Page 121 of The Secretary Volume II

The resets have stopped.I don’t know why.Maybe it’s because they’re under investigation.Maybe they ran out of things to take.Maybe they think I’ve lost the thread.That I’m docile again.Useful.

They’re wrong.

I’m not useful.

I’m not docile.

And I didn’t forget.

Not everything.

There are holes, sure.Days I can’t place.Conversations that vanish when I try to replay them.But some things stayed.

The texture of a lie.

The echo of a voice I trusted too long.

The look in Devon’s eyes as she said, “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done for you.”

Devon.

I remember the way she smiled when she thought she was winning.I remember the things she whispered when I couldn’t answer—soft, vile things, like she was playing nurse to her own sickness.I remember the betrayal like it was stitched into my skin.

She thought I’d break.

She thought I’d stay broken.

She thought I’d forget.

They all did.

But what they don’t understand—what none of them understands—is that forgetting and pretending aren’t the same thing.

I didn’t forget.

I just waited.

Because that’s what survival is.Not just breathing.Not just enduring.It’s patience.Letting them think they’ve won—until it’s time to remind them they’re wrong.

I pull out my phone.

No hesitation.No question.Just muscle memory.

The message is drafted.

Short.Simple.Familiar.

Do you have what it takes to be in my world?Check yes or no.

I don’t reread it.

I just hit send.

I stare out the window as it goes.A car passes.A couple laughs too loudly.Somewhere down the block, a child screams with joy or fear—I can’t tell which, and it doesn’t matter.

I finish my coffee.No rush.

Because I know what comes next.