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Tara leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she watched Geraldine and Amelia. Tara had expected this to be a straightforward deal—sign the papers, shake hands, done. And from the looks of it, Amelia had expected the same.

The sharp click of Geraldine’s pen broke the silence. Amelia sat stiffly, her hands gripping her bag, knuckles white. She was in freefall.

Tara understood how it felt to have the rug pulled. She’d grown up with a single mum who’d then died of ovarian cancer when Tara was only nine. The years that followed were a blur of crowded foster homes and lonely nights, each one teaching her to fend for herself and expect nothing from anyone.

Watching Amelia now, Tara recognised that look—disbelief mixed with the first stirrings of panic. It was a feeling she’d never entirely shaken.

‘If Solhaven wants to survive, you’ll need to write an application,’ Geraldine told her.

Amelia blinked, her lips parting as though to speak, but nothing came. She closed her mouth and nodded.

‘We’ll give you a week to put something together,’ Geraldine continued. She set the pen down with deliberate precision and leaned back, her expression unreadable.

Amelia looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen under the weight of the ultimatum. ‘A week?’ she repeated.

Geraldine nodded and smiled.

Tara felt compelled to jump in. ‘What exactly do you want in this application?’ Tara asked, her tone measured.

Geraldine turned her sharp gaze to Tara, her brow raising slightly. ‘Skills, resources, practices—something that makes Solhaven indispensable. I need value.’

It was harsh language—bureaucratic, transactional, cold. But there was nothing cold about Amelia’s energy. She looked ready to faint.

Tara pushed her chair back. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said, standing and motioning for Amelia to follow.

Her voice was gruffer than she intended, but she needed to snap Amelia out of her stupor.

Amelia stared at her, her mouth hanging. She seemed to come to after a moment and stood, allowing herself to be led out of the office like a child.

In the hall, she walked a few steps and then stopped, slumping into a wall.

‘You OK?’ Tara asked, even though she knew it was a stupid question.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve just got this really strong feeling that I’m… What’s the expression? Ah. Yes. I’m fucked,’ she moaned.

Though an obscenity coming from Amelia’s mouth was both funny and oddly charming, it wasn’t the time to laugh. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ Tara told her.

‘How?’ Amelia asked her, not unreasonably. ‘I can’t do what she’s asking. I’m completely out of my depth.’

‘Did your grandmother do this? Jump through all these hoops?’ Tara asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Amelia said.

‘Well, I think Geraldine mentioned a predecessor? Maybe the last person had a different view of things. Wasn’t such a hard arse.’

‘What does her posterior have to do with it?’ Amelia asked.

Tara ignored that. ‘Geraldine is a power tripper. Someone who likes to make people feel small.’

‘Then she’s excellent at her job,’ Amelia said, looking sick.

Tara sighed. She didn’t like to see Amelia so defeated. ‘Let’s go back to my place. We can figure something out.’

Amelia nodded and followed her back to the lift. While they were waiting, Amelia said, ‘I have to tell you something.’

‘What?’

‘It was me that passed wind before.’

Tara nodded. ‘I know, Amelia.’

The elevator doors opened, and Amelia gave a deep, forlorn sigh and headed in. ‘I’ll try to hold it in this time.’

‘It’s OK. Let it go if you need to,’ Tara told her kindly.