Story code: ST-001334
Part 2: The Martyr’s Panic
Marcus lunged forward, his hand snapping out to block me from touching the scissors, his defensive mask slipping for a fraction of a second. ‘Don’t touch those,’ he hissed, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding register I had rarely heard him use. Sarah took a step forward from the digital door keypad, her eyes wide as she watched him react. His sudden desperation to keep the bracelet on my wrist didn’t match the tragic savior persona he had projected for years.
‘Why not?’ I asked, keeping my hand steady on the plastic handle of the scissors. ‘If the covenant bracelet is the only thing tying your ruined reputation to my escape, cutting it off releases you. I’ll take the fall. Isn’t that what you want? To be free of the debt I supposedly put on you?’
Marcus swallowed hard, his collar suddenly looking too tight. He backed up slightly, his eyes locked on the blade. ‘You don’t understand the legalities, Elena,’ he stammered, gesturing wildly. ‘The council… they still monitor my accounts. If you cut the band, they will assume I broke the covenant contract intentionally. They’ll freeze my remaining assets.’
I frowned, the pieces failing to fit together. ‘Your remaining assets? You told me they stripped everything two years ago. You told my family you were living out of your car because you refused to hand me over to the elders.’
‘I meant… the assets I’ve tried to rebuild since then,’ Marcus said quickly, his voice pitch rising. ‘The small accounts I managed to salvage. If you cut that bracelet, they will know we are in contact. They will ruin me all over again.’
I stood up, holding the scissors firmly. The discrepancy was glaring. If he had been excommunicated and stripped of his rank, the council wouldn’t care about a symbolic retreat band, nor would they have the power to freeze accounts that were supposedly long gone. He was desperately trying to keep the bracelet on my wrist because the physical symbol of my debt was the only thing keeping me compliant.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with an incoming call from a number I recognized instantly-the primary line of the compound’s administrative office. Marcus quickly snatched the phone and pressed the silent button, but the damage was done. The screen also displayed a notification badge from the group’s secure internal messaging app, showing active, high-level credentials.
I stared at the silenced phone in his hand. If he was a blacklisted exile who had lost everything to save me, why did he still have active credentials for their encrypted network, and why was the compound’s treasury office calling him on a Tuesday afternoon?
Marcus tried to slip the phone into his pocket, his hand trembling slightly. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, his voice straining to regain its usual smooth authority. ‘Just automated system alerts. They haven’t deactivated my old profile yet.’
‘It’s been two years, Marcus,’ I said, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper. ‘They deactivate members’ profiles within twenty-four hours of excommunication. You told me that yourself when we left.’
He didn’t have an answer. He stood in the middle of the cramped motel room, his eyes darting toward the door where Sarah stood, then back to the scissors in my hand. The facade of the ruined savior was fracturing, exposing a truth that made my stomach turn.