I didn't think. I grabbed the woman's hand.
— It's cold — I said silently. Cold like the rings I hurriedly put on this morning, but even colder than gold. Her fingers trembled, fragile like the remains of a shaken skeleton. As I squeezed, she clung to me as if my touch was the last thing that felt real.
Irem led us down the hall. The translucent doors opened automatically before us, as if some unseen machine knew resistance was pointless. Through a long glass-roofed passage, we reached the eastern courtyard. Our footsteps echoed, but nobody spoke.
Outside, bonsai trees stood carefully maintained beside neatly trimmed gravel benches. Artificial peace. The illusion of a world kept under control.
The woman sat on the edge, slowly, as if her body weighed her down after years.
I sat beside her. She stretched out her hand like she wanted to touch the light.
— My son… — she finally said softly, her voice fragile. — I couldn't bury him. He has no grave. My husband… three months later, he was living with another woman.
I didn't look at her. I just listened. Sometimes silence says more than sympathy.
— They told me I could start over. That Velarion helps. That here… I could forget. — She laughed bitterly. — But I wake up the same way every morning. I just… don't know if I'm really me anymore.
I squeezed her hand again.
— You don't have to forget — I said finally, though I didn't yet know that forgetting would have a different meaning here. — You just have to survive a bad time, and when it passes, it leaves only good memories behind.
— Thank you — she whispered. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were clearer. She looked at me, and a gentle sadness flowed from her.
She tilted her head and pointed toward a glass wall.
— There, look… on the other side. Do you see that white lily?
I nodded. The plant stood in the best angle of the scarce sunlight, like a fragment of memory.
— That was my son's favorite flower—and mine too. He always bought me those. When I was sad. When I was happy. Even when he could barely walk anymore.
She slowly turned her gaze away.
— I once ran a similar company. I led it… — She smiled, but a painful irony passed over her face. — And yet, where have I ended up? In the middle of a beautiful garden, surrounded by walls. Like a refined prison. The pit of my own loss.
— The lily… — she continued softly. — I don't know how long I'll remember it.
— I like flowers too — I said finally. — Daffodils are my favorite. They're like survivors. Fragile, yet they always peek out from winter.
The woman looked at me. For the first time, really looked at me. A faint smile crossed her face.
— Thank you for talking to me.
— Now calm down a little. If you don't ask for more meds at the dispenser, I'll help you signal that. But… — I chose my words carefully — please trust the doctors. Even if you don't feel they're the best. Because the doctors know their job, they're here for you.
The woman nodded. We smiled at each other.
When I escorted her back inside, they were already waiting. Two white-coated doctors, including a young woman who maybe took her role a bit too seriously.
— You're okay, ma'am. Now we'll take you back to your room — she said stiffly.
— Wait — I said. — Don't speak to her like that. Please be patient. Listening, hearing what she says—that's already half the healing.
The young doctor was surprised but nodded.
— You're right. But now please let us do our job.
I didn't answer. Just gave a brief, sharp look. I didn't want confrontation, but my gaze was enough.
And then… the door opened. I looked down from the floor.
The atmosphere changed. Not because of the creaking door, but because of who came through it.
Men in black suits, silent footsteps. In an instant, they filled the space. Their stifling presence wasn't aggressive, yet every muscle tensed.
From behind the door stepped a man. Slow, measured movements. He said nothing. He looked at no one. He just walked, as if every move claimed the space.
His hair was dark chestnut, slightly wavy, perfectly slicked back, but not artificially. More like someone who had always looked like this. His eyes were deep, almond-shaped, sky blue, but not cold—precise. Like a scale that always sees and measures everything. You could tell who he was at a glance.
Aslan Vardem.
He barely looked at me. Just a single, tossed glance. Not curious—more like… registering. As if he knew I was there, but to him, I was just another figure in the system.
And I knew exactly why he looked at me that way.
Because I was the ethics inspector.
The kind of figure who could bring down his perfect empire with a single report.
The kind of person whose presence could shut down companies, halt projects, strip people of their masks.
And he knew that too.
But there was no fear in his movements. Only a warning.
As if he were saying: "I know what you're capable of. But don't forget—I'm not insignificant either."