The study was quiet in the way Theon preferred.
No voices. No interruptions. Just the steady rhythm of work — paper shifting, a pen moving across the page, the faint hum of the building settling into itself. The windows were half-covered, letting in a muted light that didn't distract.
He had been working for hours.
Not because there was an emergency, but because this was how his days folded into nights. Problems were easier to manage when nothing else intruded. When focus was uninterrupted. When decisions could be made without having to account for emotion.
He didn't look up when the door opened.
Mia entered carefully, already accustomed to the room's quiet gravity. She walked toward the desk, eyes lowered, movements measured. On the edge of the desk, beside a stack of documents, something small rested.
A chocolate.
Unwrapped. Ordinary. Familiar.
She paused.
She knew where it came from.
She didn't ask.
"Thank you," she said politely.
Theon didn't look up at first. He finished signing the document in front of him, set the pen aside, and only then lifted his gaze.
"You don't need to thank me for small things," he said.
There was no irritation in his voice. No warmth either. Just statement.
Mia nodded quickly. "It's a habit.".
He studied her for half a second longer than necessary.
"I know."
That was all.
She picked up the chocolate and set it aside without opening it. She told herself she'd eat it later.
I do thank too much, she thought. It must feel annoying.
The thought settled comfortably, because it explained the exchange without demanding anything further.
She didn't consider the alternative — that frequency wasn't the issue.
That formality wasn't the problem.
That Theon had learned to recognize when gratitude carried no weight behind it.
He didn't want thanks.
He never had.
He wanted acknowledgment — not of generosity, but of cost.
And he already knew he wouldn't get it.
So he said nothing.
He turned back to his work.
The silence stretched.
Mia remained standing, unsure whether she had been dismissed or not. She shifted her weight slightly, fingers tightening around the folder she carried.
Theon noticed.
He always did.
"You don't need to worry about speaking your mind to me," he said without looking up. "If you have something to say, say it."
Her breath caught.
She hesitated.
That had always been true, hadn't it? He had never raised his voice at her. Never punished her for questions. Never reacted with anger, even when her words had been sharp.
Still, hesitation clung to her.
"Can I be honest?" she asked.
Theon looked up then, meeting her gaze directly.
"You need to be honest," he said calmly. "Or you might as well hold your peace."
The words weren't a warning. They were a boundary.
She swallowed.
"I… want to go out," she said.
He didn't react.
"For a day," she added quickly. "Just one day."
The room seemed to grow stiller.
Theon leaned back in his chair, folding his hands loosely in front of him. His expression remained neutral, but his mind moved fast — faster than she could have imagined.
Routes.
Exposure points.
Patterns.
Uncontrolled variables.
He measured risk the way others measured time.
But none of it reached his face.
"You can," he said.
Mia blinked. "Really?"
"Yes."
Relief flickered across her features before she could stop it.
"There are conditions," he continued. "Don't speak to outsiders unless necessary."
There it was.
The relief dimmed, edged with irritation.
She nodded anyway. "Of course."
She didn't ask what he meant by necessary.
She didn't ask how long a day was meant to be.
She didn't ask why he was still setting rules.
She told herself it was better than refusal.
"I'll be careful," she said.
"I expect you to be," he replied.
That was it.
He didn't ask where she planned to go.
Didn't suggest alternatives.
Didn't offer advice.
He returned to his work.
Mia stood there for another moment, waiting for something else — a reminder, perhaps, or a warning. When none came, she turned and left.
As she walked down the corridor, excitement began to bloom where tension had lived for weeks.
A whole day.
She planned it in her head as she went — the café she had passed before but never entered, the park she had seen from the car window, the bookstore she had bookmarked on her phone but never visited.
Normal things.
Things people did when they weren't being watched.
She smiled faintly to herself.
Behind her, in the study, Theon reopened the document he had been reviewing.
His focus did not return as easily as it usually did.
He had given her what she asked for.
He always had.
That night, Mia packed lightly.
Nothing dramatic. Just essentials — wallet, phone, keys. She laid her clothes out neatly, as if preparing for something important rather than ordinary.
She didn't think about danger.
She thought about freedom.
She didn't consider why the permission had come so easily.
Didn't wonder what it meant that he hadn't argued.
She slept restlessly, anticipation threading through her dreams.
_____________________________________________
The next morning, Theon adjusted schedules.
Not hers — others'.
He spoke quietly to his staff, his instructions brief and precise. No urgency. No emphasis.
Containment, not confinement.
Mia didn't see any of it.
She woke early, dressed carefully, and stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. There was a lightness in her movements she hadn't felt in weeks.
She left without hesitation.
The house didn't stop her.
The gates opened.
The world waited.
And Theon, watching the feed in his peripheral vision while signing off on reports, allowed himself one quiet acknowledgment:
She had asked.
He had agreed.
Whatever happened next would not be because he refused her.