Warden Hayes leaned back in her leather chair, control returning to her features, but her gaze was no longer one of authority, but of tense complicity.
"I must admit, Blake," she said. "It seems you have a lot of people fighting for you outside. I’ve received so many calls in the last few hours. Half want you dead, and the other half demand that I protect you at all costs."
She let the information sink in. "You know, they’ve offered many incentives. Money, favors, promotions... in exchange for both outcos. Truly, for a terrorist, you are far too famous. That makes believe a little more in your version that you’re innocent, or perhaps you just have too many contacts."
Ethan laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "How strange. I shouldn’t have anyone in my favor who can offer you anything," he said. "Against , I wouldn’t doubt it. That damn Congressman wants dead at all costs before I can testify. He’s not stupid; he knows his declaration has too many holes, and we’ll destroy him the mont we get to court."
"I understand, I understand," the Warden said, nodding. "I truly wish you the best of luck. Now, get dressed. You have many visitors today."
Ethan rose lazily, picking up the empty bottle from the desk.
"Did you call just for this, dear Warden?" Ethan asked, the mockery barely veiled. "I thought you’d want to experience a second round."
She laughed, her voice husky. "I’m in too much pain on my cunt, darling. It was a very long night," she said. "I just wanted to see you one last ti before you go. I suppose you won’t be in here too long, and I can’t be calling a prisoner so often. I have a reputation to maintain."
"If anyone talks about you, Warden, I’ll make sure they disappear, or rather, never appear again. Just ask," Ethan said.
"I know you’re capable of that," Hayes replied, "but don’t worry about . I’ll settle for my guards."
"Your loss, Warden," Ethan said with a wink, and he turned around.
Passing the door, the two guards saluted him respectfully.
"We will escort you to the visiting room, sir," one said. "We regret having to ask you to allow us to handcuff you, but you know, we must maintain the appearance of being a respectable prison."
Ethan smiled and extended his hands. "Alright, alright. I have no problem," he said.
The guards placed the handcuffs on him with respectful slowness. It was an absurd formality, but a necessary one. They escorted him down the corridors to the visiting room, a small, cold room separated by thick glass.
Ethan took a seat at the tal table and waited for his visitor to arrive. He wondered who had been so quick: Could it be Davies, or maybe Lena and Cassandra are already making contact?
"Hey, System, I was asking you..." Ethan muttered ntally. "Seriously, it’s strange to hear you so quiet."
[You hated talking at first, and now I’m quiet for a mont and you get sentintal,] the System replied, its tone full of mockery. [Who understands you, kid?]
Ethan nodded but said nothing more, fixing his gaze on the entrance door.
Then, soone walked in. Ethan froze in surprise.
Max, the MIT "chubby guy," sat down on the other side of the glass, looking incredibly nervous, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep.
"Max? What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan said.
"I missed you, man," Max said, trying to start the conversation with a normalcy that did not exist. "Stern’s Electrodynamics exams are killing us. We need your help."
Ethan listened to the talk about school but kept his guard up. Max’s presence was odd; it didn’t fit the prison’s security policy. Max noticed the wariness in Ethan’s eyes.
Max sighed deeply and decided to release the truth.
"Look, I was forced to co. Well, not forced, but... it’s my dad. He wants to help you." Max lowered his voice, looking around frantically. "My father is Congressman Thompson. Yes, Vance’s political enemy. What happened at his mansion... my dad saw it as an opportunity."
Ethan blinked, the surprise finally breaking his calm facade. "Thompson? The one running for governor?"
"Yeah. And I never tell anyone. I like being just Max, not ’Thompson’s son’," Max said with disarming honesty. "I want to be independent, and I want my achievents to be my own."
"I respect and admire that, Max," Ethan said, his tone genuinely sincere. "Keep talking."
Max, encouraged by Ethan’s approval, rushed to explain his father’s plan.
"Vance is burying evidence. My dad knows it. They want to tear him down, and you are the dynamite, Ethan. They want you to support his campaign and then counter-sue Vance for terrorism and false accusation. They promise to get you out of here as soon as you drop my na. They have the money, the contacts..."
Ethan gently tapped the table with his handcuffs, thinking. The offer was tempting.
"Congressman Thompson is a smart man," Ethan said. "Tell him I accept the deal, but there’s a change in the plan."
Max tilted his head, confused. "A change? What more do you want?"
"Don’t get out yet, Max," Ethan said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. " being here draws all of Vance’s and Olympus’ attention. My own people are also working on a plan—a plan that requires ti. Tell your father it’s better if I stay a little longer. Only then can we land a definitive blow. A blow that doesn’t just win an election, but destroys Vance completely, leaving him with nothing."
Ethan leaned back in his seat, his gaze intense. "Tell your father that if he pulls out now, he’ll only win the governorship. If he pulls out later, he’ll win the state, and I’ll deliver his enemy’s head on a silver platter."
Max put a hand to his forehead as he thought about Ethan’s words.
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