“The pub is closing, Miss.”

  The owner’s voice woke me up from my trance. I had been staring at the complex through the window for a hot minute. Almost hypnotized.

  I have to go back there tomorrow.

  The realization hit me gloomily, like a verdict. Like a conviction.

  Should I report it to the police? Should I tell them I was being followed? Should I ask them to implement surveillance?

  I nipped that idea in the bud. I had no proof of the chase, and I couldn’t even describe the person following me. The officer would have taken one look at me and said, ‘Yes, sure, Miss. A little more sleep, and you won’t see those things anymore.' I would have exposed and humiliated myself for nothing.

  I reluctantly stood up and went to the register to pay. The knee was still hurting a bit. As I was waiting for the receipt, the first page of a local newspaper fell before my eyes.

  “2 VAGRANTS FOUND DEAD IN THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE ICARUS COMPLEX

  According to the coroner's report, the two victims died days apart. The cause of death in both cases appears to be a large, chest-high laceration. The murder weapon has not been identified yet…”

  2 vagrants - Dead - Icarus Complex - Days apart

  Something about these words stood out to me for some reason.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The alarm. It had gone off for the first time two weeks ago, then again the following week, and finally, today. So… the first few times I had heard the alarm…

  I shivered.

  Why would anybody want to take the life of a person that doesn’t have anything anymore?

  And the person following me today… Oh my god. What if it was…?

  I shook my head.

  You don’t know what you saw today. The two things might not be related. It might have been just another worker from one of the other towers. You’re not the only person working there. I thought, trying to persuade myself. Trying to calm that horror that was invading me. But nothing could bring me peace. Two men are dead, for fuck’s sake. Dead.

  Another detail came back to mind. The graffiti. It was really odd, with that reddish tint… Were they following me because of that? Because I'd seen the graffiti? Once I got home, I made up my mind. The next day, I would go to the police. If dead people were involved, maybe someone would listen to me.

  I was about to fall asleep when I remembered—my boss had given me something. Despite my fatigue, I got up and pulled the package from my purse. I knew nothing good could come of it, but it was better to take the bull by the horns.

  A highly tailored black suit. I couldn’t suppress a disgusted grimace.

  Does he think he can buy me? Does he think he can buy my gratitude? He probably even expects me to wear it tomorrow.

  My disgust turned into anger, fueled by years of insults, oppression, and vexations. It was intensified by the stress that had piled up over the past few weeks and the pain still lingering in my knee.

  I kindled the fire and threw the suit into the flames. I watched as the fabric writhed and disintegrated in the heat. And, for the first time in a long while, a smile lit up my face.