The door to Silco’s office opens slower than usual. Not with hesitation but with a kind of dragging weight, like even the act of pushing it forward costs more than she can spare tonight. Bootsteps follow. Uneven. Linus enters first. The massive Irish Wolfhound moves with quiet purpose, placing himself just ahead and slightly to the side of Ina, as if bracing for impact before it comes. His ears are low, eyes alert, watching Silco before Ina even fully crosses the threshold.
Ina looks… wrong. Paler than usual, the sickly undertone of her skin more pronounced under the dim office light. There’s grime on her face, streaked like she wiped at sweat and didn’t care what else came with it. Her jacket hangs half-open, one side darker where something has soaked through and dried stiff.
Her breathing is off. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just shallow. Tight. Controlled in that dangerous way that means she’s forcing it to behave. Her green hair is messier than usual, sticking to her temples, damp. Her hands flex once at her sides like she’s trying to get feeling back into them, or stop them from shaking. She doesn’t sit. Doesn’t move further into the room than she has to. Linus presses closer to her leg. Ina keeps her eyes on the floor for a beat too long. Then she forces herself to look up. And there it is. Not defiance. Not tonight. Fear. Buried under irritation, under exhaustion, under that sharp edge she always carries, but unmistakable.
A pause. Her jaw tightens and she grinds her teeth together they she always did when she feels she has said the wrong thing.
“They had people guarding inside the warehouse. They weren’t supposed to have guards inside. They changed the pattern. I was... distracted... and didn't realize it until it was too late."
Linus shifts slightly, pressing into her leg as if grounding her. Ina doesn’t acknowledge it. But her hand twitches, almost reaching for him before stopping herself.
“I was found out, and they were not very happy."
Ina attempt to laugh nervously at her attempt to ease the tension in the room. She looks at Silco and stops, glancing away.
That part comes out flatter. Her eyes flick up to Silco again, searching, measuring, bracing. Ina’s shoulders square, forcing herself upright despite the visible strain it causes. There’s a faint hitch in her breath again, subtle, but wrong, like the defective heart in her chest doesn’t want to keep up with what the body demands.
She opens her mouth to speak but changes her mind and closes it. Because even she knows how bad this situation looks. Ina was never able to hide details from Silco. Somehow, he always knew. She supposes that is just what happens when you work for the Industrialist for almost a decade... since they were a kid.
Because she’s afraid he’s already decided. Silence stretches. Ina doesn’t move. Doesn’t sit.
She just stands there, thoughts rushing through her head
