Mia barely slept.
Not because of nightmares — she didn't deserve the relief of something so clear — but because her thoughts refused to settle into any shape that felt safe. The news article replayed in fragments. The alley. The hand on her arm. The calm voice that had spoken her name.
She had been saved without ever realizing she needed saving.
That realization pressed against her chest like a weight she couldn't shift.
Morning came anyway.
She moved through it carefully, as if any sudden motion might break something fragile inside her. She avoided the corridors she knew he might pass through. Avoided the study. Avoided thinking about what she would say if she saw him.
She didn't know how to speak now.
Before she could gather the courage to do anything at all, a staff member approached her.
"Sir has asked to see you."
Her stomach tightened.
She nodded, even though her legs felt unsteady, and followed the familiar path to the study. Every step felt heavier than the last. She rehearsed words she might say — apologies, explanations, questions — and discarded each one before it reached her lips.
When she entered, Theon was already there.
Working.
He didn't look up immediately. He finished typing whatever line he was on, closed a window, and only then turned the laptop toward her.
"Look," he said.
She stepped closer hesitantly.
The screen displayed a list.
Job descriptions. Locations. Start dates. Modest salaries. Structured environments.
She stared at them, confused.
"I don't understand," she said quietly.
"Choose what you prefer," he replied.
Her brow furrowed. "Why are you showing me this?"
He met her gaze then — not cold, not distant, just… settled.
"You are free now," he said.
The words didn't land all at once.
They scattered.
Free.
She blinked. "What?"
"You're free," he repeated, calmly. "You won't be staying here."
Her heart pounded, confusion crashing into something sharper.
"But—" She stopped herself, unsure where to begin. "Why now?"
He didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was steady.
"Not everything is meant to be expressed in words," he said. "If you can't understand, then don't worry about it."
There was no anger there. No bitterness.
Just fact.
She searched his face for something — a hint of what had changed, perhaps, or what she had done wrong.
She found nothing.
The silence stretched, dense and uncomfortable.
She nodded slowly, even though her mind was still spinning.
"I see," she said, though she didn't.
He closed the laptop and folded his hands on the desk.
"You'll be leaving in three days," he continued.
"Arrangements will be handled. Transportation. Accommodation. Everything necessary."
Three days.
The finality of it settled in then.
She had expected a confrontation. An argument. Accusations.
She hadn't expected this.
She hadn't expected release.
She stood there, words gathering in her throat, but none of them seemed appropriate anymore. Apologies felt too late. Questions felt intrusive.
So she said nothing.
She nodded once more.
"Alright," she whispered.
He inclined his head slightly.
"That's all," he said.
She turned to leave.
At the door, she hesitated, something tugging at her — a realization she couldn't quite articulate.
He wasn't freeing her from captivity.
She had never been captive.
He was freeing her from his care.
From the quiet adjustments.
From the unseen calculations.
From the protection she had mistaken for control.
From the kind of care that didn't announce itself — the kind that absorbed risk so she wouldn't have to.
The kind that would not follow her into the world.
She left the study without looking back.
The house felt different after that.
Not emptier — just indifferent.
The routines continued, but she now noticed what had always been invisible. How things aligned smoothly. How nothing asked anything of her anymore.
Arrangements were made efficiently. Documents prepared. Logistics handled with the same precision that had defined everything else in the house.
Theon did not seek her out.
She did not seek him.
One night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of the alley again — and of how close she had come to something she hadn't even named as danger.
She wondered, quietly, how many such moments existed in the world.
Moments where survival depended not on courage, but on someone else's attention.
She wondered who would notice now.