Page 107 of The Secretary Volume II

Something in my stomach buckles.Not fear.Not even dread.Just disorientation.Like the room’s gone off-level—tilted half a degree toward something I can’t see.I go still.Completely still.The kind of still that comes just before the worst part.

Then—footsteps.A shape rounds the corner.

The world narrows.Drops.It’s like the floor has vanished.

No.Please let me be imagining this.

I mean to speak, but there’s nothing left to say.

It can’t be her, but it is.

Hair twisted back.Hoodie.Jeans.One of mine, maybe.Or one she borrowed and never gave back.Her face is calm.Blank.Familiar.She doesn’t hesitate.Doesn’t look at the camera.Doesn’t even flinch at the smell.

She walks straight up to me, like she owns the place.

I take a step back before I realize I’ve moved.

“Devon?”

I say it like a question.Like I’m still hoping it’s someone else.Like hallucination might be easier to survive than this.

She stops, arms crossed, weight shifted casually to one side.

“What the fuck are you doing?”Her voice is flat, almost lazy.

I don’t answer.Just stare at her hands, waiting—for what, I can’t say.A command?A tell?

She doesn’t ask if I’m okay.She doesn’t ask anything, just exhales and glances at the door like she already knows what’s behind it.Then, a deep and heavy sigh.“How long’s he been in there?”

I swallow.My throat feels like sandpaper.

She raises an eyebrow, like I’ve just confirmed something she already knows.“You thought I wouldn’t notice?I know him better than anyone, Gillian.”

She says my name like it’s the punchline.

I shake my head.Not at her words.At the impossibility of all of it.

“You’re Helper 99?”

“Looks that way.”She doesn’t even flinch.Just smiles.Smug.Soft.Sharp.“But you know me.I’ve never been good with numbers.”

I take a full step back now.She doesn’t follow.She doesn’t have to.

“You knew.”It comes out small.Raw.

Her smile widens.“Of course I knew.”

A heaviness fills my chest.“You—You were my friend.”

“Still am.”She shrugs.“You should see what I’ve done for you.”

It sinks in slowly.Not like a knife—like rot, quiet and irreversible.

She says it like I should be grateful.Like betrayal counts as loyalty if it comes from someone who was supposed to care.She looks at me with disgust then nods toward the panic room door.“You done?”

“No.”

That makes her pause.Her head tilts slightly, like she’s reconsidering whether I’m salvageable.

---