Finding no empathetic response to her whines, Mistress Salvi shakes her head violently.

"Stop her from moving. Ho-Jin, grab her arms, Kanoa hold her feet. Karen, the chair! Don't move!" Isaac orders.

Because of the position in which we try to maintain her, she has no chance of avoiding the blow. Isaac's hand pushes her forehead so hard that her head hits the wall behind her, knocking the chair down at the same time. Slowly, the blood begins to flow from her skull, forming a small puddle on the ground. Her eyes roll back, and my heart burns in my chest. I gag.

I notice that my nails sank into her flesh. I move away from her all the more quickly that I am certain, at this moment, of the real will that I had; of wanting to hurt her. My embrace had tightened, subconsciously, I had tried to make her suffer, I thought: "It won't kill her, but maybe..."

Karen, silent until this moment, seems to explode. In just a few seconds, she is perched on Mistress Salvi, throwing her fists on her neck. Horrified, I come to meet Ho-Jin's leg. Rachel and Isaac barely react, but someone knocks on the door. Karen freezes.

"Salvi, I'm getting tired of this roar! I'm warning you, if I hear any more noise coming from your apartment, I'll call the police! I'm not afraid of you or your little thugs."

We listen to the steps as they go away.

"We have to call for help; we have to do something!" Ho-Jin panics. "She is losing too much blood!"

"How... How could you do that to her, Karen?"

I get her fist in response.

"I forbid you to judge me! Your stupid, your cheap morality... you can keep it for your family!" she spits.

"That's enough! The only thing she's done is proving that she's way much braver than the two of you!" Isaac snaps, getting angry.

"You're sure you don't want to let go of some stress before it's too late?" Rachel smirks.

"Do you mean she will...?" I inquire anxiously.

"No, we'll take care of her," Isaac replies. "You know... I can't believe that you're their son; it's beyond me! Do you know how many people your parents killed, exactly? How many Masters, but also slaves? There's definitely more than what was in the newspapers about 9/11. There are all the bodies of those they had to get rid of to reach their position in FreeRush's hierarchy. You don't just get to exchange with Al-Quaïda as a simple member. There are also the people they killed after 9/11, before getting arrested, to keep their secret safe. Those innocent individuals, all that because they wanted to see their son grow. Three years during which the hugs they gave you were to leave the blood of those innocents, their sacrifices on you. Literally."

"I-I am not like them! I am not an assassin!" I retort, losing my voice.

"If you say so. Only a thief, then? A thief with such a morality that he believes he bears all the sins of the human beings inhabiting this planet. This is what you learned from Mohamed, but you'd be way happier, freer without this... guilt he instilled in you. Tell me: wouldn't you love being "diagnosed" as a kleptomaniac, right? That it was officially considered as your way of expressing your covidic symptoms? That way, you can also justify this bad habit that sullies the perfect image you so much want to preserve for your dear "dad." Frankly, your hypocrisy..."

"You have to go now," Rachel interrupts us. " We'll take care of the rest."

Mistress Salvi is still moving, but the pool of blood keeps growing. She regains full consciousness as Rachel pushes us towards the door.

"Go back to Freetown, using the same path we took to come; it's safer. Put the jackets back where they were. Mohamed will ask questions. Say that for the moment, the project is on hold because we can't agree on the method. We are responsible for the notebook from now on; we take care of returning it."

"We'll bring it to a safe place, to ask Mr. Salvi for another favor, in exchange for the notebook and his wife," Isaac completes. "We'll need a lot more than just a boat if we really want to start a new life, if we want to survive."

So that is their goal, from the beginning. They knew that we would find Mr. Salvi's wife. All these questions, these investigations, it was for her. She was the target. There is no arrangement with Mr. Salvi; it's just lies.

As Rachel closes the door on us, I once again meet Mistress Salvi's beseeching look. She had raised her head and leaned on her elbows, her tears still running down her cheeks. Ho-Jin and Karen go straight down the stairs, but I remain frozen, rooted to the spot.

"Kanoa, I need your help," my brother says. "Now!"

I reach them, place my shoulder under Karen's arm. We are surprised by the first rays of the day when we leave the building. The silence reigning on the streets is sometimes interrupted by my ex-wife's little screams and groans. We skillfully, cleverly avoid the Masters-Avengers, once again, as well as some joggers. Near the garbage bins in the little street, we put down the jackets, Karen's one being covered with blood.

On Freetown Street, the Sunday Collection's festivities are over. The slaves returned home hours ago. We leave Karen at the European bloc entrance; she violently steps away from us, hiding her face. Stumbling, she reaches the door without another glance. Then, we head to the orphanage, still silent. Ho-Jin walks a few meters in front of me. He is the first to arrive in the hall and is intercepted by our father.

"Ho-Jin, Kanoa, where were you? I tried to reach you. I called the Grinbergs and... What happened?"

He points to a red spot on my wrist. The blood must have passed through the tissue. I instinctively put my left hand on it, to hide it, as a smart culprit would never do. Drawing more attention to it.

"Isaac... and I... we had a little disagreement when-when I tried to explain to him why we were not going to travel at all... At least, not with him. Kanoa wanted to intervene," Ho-Jin says.

"I told you not to trust them; they are respected, but for the wrong reason. Having seen them grow, I know they can sometimes be ruthless. They made you leave Freetown to talk about it, I suppose? It is so irresponsible..."

Mohamed gets lost in yet another tirade about how reckless the Grinbergs. Does he only guess that they are capable of much worse?

"Despite everything, I am reassured that you have reconsidered your decision... for the moment. Imane needs you. I need you."

"My head is spinning a little bit, dad; I would like to rest," I say in a voice that I do not recognize.

"Oh... maybe we should go to the dispensary. If you received a hit..."

"No, no. I feel very tired too. We just need to go to sleep," Ho-Jin insists. I nod slowly.

"All right, I will leave you alone then. I put on the table the folder of your next Master and Mistress for the coming week. You can consult them when you wake up. I tried to find you decent ones, but it is getting really difficult now that I am no longer Mayor to have access to the documents before them getting distributed. Also, I know that Isaac now has access to the list too. Anyway... The elevator works today; I will take this opportunity to go check what is happening with the ceiling on the third floor."

He goes to the other side of the hall, looking pensive and still worried. I do not think that he believed any of the things we said at all. I turn to our room, take a few shaky steps, jostling Ho-Jin. I start to run. I soon reach the door to the communal showers on the first floor. I enter them and lean over the first bowl. I then spit out all of my guts. Only after that, I began to rub the stain on my arm vigorously. I rub, scrub my skin off without realizing that I am hurting myself, and it is my brother's hand that puts an end to my suffering. I fall into his arms, struggling with my tarnished, sullied conscience.

We stay like this for a few minutes, in the echo of my sobs, before Ho-Jin wants to get me up again.

"Come. We need to sleep; a long week is in perspective."

The fact that he makes no mention of the recent events worries me. The prospect of loneliness imposed on us by this secret makes me leap forward.

"You..." I object.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to talk about it," he shouts.

He walks quickly to the door, rushing down the hall. I go to the sink and put water on my face several times. I want to erase what I have seen, what I have thought, what I have said, and what I have done. I carefully avoid meeting my reflection in the broken glass above the tap. It is too early.

I leave the toilet and soon arrive in front of the bedroom to discover Ho-Jin, motionless, staring at the doorknob. He barely raises his head when he hears me coming to his side.

I pushed him a little to get him away from the door; I took the key that he is holding and let us in. The curtains of the small windows at the back of the room are too light to prevent the sun rays from entering the room. It is bathed in a strange light, quiet, and sometimes interrupted by darker threads. Ho-Jin goes to his bed. Still fully dressed, he lays down on the mattress without pulling the blanket over him. I glance around the room, suddenly very anxious.

The bread that Ho-Jin brought is on the kitchen table, next to the files, which my father brought. I think back to the conversation that my brother and I had on the phone. In the carefree way in which we had projected ourselves, in which we had figured the evening, regretting at every moment that we had not received, as in the movies, a sign announcing this disaster. We would have been more cautious than the characters in those horror stories, ending up, stupidly, in impossible situations.

However, it is too late. We will never be carefree again.