “They’ll kill me. You think they haven’t done worse for less?”

“You think I care?” Devon barked. “You think your self-preservation matters more to me than getting Gemma out of that hellhole you people keep her in?”

Helena let out a bitter sound, almost a laugh. “I guess we’re alike in that way. They don’t care about me either,” she said. “You seem to think I’m valuable, but I’m not. I’m a liability. That’s all I’d be to them if I talk.” She forced her eyes open. Forced herself to keep going. “If they even suspect I turned on them, they’ll get rid of me. Quietly. Like I was never there at all.” Her voice trembled, “They’ll make another version of me or say I ran off or lost my mind. They’ll send someone else to take my place. Some polished double. And no one will question it. Would you?”

Devon stared. Unmoved by her speech. Helena’s mouth opened, then closed. Her ribs ached. Her breath was shallow. The silence between them stretched tight.

Then Helena spoke softly. Ashamed. A final plea as the pain became too much to bear: “I’m… four days late.”

Devon looked down, confused, then back up to meet her gaze. “What?”

“You know what I mean,” Helena said, not meeting her eyes. “It’s never late. Ever. Clockwork. I haven’t said anything because I don’t know yet. I never took a test. But…” She trailed off, unable to finish her thoughts.

Devon stared at her like she’d seen a ghost. Then scoffed at her stupidity. “Nice one,” she muttered bitterly, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not,” Helena said quickly, choking out the words like a sinner at mass. “I’m just telling you the truth. I think… I might be...”

"Well, that's convenient, isn't it? Who is the daddy?" Devon rolled her eyes sarcastically as she prepared the stun gun for another round, thumb poised on the trigger. Her expression was unreadable. For a moment, Helena thought she’d do it anyway.

Then Helena said quietly: “If I am… It’s Mark’s."

"How do you expect me to believe that when you've been talking to him for what, a week, maybe two?"

"We haven't, on the outside. It would have happened when he was severed."

"What?" She asked, mostly to herself.

"Maybe you don't know your brother as well as you thought you did." Helena replied, spitting blood onto the floor, "You didn't guess I was severed by what I told you earlier?"

"I didn't dwell on the specifics. Just...give me a minute to find it." Devon’s gaze drifted across the basement to the storage shelves Mark usually avoided. “I think Gemma kept extra tests. There might be an unopened box with her old things,” she said flatly as if reciting a grocery list. “Back before the car accident. When she was still trying.”

Helena remained silent, unsure how to process that. It sounded grimly ironic in a way she didn’t have the mental strength to fully absorb. Although Devon was right about her reaching for anything to stall, the excuse was tangled with truth. It was a possibility, although unlikely.

Devon turned away without another word. She crossed the room, boots crushing over Reghabi’s discarded food wrappers, toward an old cardboard box tucked high on a shelf. Mark had left it untouched, packed away like a wound that never quite healed. The moment stretched. Devon dragged the box down, opened it, and rummaged through the faded contents: journals, hair ties, clothes, and a photo in a bent frame. Near the bottom, a pink box. She pulled out a thin foil packet and turned back to Helena, holding it up like evidence.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” She said after a brief hesitation.

Helena’s throat tightened. She didn’t resist as Devon led her upstairs, steps echoing in the otherwise quiet house. She didn’t ask where. She already knew. Mark’s en-suite bathroom was small and private in a way that made her uncomfortable, like she was trespassing in his absence. The air hung heavily with pinewood aftershave, soap, and the faint warmth of him left behind. A towel slouched crookedly on the rack. His chipped mug, “Lake Tahoe,” faded on the side, held his toothbrush. Every detail seemed to make her heart ache. Would the light catch his eyes the way it did now? Would her toothbrush go on the left or the right of his? What would it be like to share this space in the dull light of ordinary mornings?

Interrupting her fantasy with a frustrated sigh, Devon locked the door behind them with a soft click, the sound slicing through the tension. She thrust the test into Helena’s still-numb fingers like a loaded gun. “Go ahead, I’ll turn around.”

Helena’s voice was weak, almost as much as her body. “You think this is necessary? Why would I lie?”

“Stop talking and pee on it,” Devon snapped, eyes fixed on the door, preparing to block Helena from running if she tried. Helena obeyed. The crinkle of plastic was the loudest sound in the suffocating silence. She hated this, being watched. It reminded her of childhood, but she didn’t argue; she was raised to be obedient. When she finished, she held out her hand to check the test, still feeling the after-effects of the shocks, but Devon was faster. She snatched it in a practiced motion, eyes scanning it instantly. For a second, her expression shifted, just slightly. Then her face went blank.

“It’s negative,” she said with a sigh, turning away before Helena could look. “You’re just using this as an excuse to waste time.”

Helena stared up, their eyes meeting, “You’re sure?” Her heart felt like it had been stabbed, a truth she would never admit to Devon or anyone else.

Devon dropped the test in the trash, nodding, “I’m sure.” A heavy pause stretched between them. Helena looked down at the damp bathmat. A tiny splash of toothpaste clung to the faucet. She swallowed.

Devon leaned against the side of the sink, arms crossed. “You want to get out of this? Help me get her out. My sister-in-law deserves freedom. Earlier, you said I'm a good person. I'm not. But she is.”

Helena hesitated, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, “In exchange for what?” she asked quietly. “My life for hers? They’ll make me disappear anyway they see fit.”

“No.” Devon’s voice softened. “In exchange for your life. You won’t be a target if we do this right.” The words sounded too clean. Too easy. Still, the strings of her heart caught on them like a hook. False hope, too good to be fully believable. Still, exhaustion crept over Helena, causing her to not think as sharply as usual.

“That's wishful thinking. If I do this, I’m gone,” she said. “Mark won’t see me again. They’ll turn me inside out. Into someone else. Like Ms. Casey.”

“Wait, after all of this, you’re still thinking about Mark?” Devon looked at her closely, like she was waiting for her to slip up and finally confess her true intentions. For a split second, something passed between them, not pity, something heavier. Sympathy, maybe. It dissipated immediately. “And I don’t know who Ms. Casey is, but I’m sure she’s easier to work with than you,” she said. “This isn’t about Mark. I’m here to make an offer. Something you want, for something I do.”

Helena looked into the mirror. Her forehead was bruised where she’d hit the floor. Her reflection warped in the curve of the medicine cabinet, off, not quite right. She stared like she was trying to see past it. “Well, I’ll start with this,” she said finally, voice thin.

Devon said nothing. Just waited, trying to determine if the next words out of Helena’s mouth would be lies.

“They moved her,” Helena said. “Gemma. She’s on the testing floor.”

Devon narrowed her eyes. “What’s the testing floor?”

“It’s where they send long-term 'severed subjects'. People who’ve… held the procedure unusually well.” Helena shifted. “It’s monitored with a video feed. There’s more invasive testing since the subjects are severed more than once. They test the chips’ limits to see if anything bleeds over. Most don’t last more than a few months. Usually, they get a hemorrhage. Since they’re dead in the real world, it’s an easy cleanup.”

Devon stayed quiet. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Helena’s fingers curled around the sink’s edge, opposite hers. “There’s a room called Cold Harbor. That’s where they’re sending her on Monday. It will be the last step.”

Devon’s voice dropped. “Okay. And what happens there?”

“They extract the chip after she leaves the room.”

Devon looked at her, disgusted. “So that’s it. They kill her and move on?”

Helena didn’t nod, but didn’t deny it. She could feel the uneasy tension rising between them. Two people who had no business getting acquainted on a night like this. Helena continued, offering a few ideas that she thought of on the spot, like improvisation. At the end, she listed what she wanted in exchange for betraying her company. Sacrificing whatever legacy remained for her at Lumon, however small that might be. Eventually, Devon spoke up, “If you open that stairwell door, if you help get her out, I’ll agree to everything you’ve asked.”

Helena turned to her, something unreadable passing through her expression. “All of it? Even the last part,” she asked.

“Yes,” Devon said. “You help her, I help you. That’s the deal.” Neither said it aloud, but both knew what it meant.

Helena stared for a long moment. Then quietly, sealing their fates, “Fine.” But even as silence settled, her mind raced. Darting down corridors of possibility. Reaching for anything resembling a plan. The Testing Floor was on B2, one level below the Severed Floor. Gemma would have to run up four flights of stairs, echoing with every footstep. At the top was a solid steel door, locked from the outside. It never opened, except maybe every few months when the fire department came for code checks. Even then, a formality. Next to the door was a narrow window, maybe just wide enough for a slender woman to fit through. Wire-reinforced glass. Facing the side of the property, past the woods, past the fence. Gemma would have to smash through it. Cut herself free of the mesh and crawl out bleeding and exposed. If she made it that far. If no one saw her. No one escapes from B2. That was the fact everyone knew, even if no one said it. And Helena, no, Helly, would already be inside. The moment the elevator descended on the Severed Floor, she’d lose herself and become the version they couldn’t control. The one who hated Lumon but didn’t know why. The one who might fight, break, or say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Helena would hand over the plan to a version of herself who didn’t even know she cared.
And Helly wouldn’t remember the plan.
But what if something went right?
What if Reghabi came through?
What if Devon kept her word?
What if the cameras blinked off for one second too long?
What if Gemma ran fast enough?
What if she saw Mark again?
What if he chose her?

She looked down at her hands. Her wrists were still red where the zip ties had burned her. Maybe there was still time. Maybe she could still have a future that seemed like a foolish fantasy. Maybe. It was almost nothing. But almost was better than nothing. And it was all she had. Helena hesitated at the bathroom doorway, her ruined cocktail dress clinging damp and crooked against her skin.

Helena glanced at the tile floor, unsteady, then back at Devon, her voice low. “What should I wear?”

Devon didn’t miss the question beneath the question. Her eyes scanned Helena a second too long before flicking to the hallway. “Pick something out of Mark’s dresser,” she said. “Make it work.” The words weren’t cruel, but not gentle either.

Helena nodded once and said nothing more. Devon didn’t wait; they weren’t suddenly friends. She stepped out and closed the door behind her.

The bathroom filled with steam as Helena stepped under the hot water. She tried not to flinch as it hit her shoulder, already bruised. She tilted her head back, letting the heat sting her scalp, run through her hair, and pool at her feet. For a moment, it felt like she might disappear with it. Red-tinged water curled around the drain. Her knees ached from kneeling on the basement floor. A scrape on her cheekbone burned like a lighter had been held against it for a few seconds too long. She reached for his soap with shaky hands and tried not to think about the basement, the stun gun, the test.

The test.

Negative.

It should’ve been a relief. So why did it feel like a door slamming shut?

She braced one palm on the shower wall and rested her forehead against the tile. Her breath fogged the porcelain. She didn’t cry. There wasn’t enough time. Instead, she calculated again. Two floors down to the testing level. The elevator never stopped there unless a keycard was entered. The door would be hard to find, probably impossible. And even if Gemma made it to the fire stairs, she’d have to run up four full flights. At the top, a solid steel door is locked from the outside. Beside it, a narrow window, just big enough to see out. Just far enough from the front entrance to avoid security.

Almost impossible.

Helena closed her eyes. Imagined Gemma running. Barefoot. Alone. She would have to jump out of a two-story window. She probably wouldn’t make it out alive. At best, she’d have two broken legs. She wouldn’t make it without help. Not unless someone opened the door from outside. Not unless someone broke the rules handed down from above.

And once Helena stepped back into Lumon, once she passed through the Severed Floor, she’d be Helly again. No memory. No plan. No promises. They told the innies the building had code detectors. Continuous, 24/7 audio surveillance. Every word was monitored. It wasn’t true. Not really. If she could leave a message subtle enough to pass under the radar, clear enough to be understood, it might work. A signal. A name. A phrase.

Helena turned off the water and reached for a clean towel. Her body still trembled, but her mind was already moving ahead. There wasn’t much time. Maybe they wouldn’t pull it off. Maybe none of this would work. But if there was even the smallest chance...

She opened the medicine cabinet and found the travel first aid kit where Devon said it would be. Her hands were steadier now as she cleaned the cut on her cheek and taped gauze over the worst of the bruising on her side. She was still alive. For now. And for now, that was enough. But being dead in Mark’s house would have been better than being alive at her father's for even one more day.

Helena stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped tightly in a towel. Her Wet hair clung to her collarbones, and her bare feet left damp prints on the floor as she walked. Crossed into Mark’s bedroom. She wasn’t sure what time it was anymore, since the basement everything had felt like a blur. She didn’t see Devon lingering in the hallway, waiting to attack her again; she must still be downstairs.

Mark’s dresser stood half-open, a drawer askew as if someone had rummaged through it in a hurry. She ran her fingers over folded shirts, then paused at the one he’d worn at the restaurant. She didn’t let herself think too long about that. She dropped the towel to the floor in one motion and pulled on another shirt, too big, sleeves falling past her wrists. She found a pair of his sweatpants and tugged them on, rolling the waistband twice to keep them from sliding. Nothing underneath. She was halfway through adjusting the drawstring when she heard voices downstairs. A moment later, the bedroom door swung open.

Mark stopped cold in the doorway. He looked like he was just crawling out of a grave. His eyes were bloodshot, skin was pale. She wanted to make him feel better. She would do anything to make him feel better, she thought.

“Oh, sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shooting to the ceiling like they were meeting for the first time. “I didn’t…Devon said you were getting changed, I thought…”

“It’s fine,” Helena said, choosing modesty ex post facto while clutching the edge of the shirt closed. “I’m decent enough.” She was confused by his behavior change, but didn’t mind. It excited her anyway.

He nodded but didn’t move. His cheeks were pink, either from the cold or the sight of her in his clothes. “Yeah, you look good...” She looked out of place in his room, and yet somehow not at all. The shirt hung loose on her frame, and her hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends. To him, she looked like an angel. "I mean...fine." He shrugged a bit, messing with his hair while he said it.

“I, um… talked to Devon and Reghabi just now,” he said. “About Gemma. Devon said you volunteered some… critical information. I just wanted to say thank you. I could have waited on the brain surgery after all.” He let out a small chuckle, breaking up the awkwardness of the whole thing. A woman dressed in his clothes, just now leaving his shower, while his wife waited in limbo for a savior.

Helena gave him a small, unreadable look. “It wasn’t charity.”

“I didn’t think it was,” he said softly. “But still. You’ve already helped so much.”

They stood face to face for a moment longer. The silence between them held something raw and unspoken. Then Helena broke it. “I’ll sleep in the guest room,” she said, adjusting the too-long sleeve over her hand. “If that’s still okay.”

“You can,” Mark said, but his voice faltered. “Or… my bed’s more comfortable.”

Helena arched a brow, waiting.

“Just…” he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. “The mattress. It’s firmer. The guest bed has that weird spring on the left side. If it were me, I’d rather not wake up with back pain. And I know you’re probably still hurting from the fall on the ice.”

She didn’t answer at first. A fall on the ice seemed fitting. Devon had lied, too, just in her own way. Helena stood there, face to face, studying his awkward posture, the quiet concern in his voice, and the way he wasn’t sure how close to stand.

She nodded once. “All right,” she said. “But I get the side closest to the window.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression, relief, or maybe something softer. “Deal.”

As he turned away, heading back downstairs to talk to Devon and Reghabi, she called after him. “Mark.”

He stopped in the doorway again.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

His voice was gentler this time. “You’re welcome.”

Helena

It was past one in the morning. The room glowed faintly with the dull orange light from the streetlamp outside, casting long, slender shadows across the bed. Helena lay on her right side under the blanket, facing the wall, still wearing his clothes. The fabric of the sweatpants twisted slightly in her sleep, and no matter how tightly she tied the drawstring it sagged at her hips. They hadn’t spoken much after deciding to share the night. Earlier, they had brushed their teeth in silence, not daring to meet each other’s reflections in the mirror. He’d handed her a spare toothbrush. She left it beside his in the Lake Tahoe mug. Neither said goodnight. She wanted to ask about the procedure, about what Reghabi had done to him, what it had felt like, what it meant now. But the words never came. It could wait until they woke.

Mark

Mark knew this was wrong. Gemma was out there somewhere. Still trapped in a purgatory he knew little about. And he missed her tonight, just as he did everyday. He missed the way she said his name like a promise. The curve of her smile, the way her presence lit up a room without trying. The garden she built behind their old home, wild and full of color. Her quiet routines: stacking books on the nightstand, humming to herself when she cooked. He missed all of it. But memory had a way of softening the edges. It blurred the loneliness at the end. The way he shut her out. The way he’d stopped seeing her. He hadn’t been good to her. He knew that now. So what did it mean, this thing pulling him forward? This ache that wasn’t just grief anymore? He stood in the threshold of his bathroom doorway, breath unsteady. Helena was lying in his bed. Her back to him, body curled slightly under the covers. Ribbons of light from the window traced the line of her spine, the slope of her shoulder. Something fragile and aching stirred in his chest. She didn’t belong here. And yet… she did. She challenged him. Matched him. Saw him for who he was, especially the parts he thought he’d buried. She wasn’t Gemma. But maybe that was the point. Could he be the man Helena needed? Could he give her the tenderness he’d once withheld, the courage to reach without retreating? His hand brushed the doorframe, knuckles white. Just one step closer and she might hear him. Turn toward him. And what then? What would he say? What could he possibly give her, except the raw truth of a man trying, finally, to choose something for himself?

Helena

Helena wished she could stand, cross the room, and wrap her arms around his shoulders. To feel the weight of his arms wrapped around her, wanting her, desiring her, worshiping her. She wished he would stop fighting it. Stop pretending they were strangers held together only by circumstance. What was the point in resisting? What was the point of clinging to guilt and moral compass when all they had left was this, this aching, fragile thing between them? She felt the shift in the room the moment he stepped closer. The air changed. It became charged with the tension that always sparked between them when neither one spoke. He must’ve thought she was asleep, but she wasn’t. Her mind was still racing. Would this be the last night they shared, or the first?

A gust of wind pushed against the window, rattling the glass. She curled deeper beneath the blanket, drawing it closer. Not because she was cold, but because this bed felt like him. She imagined his shape beside her, imagined the quiet strength in his hands and the way he might let her in, if he could just let go.

She didn’t want to push. She didn’t want to plead. She just wanted him to see that it didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to feel right.

Mark

His shirt came off in one swift motion, flung across the room without a second thought. There was only the quiet gravity of a decision finally made. He crossed the room as if it were any other night. As if he were simply going to bed. But tonight, he wasn’t alone.

He lifted the covers and slipped beneath them without a word. The mattress dipped under his weight. She stiffened when the bed shifted beneath him out of reflex. Her body still remembered the cold floor of the basement, the cruel bite of the restraints, and the echo of Devon’s voice. But this was different. His presence didn’t make her shrink. It made her ache. He could feel the heat of her beside him, close enough to touch. He made a point not to let his skin graze hers. Not yet. He knew himself too well. One accidental touch and the fragile control he’d clung to would disintegrate. So he lay there in the silence, facing her back in the low light, chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. And he looked at her. Really looked at her. The color of her hair, the contour of her face, how nervous she must be. The woman of his dreams. Not an imagined ideal, not a fantasy. But a person who had seen him at his worst, and stayed.

Their innies had found each other in a place designed to break people down. And still, they had reached across the divide and chosen connection. So what was the point in denying it now? His hand moved before he could stop it, like a quiet offering in the dark. He had seen the way she hurt, the bruises left from the “fall on the ice”. She didn’t tell him the truth when she could have. He knew Devon had hurt her. He didn’t know how to fix that, not really. But he could give her this: something tender, something entirely hers. He reached for her, just to see how it might feel. To start fresh. He had stopped himself before, held back. But this time, there was no going back.

His fingers traced the gentle curve of her waist, feather-light, a touch that spoke without words. She needed to feel how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

His light in a world that too often felt cold and heavy. She was the piece he hadn’t known was missing, the one who challenged him, held him steady, who understood the quiet strength it took to keep going when everything threatened to fall apart. In her, he found a kind of feeling that mended the fractures inside him, a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for until now.

He swallowed, throat tight. What was the point of living, if not for this feeling?

He realized that he would rather die in this bed beside her tonight than live one more day haunted by a life already gone. He was done wallowing in his grief. Done running from what he felt. Tonight, he chose her.

Helena

She didn’t move when he climbed in beside her. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. The bed creaked. Then nothing.

For a few minutes, they just lay there. His breath was steady but not quite asleep. Hers matched his rhythm without meaning to. When he reached out, his touch sent a shiver up her spine, comforting and alluring all at once. She held her breath, wondering if he’d finally accepted what she already knew: that there’s no point in surviving in this world without the one you love. No reason to keep hiding behind logic or circumstance when what they had, raw, messy, and full of uncertainty was the only thing that made the pain bearable. Had their paths crossed for a reason? Maybe they were meant for another life, one with fewer scars and fewer ghosts. But this one, the one they shared now, was all they had. And she would take it.

Her pulse quickened as his fingers traced the outline of her hip, then slipped under the hem of her shirt. He circled slowly, reverently, around her breast before drifting back down the curve of her waist. Then, without a word, he hooked his fingers at the waistband of her pants and slid them down. The air between them felt charged, fragile, electric. He pulled her back against him, skin to skin, with only the thin barrier of his boxers between them.

He leaned in, his breath warm at the base of her neck, his voice low and rough: “You’re mine now.”

His hand grazed the top of her thigh, then curved inwards. Hovering. Teasing. She whimpered, her body arching instinctively toward him. He pulled her closer, his grip firm, his restraint deliberate.

“Answer me,” he said.

She didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed on the window, wide and bleary. “I always was,” she whispered. At that, he planted soft kisses around her shoulder blade and down the curve of her neck, his silent way of saying, “I’m yours.”

It started in her throat, a feeling she couldn’t swallow away. Then the first tear slipped down, silent and hot against her cheek. She didn’t sob. Didn’t move. She just let the tears fall, slow and unspoken, as his arms tightened around her. Not from pain or sadness, but from the overwhelming ache of being seen, of being chosen, after so long spent feeling alone.

She flipped over so that they were facing each other and pressed her face to his chest, letting let herself breathe, letting go of whatever she was holding onto. Mark gave her something she didn’t know she needed: the freedom to not have to be the one holding everything together.
And maybe, if he held her close, and the morning came gently, she could give herself over to that feeling. And to him.

Chapter Text

The room was bathed in a soft amber light . The sun was out. A rare intrusion this time of year. The entire room flooded with light, revealing a bedroom that would be otherwise empty without a dresser and bed. No pictures, no artwork. Just a plain white lamp on a nightstand and an empty whiskey bottle on the floor beside it.

Today, Mark woke up next to Helena, with his arms still wrapped around her. The bruising around her temple had darkened, becoming light purple and spanning almost three inches. He traced his fingers along her face and watched her breathe, afraid the morning light would wake her to regret. She shuffled in her sleep and pulled the blanket taut to wrap it around her body tighter. He thought she was beautiful like this, he never wanted to be alone ever again. He had told himself this couldn’t happen. That getting close would only end in pain, just like it had with Gemma. But here she was. And here he was. And for the first time in years, he felt happy to be alive.

Before Helena woke up completely, Mark turned over in the bed and reached into the bottom drawer of the nightstand to pull out a small, rectangular box that he rarely looked at anymore. He held it in his hands still debating on whether it would set the right mood before finally settling on, “absolutely”, and opened it slowly, smelling the sour, familiar smell.

The flowers were crisp and green, tightly packed and potent. He hadn’t smoked in so long, but today it felt right. He opened the grinder and placed a beautiful bright flower inside, twisting it back and forth until there was no resistance left, then carefully pinched the ground bits and packed it into a brand new bowl he was saving for a special occasion. Helena opened her eyes just as the lighter clicked. For a moment, she was confused. This wasn’t her father’s house. Immediately she could smell it, it was something she recognized but had not tried.

“I was surprised you actually stayed,” Mark lowered the flame until it sparked the flower and inhaled. He noticed her movement in the bed, shuffling around under the blanket. Were his sheets too rough against her skin? Would she like it too? The clothes she borrowed from his dresser were laid out on the floor on her side of the bed. The words her side of the bed felt new, but oddly fitting. He couldn’t believe he had actually let this happen. Now, it felt like he was in too deep. Deep down, he knew she deserved better. Turning his head to the side, he saw how her wavy maroon colored hair swayed as she sat up and peered over to take a closer look.

“Are you seriously getting high right now?” She asked with a sleepy smile, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair. There was a hint of genuine laughter in her voice as she peered up at him, then wiped her tired eyes.

“The suns out. We’ve got no where to be today. It felt like the right time.” Mark inhaled deeply and exhaled slow, while his eyes remained on her.
“Come over here, honey.” He lightly patted the space beside him.

She crawled over and settled on her stomach, crossing her legs behind her, then rested her chin on his thigh, “I’m not allowed to smoke. I’ll get in trouble…”

He raised an eyebrow, already hard just from the way she said it, “With who?”

All she offered was a lazy smile, “My father. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

“You’re don’t have to worry about him anymore, you’re with me.” He lit the bowl and held it to her lips, “Be a good girl. Breathe in.”

She looked up like she was waiting to say something but couldn’t, before finally taking a long draw off the bowl. Her exhale was followed with a violent coughing fit. Once it stopped, the reality of their morning set in, “What time is it?”

Mark glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand beside the lamp, “Just past 10am.” He took another hit before packing the grinder again.

“Oh no, we’ve wasted the day away…” Her voice trailed off as she looked for the clothes she had borrowed.

“Don’t put those on.” His voice was low, but firm. He gave her a sharp look and she sighed, dropping the shirt back onto the floor and returning to her spot beside him. “We’ve got all day,” He added, pulling her in closer.

“Last night you wouldn’t even look at me after I came out of the shower. Now you want to stay in bed all day?”

“I decided to take a chance on this, just like you wanted. There’s no point in denying it anymore.” He lit the freshly packed bowl and handed it off to her with a subtle grin.

“He’s going to find out I’m here…” She looked down at the rug, avoiding his gaze, and lit the bowl herself this time before drawing in a breath of hot smoke.

Mark took the bowl and lighter out of her hands and placed them on the nightstand, “You think about that stuff too much, loosen up and lay back.” He grasped her left shoulder, closest to his thigh, and pushed her firmly. “This is how it’s supposed to be.” She let herself lean into the motion, letting her body shift passively. The daylight made her feel exposed and her cheeks started to flush.

He couldn’t help but smile, she was breathtaking, and he knew what she needed. “Hey now. Don’t be nervous.” He shifted his body so he could get a closer look at her, brushing his fingertips against her hipbones. “You’re so beautiful.” She jolted forward like it was ticklish. She planned to leave in the morning, but exhaustion won, so did her heart. Instead, she leaned into every touch he gave her, like it was something she couldn’t live without anymore.

As he admired her, the truth struck him like a prayer answered too late. He didn’t just want her. He loved her. Recklessly, irrevocably. She could’ve been the devil and he’d have gone willingly, worshipping every inch of her on the way down. She was temptation, surrender, and salvation all at once.

“I want to try something,” he murmured, low and deliberate, thoughts already rushing through his head. “Something different. You good with that?”

“Okay…” she whispered back, lips already parted. She met his eyes with a look that told him everything he needed to know about her.

He crossed the room to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see what he would choose. Thankful to be safe here, in his house, away from her father. Helena’s pulse seemed to still when Mark returned with a long, blue silk tie. His work tie. The same one he wore when he still pretended to have a normal life. She had seen him wear it before, weeks ago, when she was handing out the ‘Ms Casey’ fliers in Mammalians Nurturable pretending to be her innie. Sweet, caring Helly. The kind of woman who helped men find their missing wives. Helena was nothing like her. At least that’s what she told herself.

He climbed back onto the bed, straddling her hips. “Close your eyes,” he said softly.

She obeyed without hesitation, eager for seduction in any form.

He leaned over her slender frame and slowly wrapped the soft silk tie around her eyes, tying it gently at the side of her temple. His sexy angel.

“Too tight?”

“No,” she breathed, heart thudding in her chest. He knotted it twice, just to be sure, and pressed the bowl to her lips one last time before setting in down on the nightstand. Smoke gradually filled the air around them, turning the room into a soft, cloudy haze. The feeling in his chest crept up again, an aching desire he’d tried to smother but couldn’t. Now, all he wanted to do was see what it was like.

When she reached up to adjust it, he caught her wrist and pressed it gently down to the mattress.

“Leave it.”

She froze in place, shocked by his sudden aggression. Then, slowly, a smile blossomed. He was everything she’d hoped for and more.

“That’s my girl,” he growled.

With that, Mark shuffled down and let his mouth find her skin again. Planting kisses on her ribs, her stomach, her hip. Memorizing every perfect detail about her. The thought of her leaving his side made him feel sick. His hand brushed against her body, possessive, hungry, needing her more than ever before. The misty euphoria from the smoke lent a dreamy quality to everything, the way her body moved beneath him, the warmth pooling low in his gut, the gentle rhythm of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

He took his time, savoring the softness, the vulnerability, the exquisite tension building between them.

“You need to eat more,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re so thin. Just running on nerves.” She just shifted beneath his body, silent, wanting to offer herself in any way she could.

“You’ve been so good,” he rasped as his mouth continued to trail lower. “So patient. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Her head turned toward the sound of his voice, blindfold still tied. “I wasn’t going anywhere,” she whispered.

“I know that now,” he said. His voice had changed, quieter, rawer. Then he slid two fingers inside her, slow and deep. There was no hesitation, she was already dripping.

A whimper broke from her, cheeks flushing with helpless embarrassment. He pinned her hips to the bed in response. “You’re sensitive,” he murmured. “I like that.”

Her thighs began shaking steadily just before he removed his fingers and parted her legs with ease. She couldn’t see him. She could only feel his presence, or his absence. Whichever one he chose. The high still lingering from the weed made every touch feel sharper, fuzzier, like a dream she couldn’t quite wake from.

He shuffled lower to get a better look, licking slowly, almost patiently, then pausing, taking the sensation away like a cruelty. She waited, holding her breath like she was swimming underwater, a practiced feeling, the only thing she was good at. Then she gasped when his tongue returned and circled her clit with devastating control.

“You taste like sin,” he growled. “And I’ll tease you until you’re about to break, just begging for it.” Mark was sick in the head, just like her.

The heat of his breath on her skin, the slow drag of his tongue between her legs. Her thoughts about the who, what and why dissipated into only this: the present moment. The sensation became overwhelming, causing her to jerk her hips away from him.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice low, edged with cruelty. “You don’t get to come until I let you.”

Her body clenched in protest. She whimpered as her body began shaking; breathing ragged and frantic. It wasn’t fair.

He kept her there, right at the edge. Right where he liked her to be. At the whim of his control. His tongue made gentle passes with an almost unbearable precision, continuing to pull back just when she needed him most, only to return with a motion that made her spine arch.

When she gasped again, desperately this time, he mumbled softly, “Be patient. I want to feel it while I’m inside of you.”

She whimpered, her whole body tensing. He just laughed softly.

“You hear that? That’s how pathetic you sound. So needy for me you’d do anything.”

She closed her lips with shame as desire tangled in her chest. She felt humiliated and that made her want it even more.

“Tell me,” he demanded, kneeling over her as he dragged his cock along her slit but never fully pushed in. He leaned back to look at her expression one last time, “Tell me who owns this. ”

“You…I belong to you,” she replied, breathless.

“Say you’re nothing without me.”

Her cheeks burned. “I’m nothing without you.” She believed every word.

He gave a cruel smile she couldn’t see behind the blindfold. “That’s right. Now beg me to fuck you.”

She swallowed, voice raw with need, “Please. Please…I need you. I want you inside me.”

“I don’t believe you. Say it again.”

“I’m yours. All of me. Please…”

“You’ll take it when I’m ready to give it to you. And not before.”

Her fingers fisted the sheets, a silent acceptance of his terms. She knew that Mark Scout would be different than his innie. Loneliness had made him even hotter.

“Please,” she begged. “Mark, I…I’m…”

She gasped, legs trembling beneath his grip.

No one had ever made her feel like she did right now. She fell asleep at night dreaming about this very moment. Alone in her cold, dark room. And she wanted to. God, she wanted to. She hadn’t come before like this. She almost wanted to cry, just from how good it felt. He knew her so well. Her life had been nothing up until now.

Without warning, he moved over her torso, hand sliding between them, guiding himself closer to her entrance. As he continued dragging the head of his cock over her, it became coated in her slick heat. Back and forth, waiting, playing with her head. She was practically out of her mind as he brushed past her clit, barely grazing her, feeling herself shaking at the slightest touch.

“So fucking wet for me. You want it that bad?”

She cried out at the pressure as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner.”

He bottomed out with a slow, punishing thrust that made her gasp and arch beneath him. Then he thought back to the memory, the small glimpse of the other side.

“You were made for me. Say it.”

“You…Mark…oh God….”

“Say it.”

“I was made for you,” she gasped, barely holding on.

“That’s right.”

He started moving with deep, unfaltering strokes. Each one calculated to push her just a little bit further toward the edge. But suddenly, just as he felt the climax building, he pulled out.

She moaned in protest, helpless. Her voice cracked, pathetic and desperate. Before she could speak, he grabbed her waist and flipped her onto her stomach, then pulled her back to him to guide her onto her knees.

“Wait…” she gasped, breathless and stunned. “What…?”

He was going to take her like this. Take complete control while she kneeled at his mercy. She didn’t even know she could want something this badly.

“Stay right there,” he commanded.

She obeyed without a word.

He gripped her hips and slammed into her, the force jolting her forward on the bed.

She choked on a moan, hands digging into the sheets.

“You take me so well,” he groaned. “So pretty, made to be fucked by me.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering behind the blindfold. Her thighs were already shaking again. His palm cracked against her ass once, sharp and unexpected. The sound echoed throughout the room.

“You like that?” he demanded without pausing as a gasp escaped her throat. “Want me to use you how I want?”

“Yes. God, yes. I’ll be whoever you need me to….” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

He slammed into her again, then again, pounding into her from behind. Helena let out a sudden shriek, feeling herself lose control of the pleasure coursing through her body.

One hand reached around to grip her throat with a firm pressure, steadying himself for balance. The other found her clit again.

“That’s it,” he whispered, rubbing her harder this time. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come. Can you do that for me?”

She whimpered.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes. I’m…” she muttered as his grip tightened, it was barely audible.

She could feel it. Closer than ever. She was losing more control by the second. She felt herself shaking, spasms beginning to creep their way to the surface. Intense and unrelenting.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her neck. “Let go for me.”

She felt the love he had for her, the way he needed her as much as she needed him. Their bodies were in sync, made for each other. She felt safe, embraced, wanted.

Her orgasm hit like lightning. Violent. Unstoppable. White-hot. She collapsed forward, crying out, her whole body clenched around him like a vice while her knees began to buckle from the force of it.

He groaned, releasing into her with a low, primal growl, driving deeper as he came. It had been years since anything felt this raw. His hips ground into hers one final time, claiming every last drop, like it wasn’t enough to fuck her. He needed her filled, marked, wrecked for anybody else. When the last tremor faded, he stilled. One hand still loose around her throat, the other braced on the mattress. He knew what kind of woman she was. She would accept what he gave her. Mark leaned down, brushing a kiss across the back of her neck.

“You’re so good to me, honey.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Mark guided her back to the head of the bed. She fell against the left pillow with a soft sigh, and he dropped beside her, shoulder to shoulder. For a while, they just lay there, bodies humming, breaths uneven, the air coursing with the glow of what they’d shared. Pale sunlight streamed through the blinds in forgiving stripes, painting shadows across the sheets and their skin.

Mark stared at the ceiling, waiting for the guilt to settle in along with the cold voice that usually followed pleasure, reminding him this wasn’t what he deserved. But it never came. Instead, the room felt electric and full of life, like he’d stepped into a world he’d convinced himself no longer existed. Happiness felt foreign in his chest, but this time, he didn’t push it away.

Beside him, Helena shifted and turned onto her side, facing him. He reached up and gently slid the silk tie from her eyes, careful not to break the moment. As her lashes fluttered open, they met his gaze and didn’t waver. A small, amused smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Well…that was fun,” she murmured, tucking her hands beneath her cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, voice rough with something he couldn’t disguise. “I couldn’t resist.”

She let out a soft laugh. “There’s a whole side of you I haven’t seen, Mark Scout.”

He smiled, but it faded as she looked at him in a way that revealed the pain in her eyes. She was struggling to hide it. Her fingers grazed the side of his jaw, lingering there. Like she was saving the memory of their connection for another day, “So…how is this going to work out?”

Mark exhaled, feeling the weight of it settle between them. “Work out? You’re about to become CEO. I’m not sure how it ever could. But we can enjoy whatever time we have.”

Her expression tightened with worry, but she didn’t look away. “I wasn’t lying when I said my father will kill me if he finds out. So maybe you’re right. I don’t want it to end, though. Maybe I’m being selfish.”

“I don’t want it to end either,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish we met in different lives. But wishing changes nothing.”

Outside, a breeze rattled the branches, but inside, the world slowed to just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the bed.

Then her voice came, so quiet it almost disappeared. “Will you stay the rest of the weekend with me?” she asked. “We could just pretend. For a couple days.”

He turned toward her. She looked fragile, vulnerable, hopeful. Terrified all at once.

“That’ll make it hurt more,” he said softly.

“I haven’t been this happy in a long time,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And looking around the room…it looks like you haven’t either. I don’t care about the outside world. I just want to see what this feels like. Then we can go back to our lives before. What do you think?”

Mark didn’t answer right away. His gaze traced her face, then her fingers barely brushing the blanket between them, as if she didn’t dare touch him.

“I think…” he replied, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers gently, “I won’t be able to stop seeing you.”

And in that moment, time seemed to still. Her chest fluttered with ache and desire intertwined into one devastating feeling.

“I don’t think I will either…” Her voice trailed off as she pressed her cheek to his chest and curled closer. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her there, letting his chin rest against the crown of her hair.

On the floor at the other end of the bed, a ringtone ripped through the quiet. Her phone buzzed against the hardwood. The sound was unique to the caller, she didn’t have to check to know who it was.

“I should just turn it off. Let them think you killed me or something,” she said with a sly smile.

“Will your friend, the Drummond guy, tell everyone you’re here? He must know by now.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve kept some of his secrets, so maybe he’ll keep mine.” She traced slow circles across his chest with her fingertips. “After Monday, MDR will be over anyway. They won’t need you anymore.”

“What?”

“It’s the last chance to save Gemma. After that, she’ll be taken for chip extraction to collect the data and the MDR employees will be fired.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“No. Devon knows.”

“Devon knows? What the hell? All she mentioned was you helping us, that’s it.”

She didn’t answer, but the way she blinked hard was enough.

“ I’ll find a way to send a message to Helly. I might be able to save her, Mark.”

“So you sold out your company to save Gemma. What happens to you now? They’ll know someone leaked information.”

“Yeah. It probably won’t end well.”

His hand tightened around hers.

“How are we going to get information in and out of Lumon without you getting hurt?”

“We?” She looked up at him. “You’ll switch to your innie and forget we even know each other out here. The message has to be something they’ll understand. And I have to sneak in a window breaker. It won’t be easy.”

“A window breaker? How did Devon even get this kind of information out of you?”

Helena lowered her gaze, her voice became so small he almost missed it. “If…and when…Gemma gets out, I won’t be upset if you go back to her. I’ll understand.”

“I don’t think she’ll want me anymore. Before the accident. I….wasn’t good to her. We were trying for a long time. Devon probably told you already. When it didn’t happen, everything fell apart. She was devastated, and I was drinking all night, trying to forget.”

“What if she does want you back?”

“I don’t know if she’ll forgive me. Sometimes it feels like we’re two awful people meant to be together. Does that sound bad?”

“No,” she murmured. “I was hoping you’d realize it.”

He smiled faintly, running his thumb along the back of her hand.

“Do you want to just…get out of here for the day? Leave your phone on the floor and come with me.”

She swallowed, her gaze searching his. “Are you not going to tell me where?”

He shook his head, just once.

“Just trust me,” he said quietly. “It’s better if it’s a surprise.” His thumb traced her wrist, unable to let go.

Mark went in first.

Helena lay back against the pillows, trying not to let the cum stain his sheets. Mark had already stepped into the bathroom before Helena could protest. She heard the soft rush of the shower and the faint clatter of movement. The door remained cracked just enough for steam to slip through, meandering into the bedroom like a dense fog. Once he was done, Mark lingered by the bathroom door a moment longer, his damp hair falling into his eyes, a towel wrapped around his waist. Then, he turned to the closet and reached for a storage bin. Mark realized he hadn't looked at it in years. It was easier to forget if it was hidden away, out of sight. He hoped she wouldn't feel guilty for borrowing Gemma's clothes, he hoped she would enjoy them. He walked to her side of the bed and handed her an ivory colored blouse.

“These were Gemma’s,” he said quietly. “I kept a few things… I know it sounds sentimental and a little weird. You don’t have to wear it all day. We can go shopping later.”

Helena met his eyes, something unspoken passing between them. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek.

“She wouldn’t mind, if it’s for you,” he added. Then, softer, “There’s a pair of dark pants that go with it. Or…there’s a black dress. Take your pick.”

“Thank you,” She whispered, taking the clothes from his hands.

He gave her a small smile and left the room, telling her he needed to check something on his computer before they left. She walked into the en suite bathroom, the air still warm from his shower. Steam lingered on the mirror. The smell of his pinewood soap lingered as well. Helena stepped into the shower, exhaling deeply as the water washed over her. She stood still for a long moment, watching it run down her arms. She closed her eyes for an instant trying to forget the outside world.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, she reached for his comb and dragged it through her hair, slow and steady, running it through tangles.

Next, she reached for the toothbrush she'd left in the Lake Tahoe mug beside his own. As she brushed her teeth, she leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing under her eyes with a tissue to clean the remnants of mascara trailing down her face. When she turned to toss the tissue in the trash bin, something caught her eye.

That’s when she saw it.

A white plastic stick, half-buried beneath crumpled tissues.

For a moment, she didn’t breathe.

She stared, her hand frozen midair. Carefully, she set the tissue aside and reached into the bin, her fingers trembling. The world around her felt strangely muffled, as though she’d slipped underwater.

She pulled it out. It was worse than drowning.

Two pink lines. Stark. Undeniable. Her thumb traced the raised letters on the handle: Clearblue. A cheap plastic thing that now felt heavier than any threat her father had ever made.

No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. It’s a mistake.

She closed her eyes as the memory returned. It was unforgiving, vivid, and passionate.

The Lumon retreat.

The cold air and pine trees. A shared laughter at the campfire. Mark was still severed and unaware of who she truly was. Helena made dirty jokes around the campfire while imitating a version of herself that people actually liked. She remembered how it felt to sit in the tent alone; afraid that someone would find out just how lonely she really was. Later that night, with Mark, there wasnt hesitation or concern about consequences. They were in the heat of the moment.

Now, just when the one thing she had seemed to be going well for her, the consequence for lying had arrived.

She tilted it in the light, willing the second line to vanish. But it didn’t.

The tiled floor blurred at the edges of her vision, her ears roaring like she’d stepped under a highway overpass. Her hand clenched around the stick until her knuckles went white. She didn’t notice the damp tears falling onto her collarbone until the cool drops broke her trance.

Devon’s voice echoed in her mind: It’s negative. You’re just using this as an excuse to waste time.

But it hadn’t been true. She knew herself. She knew her body. Something had changed.

Her breath shuddered out. A sensation somewhere between nausea and a hard, bright panic twisted low in her belly.

From the bedroom, Mark’s voice called out, warm and easy, as if her world hadn’t cracked in two:

“Hey, honey, are you ready to get going?”

Helena closed her eyes, just for a second. When she opened them again, her reflection looked pale. Unfamiliar. A stranger.

For an instant, she almost stepped out of the bathroom to show him. Almost. He seemed like he might even want to be a father.

Just…not with her.

She almost wished she could tell him anyway, just to see if he would hold her and say it would be okay.

Slowly, she bent and tucked the test back under the tissues. Her hands were steady now. She smoothed the edge of the trash liner, as if nothing had happened, and wiped the tears from her cheeks before they could betray her.

Then she opened the door and stepped out into the soft light of the bedroom.

Her smile was faint, but convincing enough. A delicate mask over everything she couldn’t say.

“Do I get to see the dress too?” she asked

Chapter Text

The drive to Parkersville was over an hour long, but filled with gorgeous scenery. Lush forests lined the edges of the four-lane expressway, and dramatic hills formed the backdrop. Parkersville had a small downtown that Devon always raved about.

He'd meant to take Gemma there, no, he should have. But his life had gotten too crowded and busy to slow down and enjoy it. He rationalized that he would make up for his shortcomings by taking Helena. Mark waited for the guilt of bringing her on the date to come, but it never did.

They briefly discussed his reintegration, but it was clear the process was not complete. Images and emotions from the other side slipped through like sand through a filter. It was just enough to recall specific words and feelings, yet not enough to remember everything that had occurred in detail. He remembered more than he admitted.

⸻

The café was quaint and tucked just off the main street, beside a floral shop. The faded sign above the door proudly declared it had opened in 1988, before Jame Eagan developed severance technology and changed the world, or so she thought.

Mark held the door for her, and Helena slipped inside, head down, like her father would appear from the shadows at any second to drag her away like a child.

The warmth and delicious smells engulfed them, the scent of fresh bread, bacon, and old floorboards. It felt like they were both stepping into a sliver of a forgotten world where time froze and left behind only hints of what had come before.

He nodded briefly at the cashier, who typed away on her phone. She gestured to the row of rear booths without looking up. For a moment, he thought about how wrong it was to bring Helena to such a casual restaurant. He wished they could go somewhere better, somewhere the workers would go to any length to appease her. The sort of place that didn't offer fries, onion rings, or pretzels with neon-yellow cheese for sides.

Helena kept her gaze low; she couldn't risk recognition. Drummond had already been casing the house. Lumon's presence was unavoidable. If he followed them here, she doubted they would be quick enough to dart out the door before he found them. Lumon could have eyes anywhere, even here, in this nondescript café.

They chose a booth in the back, away from the windows, but with a clear view of the street. The dark brown fabric on the booths was faded and worn, and the tabletop had scuffs along the edges from years of use.

Mark settled across from her, hands wrapped around his hot coffee, studying her face with a calm tenderness she was still getting used to. She knew he was watching her, but couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

He could see the fear she tried to hide. The way her shoulders drew in and her eyes shifted to the door. He knew that weight, the kind you can't say out loud without falling apart. He didn't ask what was wrong. Not yet.

She looked at the door again, and he felt the familiar ache in his chest. Maybe she was realizing what he already knew: she didn't belong in this life, not with someone so angry at the world around him.

Helena could have her choice of men. She was gorgeous beyond words, witty and sensitive all at once. Whatever drew her to him felt inexplicable at best. He had given up on himself for years and was only now trying to get his life together.

When the server came by to refill his cup, Mark asked if she wanted coffee. She only shook her head. He looked surprised, given how little they'd slept, but the smell of it made her stomach twist. It was too bitter and pungent, with an overpowering aroma.

Instead, she studied the lines in his face, the tension in his forehead, the circles under his eyes. He looked as though he spent more time drinking than sleeping.

She took another sip of her juice, and when she set the glass down, he was still watching her mouth. Not her eyes, hands, just the slow, nervous press of her lips. She pretended not to notice how his gaze darkened, but it felt like something uncontrollable moved between them, tugging her closer and begging her to give in.

As she cradled the cup, her fingertips trembled just enough to cause the juice to sway in the glass. The coolness kept her focused while her mind spun with guilt and the half-formed words she was too afraid to say out loud. She should tell him and stop dragging it out.

She would.

She just needed more time.

⸻

The morning slipped away into the afternoon. Outside, it was golden and warm, like any other day. People walked past on the sidewalk, oblivious to the anomaly lurking on the other side of the window: two broken souls meeting in a worn-down café, hiding something, lost in each other's eyes.

She picked at the last piece of their shared pretzel to distract herself. Mark still had half a sandwich he hadn't touched in a while.

He watched her lower her gaze to the table, hands curved tightly around the glass of juice she barely drank. She wore the same detached stillness he remembered from his worst days, when living to see another day felt more like misery than relief. He knew she was hiding something by the way she acted.

"So," he said, leaning back, fingers tapping the scarred tabletop, "is this officially the cheapest date you've ever been on?"

She raised a brow. "Cheapest?"

He gestured to the cracked leather seats and worn wood paneling. "You're an Eagan. Shouldn't we be in Paris or somewhere with cloth napkins and a Michelin star?"

She huffed something like a laugh, the smallest edge of a smile tugging at her mouth. "You think very highly of my standards."

"Am I wrong?"

Her thumb traced the condensation ring left behind on the table, a slow, mindless loop. "Not entirely."

He grinned, but it was a gentle thing, nothing that demanded anything from her. "So this is beneath you."

"No," she said, "Honestly, I didn't go out much."

That caught him. He blinked, studying her expression in the half-light that spilled from the window. "What do you mean?"

"I usually stay inside the house."

He let that sink in, the casual confession of it. The way her mouth twisted, it was like she had already regretted saying it out loud.

She chuckled when he smiled at her, but it slid under his skin in a way he didn't want to think about. It tore through his heart to imagine her being with anyone except him. Even the thought of another man's hands on her clenched his jaw.

"Don't get cocky."

"Too late."

She shifted, crossing her legs under the table, and her knee brushed his. He should have moved away, but he didn't. Instead, he let the contact stay, a quiet confession that he needed her, craved her, wanted her more than anything else. For a moment, she felt it, a simmering warmth working its way up her skin, her pulse drilling in her throat. She felt a relentless sensation beginning to surface between her thighs.

For a moment, she believed that was all they were: two people who met by accident. Two people who would still choose something different if given better options. It was easier than the truth.

"Would you ever want to start over?" she asked, because she couldn't hold the question any longer. "Somewhere no one knows our names?"

He tilted his head. "Like…move here?"

"I don't know. Maybe not here, this town is a little too slow paced, but somewhere different." She lifted a shoulder, tracing the lip of her glass. Worried she was coming on too strong. "It sounds nice."

"It does," he agreed, and his voice had that note she was starting to recognize. Something tender and dangerous. "But I'd end up working at the hardware store or some other dead-end job. And you'd get bored of pretending to be normal."

"Maybe I'd surprise you."

He leaned in, studying her. He could see her in some small-town café every morning, her hair pulled back in a wavy crimson ponytail, her laugh unguarded. The idea had a pull he didn't want to admit.

"I'm sure you would. I bet you'd spend the first week running for mayor or fighting the HOA."

"Only if they were incompetent."

"They always are."

Her smile felt brittle, but she held it anyway. She also wanted to believe it could happen, even as something hollow crept under her ribs. It was a ridiculous thought.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Of course. Anything."

"What was she like? Gemma."

Mark twisted his lips and sighed, unsure how to go about this without saying the wrong thing. "She was educated and smart. She could light up a room with her smile. She wanted to help people. We had a garden and books, and we shared a lot of good days. Everyone around us seemed to love her. Especially Devon."

"What do you see in me when you look in my eyes?"

"I see someone…who I know everything about and nothing about at the same time. You're smart like her, but different in all the right ways. I hope you'll tell me more about yourself ."

"We'll save that for another day." A crooked smile formed on her lips, even as her heart pressed tight.

Outside, a couple passed with a stroller, pausing to adjust the blanket over the baby before moving on. For just a second, Helena pictured it being them—Mark's hand at the small of her back, returning to a home that was theirs. The thought was intense and irrational. She hoped he didn't notice how she looked at them, but he did, like she was seeing something she couldn't admit out loud.

"Your sister told me you were trying for a baby before Gemma left.”

"Yeah." His voice softened again, trying not to focus too much on the word “left”. She wouldn't have done that, would she?.

"I thought it'd happen. We waited for years, and we kept telling ourselves it would. It didn't work out. Thinking back on it, I didn't deserve her. I was using the sadness of our loss as an excuse."

She rested her palm flat on the cup. "And now?"

He hadn't let himself picture it in years, but the question cracked something vulnerable open in his heart. He could see it now: a house that smelled of coffee and fresh paint, a child's voice calling for him, her hand in his. But wanting it wasn't enough. He'd already proven he could love someone and still get everything wrong.

"Now…I don't know," Mark said finally. "Part of me feels like it's too late. Like I missed that chance."

Her throat went tight. Because part of her had been imagining it, too, a future she'd never thought she'd want, let alone deserve. That sort of life was for different people.

"You would have been a good father," she replied, barely above a whisper.

"You don't know that."

"I do, because I have a bad one."

He shook his head, his thumb rubbing the side of his cup. "You don't have to say that."

"I mean it."

He looked at her, steady and unflinching. "Maybe in another life."

She didn't answer. The words almost slipped out, catching in her throat: I know this sounds crazy, but I'm already pregnant. And it's yours.

Her heart wanted to admit it, but all logic told her no. She was still trying to determine if this was true love or their last weekend together.

"You suck at pretending you don't care," she said with a curve of her lips.

"Then we're both terrible liars."

She let out a shaky breath. "I have to tell you something."

The song changed to something bright and stupid, a pop track that didn't belong here.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's your confession? You like Maroon 5?"

"Rude!" She said with an airy laugh, "I like this song."

"Which one?"

"One More Night." She shrugged, trying to make it sound casual while dropping an obvious way out of the conversation. "Fitting, isn't it?"

He studied her. "Why's that?"

She retraced the side of her glass. "Feels like we're borrowing time. Playing house before the real world catches up."

He reached across the table, his thumb brushing over her hand.

"The real world is overrated."

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"Come on," he said gently, pushing his coffee aside. "Let's get out of here before you make me admit anything else."

He left cash on the table and stood, offering his hand. Of course, he still paid with cash. Helena laughed at the irony of the entire situation.

Without hesitation, she took his hand, her fingers interlacing around his. For a moment, she let herself believe that the real world would let them stay just like this.

⸻

The boutique sat between a dental office and an art store, windows draped in linen. Behind the glass, mannequins modeled early spring fashion. Helena hesitated just inside the doorway, brushing her hand across a display of soft wool sweaters. It felt absurd to be here, browsing through clothes like she had nowhere else to be.

Mark leaned in, voice low near her ear, his teasing tone quieting her insecurities. "Weird, huh? Shopping somewhere that doesn't have a PR department attached?"

She shot him a look. "You think you're hilarious."

"Because I am." He replied with a devilish smirk.

Helena shook her head, but her hands were already moving. She drifted past a rack of dresses, fingertips grazing the fabric.

Mark walked to a different section and picked up a hanger with a delicate silk camisole. Pale green, almost silver.

"What about this?" he asked with a goofy grin.

She scoffed. "That's not even my size."

He held it up anyway. "Close enough. Could work for sleeping in."

"This is your not-so-subtle way of picking out my pajamas?"

He shrugged, unbothered. "You'd be wearing it for like five minutes, tops."

She took it from him with a dry smirk, flipping the tag. "Ten dollars. You know how to spoil me."

He laughed, watching her browse through clothing racks, but it shouldn't have made him this turned on.

She stopped dead in her tracks at a glass case near the counter. Delicate earrings glimmered on velvet trays, elegant and simplistic. She felt a pang for the pair she'd left behind under Mark's couch.

He followed her glance. "You want them?"

She opened her mouth to say no, then closed it again. "They look good. Kinda like my old ones, but different."

"Then let me replace them," he said gently. "My treat."

"You know your paycheck comes from my family's fucked up company, right?"

"Then technically," he deadpanned, "you're buying yourself earrings and letting me get the credit."

She pinched her lips together, fighting a grin. "Fine."

When she returned to the dresses, she caught the cashier watching them. Recognition dawned in the girl's face.

"I'm sorry," the cashier began, "but you're Helena Eagan, right?"

Helena remained still, resisting the old reflex of smoothing her expression into a corporate smile.

"Yes," she said quietly, hoping the conversation would stop there.

The cashier's gaze turned to Mark with a sudden curiosity. "I…I don't think I've ever seen you with anyone at your press conferences."

Helena felt her cheeks warm. She glanced at Mark, hoping he'd let her handle it, but he didn't.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "our relationship is…new."

Mark flashed a crooked smirk. "She finally decided I was worth taking outside."

The cashier laughed awkwardly. "That's… nice. Can I help you find anything?"

Helena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She turned to the earrings again. "No," she said softly. "I think we're good."

She chose the delicate white gold hoops. Her eyes drifted to the lingerie display: a neat row of soft lace in various colors. She ran her fingers along a bralette, feeling a tiny thrill as she imagined herself in something unguarded.

Mark lifted an eyebrow. "Thinking about changing things up?"

She nodded and picked out a set that seemed fitting. Later, her hand skimmed over a blue cocktail dress, the fabric whisper-soft. She lifted it off the rack. "I want to try this."

Mark gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're going to give all the old guys heart attacks."

"Lucky for you," she tossed over her shoulder, "the hospital's down the street."

When she stepped out of the fitting room, the dress fit perfectly. She smoothed her palms over the fabric, pretending to focus on the cut instead of the hunger in his eyes.

"So," she asked, her voice too light to be steady, "how does it look?"

He looked her over slowly, taking his time, his gaze lingering on every place the fabric clung to her curves. "You're…." he murmured, lost for words.

He stepped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back into the drawing her into the unrelenting heat of his body. There was no disguising the shape of him pressing urgently against her.

She sucked in a breath as his other hand slid lower, fingertips grazing her hips before drifting up to the hem of her dress. He slipped beneath the fabric, just enough to feel the warm and vulnerable softness of her inner thigh.

He turned them so they faced the mirror. Her body stilled, flushed, and dazed as she met their reflection. His jaw tensed, his hand vanishing under her skirt.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice a rough scrape against her ear. "You don't even know what you do to me."

"Be patient," she tried, but the effort fell apart as he slid his palm higher, teasing the edge of her underwear.

"That's not how this goes," he murmured, his mouth brushing the side of her neck. "Not when you come out here looking like this."

Her hips swayed back against his, and she felt the unmistakable hardness pressing against her. She shivered as he settled in closer, letting her feel every inch of what she was doing to him.

"Someone could see," she whispered, though her voice shook with want.

"Let them," he growled, and she felt his hand flex possessively against her stomach. "Who the fuck cares?”

His free hand slipped higher, cupping her breast over the thin silk. He squeezed just enough to make her breath catch. "Look," he commanded softly, their eyes locking in the mirror.

She tried to look away, but he caught her chin and forced her to hold the reflection. It was clear how right they were for each other.

His thumb brushed her nipple through the fabric as he ground into her, every movement agonizingly slow.

For a moment, neither of them breathed. Her body vibrated with want, eyes dark and hungry, and the two stayed like that as if nothing else existed.

Then, a clearing of the throat shattered the moment.

The cashier stood a few feet away, pen in hand, eyes drifting between them with a polite but unmistakably awkward smile. "Um… are you, uh, ready to check out?"

Helena jumped back, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, cheeks blazing red. Mark froze, awkwardly stepping back, suddenly aware of the absence of space between them.

"Yeah. Sorry," Mark muttered, trying to smooth his shirt as if that would fix everything.

The cashier nodded, face scrunched up like she wasn't getting paid enough to deal with people like this, "Whenever you're ready."

Helena and Mark exchanged glances, mostly embarrassed, half amused, before gathering their things.

Helena picked out low heels to match, an oversized sweater, and leggings, something soft to wear inside.

Mark watched her pile everything onto the counter, shaking his head.

"You're covering everything from 'I ruin lives' to 'don't talk to me before coffee. Like you're about to move in already.”

Helena winked. "Gotta keep you on your toes."

The cashier rang everything up at the register, still sneaking glances at them. Wondering what the hell was going on. Helena leaned into Mark playfully as they entered the afternoon sunset, bags in her free arm.

⸻

They left the boutique hand-in-hand, the sun dipping low over the quiet town. Helena's new sweater still carried the faint scent of cedar and fresh linen, and her jeans fit better than she expected. She neatly folded the clothes she borrowed at the bottom of the shopping bag.

"For a first date," she said softly, "this isn't half bad."

Mark brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, smiling like he couldn't help it. "They'll only get better from here."

Helena glanced at the storefronts along the sidewalk as they returned to the car. Most of them were closed. The sight of pedestrians was rare; once they arrived at the block the café was on, it was clear that his car was the only one left.

Mark held the door open for her and walked around to the driver's side.

"I could get used to this," he said as he slid beside her.

"Used to what? Driving me to diners in ghost towns?" She teased, smoothing the sleeve of her sweater.

He chuckled. "That too. But mostly just you."

As her cheeks flushed, hands tucked neatly in her lap, she glanced out the window.

"You're getting better at saying things like that without flinching."

"I've been practicing," he said. "Every morning in the mirror."

All she could do was roll her eyes in response.

"Hey," she tapped the dashboard, "what do you think about pizza for dinner?"

"Are you reading my mind?" he asked, turning the key in the ignition. The heater roared to life. "There's a place off the highway. You'll love it."

"Off the highway? But you're ordering. I fold under intense pressure."

"Whatever you say, Helena." He replied with a sarcastic shrug and shake of the head as they pulled out of the parking spot.

They drove in easy silence, the windows cracked just enough to let in the pine-scented air. Helena's fingers brushed against his on the console, the gesture small but electric.

Helena reached forward to turn on the radio. A loud rock song filled the silence as they reached the edge of town.

The car was old, with scuffed seats and a dashboard that appeared to have seen better days. A neat row of airplane liquor bottles lined the floor on her side, little reminders of the nights he'd spent trying to forget. She looked down at them, then back at him.

"You know, when we get a new..." She started, then stuttered, the weight of wanting something permanent slipping into her voice.

Mark glanced over, watching her slip into worry. He wrapped his hand around hers. "It's okay," he said softly.

She swallowed. "I'm used to having a driver. In a car that smells like leather, not…" She trailed off, embarrassed by how different her old life sounded compared to this.

"Hey," he murmured, squeezing her fingers. "We'll get something new as soon as I get that hefty sales associate paycheck."

She couldn't help but smile at how his voice smoothed over her insecurities: "If we get a new car…heated seats, a cup holder that doesn't collapse, and no liquor bottles."

His mouth curved, struggling to keep his eyes on the road. "I'll be the best driver you've ever had. I'm always on time."

She turned to the window but didn't let go of his hand. For a moment, she let herself imagine this fresh start. Would it be in a busy city, the suburbs, a coastal fishing town, or a college town? The possibilities were endless.

⸻

Before long, the roadside pizza place appeared, nestled under strings of twinkling lights and framed by tall pines. A Lumon billboard loomed overhead, advertising dental numbing cream.

Helena pretended not to see it.

Mark peeled into the lot, speeding fast enough to make her burst into laughter. Gemma always hated it when he acted stupid, but somehow Helena loved it.

Once they parked, the smell of wood smoke became impossible to ignore. He jumped out to order while she waited. With the radio off and the window cracked just slightly, she heard the laughter and excitement from families and couples walking past the car, their tired kids trailing behind.

Her palm drifted lightly to her stomach without thinking before reaching for her phone. A text from Devon lit up the screen. She replied before flipping the screen over and setting it aside on the seat.

Mark returned with the box, grinning like a kid. "It's margherita and spicy sausage. I took a risk."

"That sounds overwhelming, but I like that you're a risk-taker," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning closer. "What else should I know about you?"

"Well," he said, setting the pizza in the back seat, "I'm not exactly Gordon Ramsay. You've seen the way I cook."

"Guess I'll have to learn to make dinner."

"Why not survive entirely on takeout?"

As they laughed, she felt it again, the part of her that hoped this wasn't temporary. That they would find a way to make it work in the end somehow.

He kissed her back slowly, lingering a few seconds too long at the end as if he felt it too.

"Let's save it for the house," she whispered, smiling against his mouth as she dragged her fingers down his chest.

As the lights of Kier appeared in the distance, a warm contrast against the night sky. Helena looked over at him, heart in her throat.

"You think there could be another date? You meant that?"

He kept his eyes on the road. "I already have a whole day planned out."

⸻

When they stepped inside, Mark paused, reached into the closet, and pulled out a small wind chime from a Lake Tahoe gift shop. He hung it on a nail by the front door, low enough to jingle if someone tried to enter.

Helena raised an eyebrow.

"If it moves, we'll know," he said.

"You're paranoid," she teased softly.

"I just want to be careful. Especially now."

⸻

Later that night, Helena's fingers were greasy from the last slice of pizza; she sprawled across his bed in nothing but a long sweater, legs tangled in the sheets.

She glowed in the low light, flushed from the warmth in the room and from the way his eyes devoured her.

She'd never seemed more alive to him, like she was finally shedding every last mask she'd worn.

Mark traced a line down her arm, memorizing how goosebumps rose in his wake. "I'm glad you like it," he murmured, his voice rough from want. She glanced back at the slice, but he yanked it from her hands and shoved the box off the bed.

"Your carpet is going to be a mess!" She protested with confusion.

"You're going to be a mess."

Something in her eyes cracked open, all hesitation melting away. She abandoned the stupid pizza, her full attention on him.

He reached for her like he could read her mind, pulling her into his lap in one swift motion.

Their kiss was messy, desperate. All the restraint they'd practiced that day had vanished. He shoved her backward, and her head hit the mattress. Straddling her tiny figure, he groaned into her mouth, eyes gleaming.

When he leaned back, he cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to see him.

"You're a tease," he said, voice low and unsteady, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. "I know what you want."

Helena nodded, her breath pulling in slowly and coming out hot. She wrapped her hands around his back. Waiting for him to reach out for a blindfold or some freaky sex store handcuffs from five years ago. Instead, all he did was run his fingers along her cheek.

Too late to turn back now, they were already pulled under.

He swallowed hard and kissed her again, slow and careful this time. Like he was trying to savor every second of the look in her eyes: hungry for more, he left kisses along her jaw, her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck. Every touch felt like worship. Her jaw tilted upward and to the side as his hot breath trailed over her skin. With one hand, he slid his boxers down, letting them fall away as his lips trailed fiery kisses along her skin.

She felt his weight hovering over her, his careful balance willing himself not to crush her underneath him.

"Open your legs for me," he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear.

She obeyed without a word, parting her thighs until he could fit perfectly between them. She looked fragile, and he wanted to be careful with every part of her.

He slid his fingers over the damp heat between her legs, teasing her with a daring grin. His eyes never left hers. She gasped, nails grazing his shoulders, waiting for the catch. The phone to ring, the moment to end.

"Mark…"

"Close your eyes," he replied in a soothing voice that was dark with hunger.

Then he slipped two fingers inside her, feeling her tighten around him, anticipating the inevitable. He touched her with a careful rhythm until her thighs began to tremble. He didn't look away from her face even for a second. Watching every little shiver, every breathless plea.

"You like that?" he asked, thumb circling her clit, savoring every response her body offered. "I can't get enough of you."

She moaned, her eyes glassy with lust. "Don't ever leave."

"I'm not going to," he promised, leaning down to kiss her again. "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll forget everything but my name."

Her body rose to meet his as the first wave of release began to hit her hot and shattering, almost painfully intense. She cried out, fingers digging into his arms. He guided her through it, not pulling away, savoring the way she leaned into his touch, to the sensation of being wanted in every way imaginable.

When she finally sagged against the sheets, dazed and breathless, he slid the head of his cock along her, gathering every trace of the damp heat against his skin. He angled himself perfectly against her, but instead of pressing in right away, he teased her, dragging over her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Her hips lifted in helpless offering, and he felt the last of his composure begin to fray.

"Please," she whispered, voice wrecked.

He sank into her with one deep, unhurried thrust, slowing down to savor every sensation. She pulled him deep, and the jolt was instant and electrifying, like a first time and last time colliding into one.

Somewhere between a sob and a moan, she gasped as her body let him in. Her nails sank into his back. He didn't stop until he was entirely inside, both trembling and locked in place.

"Look at me," he insisted, voice ragged.

She tried. Her eyelids fluttered, her breath a series of broken gasps as he held himself still inside her. She felt too full, too seen, every heartbeat making her clench tighter around him. He braced one hand beside her head, the other sliding under her thigh to keep her spread open wider for him.

"You're flawless," he rasped, kissing her temple.

She made a slight, pleading sound and rocked her hips in silent encouragement.

"Now."

Her eyes met his, wide and dark with emotion. And something passed between them, something raw and irrevocable. The feeling that gets talked about, but only understood when you experience it yourself. She felt it in the way her heart stuttered, the way her breath caught on a sob. This wasn't just sex. It was everything she'd hoped for and never gotten, the answer to her longing and emptiness.

He started to move in slow, unhurried thrusts that made her arch and gasp beneath him. Each time he drew back and slid home again, her body lit up, electric and unbearably tender. The heat built until she thought she might shatter. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head for support.

"That's it," he groaned. "Look at me while I fuck you."

She did. She couldn't look anywhere else.

“Helly...” It slipped out before he could stop it.

She stilled. Whether it was her name or meant for a better version of herself, it didn’t matter; he loved all of her.

"I…," she breathed, voice breaking. She could see the look in his eyes, like this was pushing the thin line between lust and something more. His rhythm deepened, every thrust making the headboard knock the wall. He started slow, tender, but within minutes, he was fucking her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

The rough, wet sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room, each stroke a promise he wouldn't take back. In the background, the heater turned back on, an echo of another night.

Her legs locked around his waist, legs trembling, pulling him impossibly closer as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair, "I love you," she whispered.

He kissed her, swallowing her cries as he drove into her harder. "I love you, too," he groaned. "God, I love you."

The last of his control broke apart as she came again, her body tightening around him so fiercely he saw stars behind his eyelids. He pressed in one final time, burying himself deeper as his orgasm took him in a blinding rush. Her name broke from his lips in broken fragments as he spilled inside her, every ounce of restraint burned away.

His forehead dropped to hers, sweat cooling on their skin, the world shrinking to the space between their bodies. He saw the look in her eyes. She meant every word she said.

The room went quiet. He held her close, shaking, still joined, breathing her in. When he finally pulled back to rest beside her, he knew no words could capture the fire between them.

⸻

Helena closed the bathroom door behind her and pressed her back to it, her breath shallow.

The mirror reflected a version of herself she almost didn’t recognize: flushed, pupils blown wide, her hair a mess from his hands, her mouth bruised where he’d kissed her too hard. Her thighs still ached. Her body didn’t feel like her own, like some part of her had already been rewritten by him.

Her palms drifted to her stomach yet again. It didn't feel real yet. It was easier to pretend her body wasn't already keeping secrets.

She thought about Devon's message earlier, cruel and final: He's married. He'll always be married.

A picture came to life in her mind. White walls. Cold hands. A consent form she'd have to sign as if it were nothing. She wondered if she would feel relief or if some part of her would be broken forever.

She searched her heart for an answer. These kinds of choices were never easy. But it felt different when it was something you wanted, rather than something you felt cornered into.

She tried to imagine it without the secrecy or timing, just the possibility of having something that belonged to her and Mark alone.

She’d left her sweater on his bed, half inside-out. His scent was still on her skin.

She thought about his face, wondering if he’d feel relief after she told him her decision.

She pressed her hands to her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

⸻
Mark sat back against the pillows, feeling the sheets cooling where her body had been. The warmth was already slipping away, replaced by the creeping ache he could never outrun.

He tried to distract himself, thinking about how she'd looked tonight, flushed and laughing, her face pressed into his neck like she couldn't get close enough.

Then her phone lit up.

Devon.

He told himself not to look. He almost set it back down. But the preview line glowed on the screen, blunt as a blade:

⸻

It's just between us.

He felt something tighten at the back of his throat. His thumb moved before he could stop it, unlocking the phone with the four-digit code he'd seen her use.

He knew he shouldn't read it. He couldn't stop himself.

⸻

Helena:: You crazy bitch. You lied

⸻

Devon: You weren't ready to find out that night, and look who's calling me crazy

He sat up straighter, waiting for some off-the-wall drama to unfold. He knew what his sister was like sometimes. She was too protective after Gemma was gone. His thumb hovered, but he couldn't look away.

⸻

Helena: You decided for me, like there wasn't even a chance I would keep it.

His stomach dropped, a cold wave crashing through his chest. His hands went numb. The screen felt like ice in his grip as he scrolled.

Devon: I knew you'd find out eventually. And you know you can't

Helena: Mark cares for me; he wouldn't want that

Devon: He's married. He'll always be married. It's time to move on.

Helena: You don't know anything about us

Devon: You'd still be alone. You can't ever say who the father is once you go back to Lumon

Helena: I don't want to go back

Helena: I'll find a way to make it work

Devon: Consider your options. I've had one before. You're strong, you'll get through it.

⸻

Helena: I don't think I can do it.

Devon: What's your other option?

Helena: I don't have one…

Helena: If I do this, it's like I'm giving up

Devon: You're not. It's a second chance

Devon: I can take you Wednesday

⸻

Helena: Fine. But you need to promise me you'll never tell him

Devon: It's just between us.

The last message was from two hours ago.

⸻

Mark stared at the screen until his vision began to blur.

His pulse was hammering in his ears, hot and sick.

She'd lied to him. Even after everything—after he'd let himself believe there was nothing left between them to hide.

Even after he'd told her he loved her.

His hand closed around the phone so tightly his knuckles went white.

Beneath the betrayal was something worse. And far more dangerous. The aching truth that he wanted this: her, their child, the impossible future they might’ve made.

Wanted her, and the possibility they made together.

He thought of how she'd looked minutes ago, trembling under his hands, whispering that she didn't want him to let go.

And she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth.

He set the phone down carefully, like it might explode if he held it any longer. His breath came ragged, chest tight enough to feel like it might cave in.

He covered his face with both hands, like he could hold the grief in place. He sat there for a long time, overcome by rage. His breath dragged sharply and unevenly, like his chest forgot how to move.

Then he slammed his fist into the wall beside the mattress, as if pain might make it real.

He had poured out every secret he had. He had given her everything he had.

⸻

Helena sat on the closed toilet lid, her head in her hands.

She'd typed that last message with her thumb hovering over the screen for a full minute, her heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted to break free.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, hot and cold, and she had to steady herself against the wall. Her breath caught — the room seemed to tilt, just for a moment, as if the weight of what she'd decided was trying to pull her under.

A part of her wanted to take it all back. To run into the bedroom, throw herself into his arms, and tell him she wanted to keep what they'd created. She'd always wanted it — even before she was ready to admit it.

But the crushing reality pressed down like a stone: she couldn't return to Lumon like this. She could never tell Father. It had to be done.

And if she dared to hope, it would only end the same way all her other hopes had — whittled down to nothing.

Her heart ached in a way it never had before. She hadn't cried yet. But the pressure was rising. Hot, fragile, inevitable. Her tears felt ready to break loose, and she didn't think she could hold them back much longer.

⸻

A startling crash brought her back into reality, like a fist hitting a wall. When she finally opened the door, the first thing she saw was Mark's face. His expression had become as cold as ice, his lips pressed thin. Eyes bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion and something darker: a raw, shattered betrayal that pierced through the room deeper than anything Helena had ever seen.

His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might crack, and his whole body trembled with a tension that seemed ready to snap. He looked at her like she'd pulled the rug out from under him and left him for dead.

Her pulse slammed against her throat. It wasn't easy to find the right words. The test was tucked in her hand, just behind her back, ready to be revealed when the time was right, but it was too late.

"Mark," she whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his gaze, "Please don't look at me like that."

"Don't you think I deserved to know?" He asked, voice low and raw like the words burned his throat. "You were ready to give up. And I didn’t even get to say what I wanted...”He broke off, shaking his head, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. For a moment, he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, like he could physically block out what he'd read.

"It isn't like that," she whispered. "This choice hurts me more than anything else."

"Then tell me what it's like," he demanded, voice tearing around the edges. "Because to me it looks like you're about to get an abortion." He shook his head and crossed the room to the window, but didn't bother moving the curtain to look outside. It felt unbearable to look her in the eyes.

She stood there, feeling every heartbeat like a bruise. "You didn't have the choice to create it, and I did. That makes me responsible for how this ends. It's a mistake."

His hand fell away from his face. His expression crumpled into something raw and unguarded, devastation carving deep lines into his features.

"If I told you earlier, it would've felt like a trap. Like I was forcing you to stay out of guilt. Making it harder to go back to your life. To Gemma."

"You didn't give me the chance to want it, Helena. You should have asked me. I poured my heart out to you. I thought you felt the same way."

Her eyes blurred, but she forced herself to look at him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" His laugh was sharp, almost a bark. "Jesus, Helena. You don't understand what you've done, what we've done. This is—" He broke off again, chest heaving. "This is fucking insane."

His shoulders hunched, like he was bracing for a blow. He was shaking so hard he couldn't look at her.

His voice cracked, a choked sound he couldn't swallow down. He saw how they looked at each other in the kitchen, drenched in pink, how he made love to her under a desk in a closed-off room, like it was the only escape they'd ever have. The day he unwrapped the rope from around her neck to save her life before being dragged away, "Everything you told me in the basement last night…I understand why."

"What Reghabi did… It's starting to work," he rasped. "I remember bits. Moments. The way I felt about Helly inside..."

Her face crumpled. Tears burned hot at the corners of her eyes. "I can't do this…"

"You were going to get rid of our baby," he said hoarsely. "And you weren't even going to tell me. We made it together. Even if we were severed. Even if we didn't know what the hell we were doing—we still chose each other."

"It feels like our only option," she said, her voice breaking. "We can't be a public couple. If I keep it, they'll grow up in that place. In that fucking cult."

Her hands wavered so incessantly that the test dropped to the floor between them.

"Only because you've convinced yourself it won't work out. But sometimes you gotta say fuck it and try anyway."

"You don't know what it's like. He controls my entire life. Always has, always will. I was born for that company, Mark. I can't leave.”

His hands balled into fists on the blanket, knuckles bone-white. When he looked up at Helena again, his eyes were almost unrecognizable, filled with pain and something like pleading.

"The first thing I'll see when he finds out is a white windowless room on the testing floor," she whispered, her pulse felt like it could shake the room. "There'll be room for me there after Monday."

She shut her eyes. A sob rose in her throat.

"Is this what you want?" he demanded, voice shaking. "Or is it just what Devon is telling you to do?"

Her tears finally spilled over. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to hold the sound in. "I… I thought I did. But….” She couldn't finish the sentence.

He exhaled unsteadily, then lifted his gaze with a raw, desperate intensity.

"Devon doesn't know anything about you. If they were all gone, your father, Lumon, if none of it existed, would you keep it?"

Her eyes met his, wide and wrecked. For a moment, she looked so young, like she was terrified to believe in anything at all. "Say it. Say it out loud. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

"Don't think about your father. Don't think about Devon. Don't even think about me. Just you, standing in a room with what we created. Could you say goodbye without knowing who they'd be?"

Panic set in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She didn't think he'd feel this way. She’d handled it, exactly as she’d been taught. Tuck the problems under the pillow. Leave the shame behind your bedroom door. Make the appointment. Move on.

But Mark wasn’t leaving. He was unhinged, furious, and alive, and she could feel everything she thought she was supposed to do go up in flames.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to need her more than anything else. Helena thought about the cafe, the families, and seeing the joy on their faces she never got to. If keeping it would mean he would never let her go, then she would.

"No…" She said, shaking her head, burying her face in her palms as she rested her elbows on her thighs. The words surged from her lips on impulse, prompted by pure exhaustion.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, as if he had let go even for a second, he might have broken down completely. His hair was a mess, his eyes stinged. He held her like she'd slip away if he let go, still half disbelieving any of this was real."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet except for her shaking breaths against his chest and the tremor in his shoulders as he felt her tears fall onto his skin.

⸻

Finally, he shifted, guiding her carefully onto his lap. She straddled him, her face still wet with tears, her palms splayed over his shoulders.

His hands came to rest gently over her lower stomach. When she looked down at where he was touching her, anxiety coursed through her veins.

He looked up at her, and this time there was something different in his eyes. Fear, certainty, and shock.

"I don't remember everything," he said softly, "but I remember enough to know I can't let you go back."

She felt the breath being ripped out of her lungs.

"Listen, I've been planning something. They're going to pay for what happened to Gemma."

"Planning what?" she whispered.

His thumb brushed her cheek. "A way out. For you. Revenge, for myself. Reghabi will help us."

“You’re serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Her pulse skipped a beat. "When?"

"Soon." He glanced toward the window, like he half-expected to see headlights in the drive. Then he looked back at her, gaze steady. "I need you to trust me. When it starts, there won't be time to hesitate. You'll have to go when I say. When you return to Lumon, you will act like nothing has changed."

A shiver raced down her spine.

"Are you listening to me? When I tell you to follow me, you have to go. If you turn back, that's it for us."

"Go where?"

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, voice barely a breath.

"Somewhere far away from this town. Like we talked about earlier. I'll get you out of that place."

Her swallowed down the fear.

"There's no way out. They'll bring me back. Don't you think I've already thought of this before? It's impossible."

"I'll keep you safe. I have a plan. Nothing will happen to you, or..." His eyes burned with certainty that he didn't truly have.

She met his gaze without flinching, their faces pink with emotion and tears, "If he finds us, we're dead."

Mark exhaled like it was the last breath he'd ever take, and when he wrapped his arms behind her neck to lean in for a kiss, he searched his mind for any semblance of a plan to get her out he had never thought through until now.

She looked closely, saw the pure desperation and panic in his face, thought about returning to Lumon. She had nothing there. Here, with Mark, at least she could feel something besides cold hard misery and the soulless eyes of her father. She saw it in his eyes, that his “plan” was not actually a plan at all. But she kissed him like she believed he already had one.

As their lips parted from the embrace, he replied with certainty, "Then we die together."