In silence, I reopen my eyes on Mistress Freeman's face. Her lips quiver slightly as if she is uttering secret words.

"I'm sorry, it was very indelicate from me. I should've predicted that maybe you too lost someone dear in a shipwreck. Excuse me, Kanoa."

"No, no, I am fine; it is just those crises."

"I know, but it's the strong emotions that most often trigger them."

I get up and help her lean on her crutch. My questioning gaze calls out to her.

"One day, when I was ten years old, one of the crises was so severe that my back hit a corner of the coffee table. My spinal cord was damaged, and my leg has since been paralyzed. COVID-19 was then also responsible for attacking the surface tissue. That's how it expresses itself in me; these are my symptoms. I had the yellow spots at birth, but I benefited from the vaccine, thanks to my parents' situation."

"I am sorry, Mistress."

"Good for these Masters, should you rather say! Anyway, will you help me?"

"With?"

"With my research, I have to go to Freetown, get information, interviews. A source of the FreeRush movement! It would be huge; I need to be sure!"

"Mistress, Miss, it is too dangerous. The... people who deal with these kinds of things are feared by most slaves and have ties to local criminals. No one will want to tell you about it. Since the 9/11, any mention of the FreeRush movement contributes to the stigma of our Freetown, regardless of the context."

"I have to try Kanoa. If it's not with you, I'll go by myself; it's all decided. I was just looking for someone who knows Freetown well, but I will find another way if I have to. To tell you everything, I'm running out of time."

I have been trying all day to keep my head out of the storm and out of this water soiled by memories of the past few hours. My reality catches up with me; fate haunts me; fate is relentless. Mistress Freeman speaks with determination; she will find her answers, but at what cost? In return for her naivety, she will only receive violence. If I provide her with a minimum of materials for her documentary, I will control the flow of information; I can play on the wires to make sure that my family and I stay away from all this. Since we are still in uncertainty, an ally of her rank could change a lot.

If she investigates by herself, she will eventually find the connection between the Ferrymen, Mr. Salvi, the Grinbergs, and us, I am convinced. There are not many slaves who dare publicly claim their support for the FreeRush movement outside Freetown. I guess this anonymous source is close to the Grinbergs. Before they came to see us, a rumor circulated in Freetown about a renewed interest in the reactionary legacy of our neighborhood's most violent ideas. Among the youngest, led by the Grinbergs and their neo-FreeRush gang, frightening all parents, in particular, Mohamed.

So, I will help Mistress Freeman; I will do better than what I did with Mistress Salvi...

"As I am required to do, I will support you as best I can," I finally say.

"Don't make it be like I gave you no choice, I mean..." she rejoiced to mask her unease, taking my hand in hers.

Her warm palms roll up my wrists, and for a few moments, I feel a little invigorated and very guilty. She briefly looks into my eyes, my feet sinking into the ground. She has just anchored us into the present.

"I-I think someone has just come in. Let's go check..."

She drops her hands and trots to the door. Arriving in the living room, we hear Celeste putting the dishes in the cupboards.

"Why are you coming home so early?"

"Your father asked me to."

After a short break, Mistress Freeman resumes, slightly annoyed.

"He asked you to watch us, right?"

"He just wants to make sure everything goes well. Without his cameras..."

"He asked you to play guard dogs," she mumbles.

"He wants me to reinstall them... for this week. Just try to understand him, with everything that's going on..."

"I'm sorry for that," Mistress Freeman says to me. "We have some work to do. We'll be at the library."

She spins on her heels, taking me by the wrist. Zaz appears in the corner of the living room. He does not seem to like the attention his Mistress is giving me, I say to myself.

"I'll come and bring you snacks, Miss," Celeste simply adds.

We return to the library, and he joins us a few minutes later with tea. He announces that lunch will be served shortly. Rousing, Mistress Freeman wants to eat immediately. We go down again to enjoy an Indian dish made by the future chef. We eat in silence, Mistress Freeman next to me, Celeste in front of us, and the television broadcasting an episode of The Simpsons in the background. This is a first; even among Masters close to Mohamed, there is never any question of slaves eating at the table, in the company of their superiors.

Her plate barely finished, Mistress Freeman pushes me out of the table, again, taking the direction of the library. We spent the afternoon discussing the approach that she had prepared for her documentary... She uses a lot of jargon, speaks with passion, requiring little of my intervention. For whatever reason, I pretend to take notes on a piece of paper when she talks about the camera, which she asks me to get. A part of me cannot help but think that I am trying to impress her, somewhat by revealing that I am a slave that can write.

She shows me several videos of other Activists and their work to get a better idea of ​​what she wants to do. Celeste comes to see us every thirty minutes precisely. He glances discreetly at what we are doing and leaves. Mistress Freeman and I would then exchange a guilty smile. I even let myself go to a giggle from time to time. The very superficial, unique nature of the situation makes me think that I have never known such peaceful moments with the Masters. I realize that Mohamed gave me a gift there, trying to make it up to me for our arguments. Or maybe, trying to convince me not to go. He knew how I would be treated. Still, I remain on my guard, reflexes from all these years of servitude. Despite everything, I do not entirely let go of my mistrust because Masters are capricious and lunatic.

At dinner time, Mistress Freeman is invited to join her parents at the large living room table. Despite my efforts, it is a violent return to reality. Again, I blame myself for forgetting that the few times a Master behaves nicely with me should never replace what most, like Mistress Salvi, take pleasure in making me endure.

"Mr. and Mrs. Freeman want to talk to you about something important. I served you in your room Kanoa," Celeste announces.

Mistress Freeman gives me a worried look and leaves the room. I get up too, Celeste closing the door behind us. He holds me back by the arm and moves closer to my neck.

"You should be careful not to get too used to their fake smiles. They're Masters: they're twisted. I mean... They won't be for long, which makes them even more dangerous. There is nothing worse than a desperate Master," he whispers.

Shaken, I go to the room while he walks away to take the elevator with Mistress Freeman. This call to order saddens me but was very much needed. I could not stop smiling despite the threats that I made against my heart.

I have in my hands the notes on the documentary that I place on the small bedside table near the bed. The pile of clothes is no longer on the bed that was made.

The shame, and the fear regarding what we did to Mistress Salvi, I finish immersing from the apparent decent day Mistress Freeman, and my mind lured me with. Like a punch jostling my thought, making fall the barrier that I have built to hold in the guilt. I, who have been ignoring all the warnings on my phone during the entire day, feel a sudden urge and a burst of anger against my stupidity. My hands shaking, I pull it out from under the pillow. I cannot live in the illusion anymore. Above Isaac's message, there are five missed calls from Ho-Jin, one from Karen, three from Mohamed, and two from Rachel. I start by opening the Isaac's message from yesterday, and am surprised by its light tone:

"Hi Kanoa, I hope you're fine. I wanted to thank you again for your help last time. I sent you an email about...," all accompanied by a meme and a happy GIF. I frown, angry again. I open my emails. The most recent one is from Jax, who helped Isaac design the slaves' encrypted app. I can now log in. I am afraid to understand.

I activate my 3G network and download the app again, which gives way too long time to go over the worst scenarios that I was complaining about this morning. I entered the corresponding boxes, the username, and the password provided in the email. I believe my phone crashed because nothing happens for a moment. Then, "You have been added to a new discussion group" appears on the screen. The names of Rachel, Isaac, Karen, and Ho-Jin can be found in the group header. The last message comes from Karen and says:

"Somebody managed to reach him? I was sure he would be the one who would ruin everything!". Earlier, Ho-Jin asks what would happen if the police were to find out. I retrace the thread of the conversation; I go back to the very first message. Incredulous, I reread Isaac's words: "She's dead."