Simon sat at the kitchen table, his gaze fixated on a steaming mug of tea. It was the first time in weeks since he could bask within the tranquility of his own home, without having to be on any time constraints, without being watched around the clock. He picked up a teaspoon of sugar and poured it in his tea, stirring it in. His thoughts followed the motion; they whirled around in his head, until they dissolved into the aqueous depths of his mind.

The ceiling light hung right above his head, illuminating him in a yellowish glow similar to the one he was placed under whilst in captivity. The worst part wasn't being forced to sleep on a mat on the floor, with only a thin blanket for warmth, or even being fed nothing but soup for the past two days. It was being away from home, unaware of what his granddaughter was doing, or whether she was in danger. Had she worried about him? Had she kept him in her prayers?

Simon slowly looked around, at the shadows cast on the cheap furniture. Everything looked the same, unfazed by his absence—after he had come home late that night, he had scoured the apartment, searching for any hidden cameras or voice recorders hidden by the Jaguars. Luckily, he had found nothing, even after searching in every nook and cranny. Now, silence was his only companion, sporadically interrupted by the jerky buzz of the old refrigerator, now years past its prime.

He took a sip from his tea, his eyelids drooping. It was almost midnight and his granddaughter still hadn't returned, and his concern for her wellbeing only increased with every tick of the kitchen clock.

I've repaid my debt. I know they will keep their word.

When he was allowed to leave, the Jaguars had promised that he could now return to his old life. It perplexed him how they hadn't ended him. His mere existence could jeopardise their plans, yet that potential issue didn't bother them. Maybe they hadn't completely exhausted him of his use. He knew that he would now live every day in fear, expecting to be dragged out of his bed and into another cell.

As long as they left Zara alone, it didn't matter what they did to him.

His head snapped towards the hallway when he heard the front door creak open. He held his breath, giddiness bubbling up inside him.

She's here.

He wanted to run to her and scoop her up, begging her to forgive him for his abandonment. But his leg, the cause of his ailment, kept him chained to his spot, leaving only his mind to wander.

A figure walked by the kitchen, without throwing it a second glance, but then it took a couple of steps back.

It was Zara.

She stood there, frozen in her spot, her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise. It was like she was debating whether the person sitting at her kitchen table was who she thought he was, and not just an hallucination.

As if a jolt of electricity had snapped her out of the trance, she ran up to Simon and threw her arms around him. She almost made the tea fly off the table, and her grandfather crash to the floor. He returned the gesture, holding her tight within his own arms. His granddaughter was here, in flesh and bone, and she was unscathed.

Thank God.

"I've missed you, my child," he said, his voice raucous with emotion. She broke away from him and he cupped her cheeks with both wrinkly hands. His eyes watered, and a small smile appeared on his face—his beautiful granddaughter really was here! It was almost unbelievable.

"I missed you too Grandpa," She sniffled, and hugged his neck again. The two remained like that for a couple of seconds, until she broke away a second time and stepped back. She brought the other chair up to him and grabbed Simon's hand, her eyes scrutinising his face. "Where have you been?" The question was almost an accusation, a double entendre which both parties understood. Nobody vanishes in thin air without a plausible explanation. Zara looked tired, with bags under her eyes and brown curls that hung limply around her face. It seemed that she too struggled to keep her eyes open.

She was broken like this because of him. He had failed her.

He swallowed the knot in his throat, and then opened his mouth. He wanted to pour out the entire story to her, without holding back, because he owed it to Zara. She had been in the dark for far too long, and she deserved to know the truth.

The Tiger's ominous words came back to haunt him.

One word about this to her or anyone else, and you're both dead.

Simon glanced around again, sure that somebody was watching them.

Zara squeezed his hand, and his eyes were back on her. "I knew something was wrong after that call. You need to tell me Grandpa. What happened?"

This was it, the moment of truth.

From here, things could go two ways. In the span of a couple of seconds, he could conceive an elaborate and fictitious explanation for his extended absence, keeping Zara and him safe from the Jaguars. This would inevitably lead to the complete rupture of their frail bond, as his granddaughter was neither gullible, nor stupid. The other option was that he told her the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth, changing both of their lives for the worst. But this would strengthen the bond between them, and he would regain Zara's respect and trust.

It was a gamble, but either way he lost.

Simon scratched the back of his head, then gave himself a sharp self-assuring nod.

He had made his decision.

"What I'm about to tell you is not going to be pretty." He looked down at Zara's hand, and placed his own over it, "Promise me that whatever leaves my mouth will remain between these four walls."

Zara nodded promptly.

"Promise me that you at no point you will interrupt my story."

She nodded again, her lips pursed together. Her silence was putting him on edge, but it was too late for him to back out now.

Keep strong. She is your granddaughter, she deserves to know.

So he began.

"You already know about my disability, so I don't have to explain that to you." He took a deep breath, and he looked up at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully, "For some time now, things have been getting worse for me. My leg has been getting worse, and the pain is unbearable without medication. This...medication...is expensive, very expensive, and of course we can't afford it. But I selfishly thought that I could get away with buying it, if I somehow found a way to get more money. I...stupidly, stupidly thought that it would be a good idea to ask for a small loan." Zara had taken her hand away from his, and his heart squeezed in his chest. Something told him that she knew where this was going, but was just waiting for him to say it in his own words.

"From...the Jaguars."

Zara slammed her fist onto the table and jumped up her chair toppling backwards.

"You promised me you wouldn't interrupt me!" Simon pleaded, worry crossing his face.

"Fuck that!"

"Sit down Zara!" He suddenly roared, and that caused her to pick the chair up and sit back down, "I'm sorry for yelling. But I really need to get this off my chest." He couldn't look at her, it was obvious that she was trying to control her anger, "The loans piled up, but I thought nothing of them. I was convinced that I would repay them on time, once I managed to settle all the other bills, but I always came up short...and that's when they started to show up at our doorstep, usually while you were away, or asleep. They threatened me—they said they would beat me, torture me, beat you if I didn't get the money. But one day, right when I thought we were done for, I had an idea." He took a shaky sip of his tea, the warm liquid calming his nerves.

"At work I overheard about a new drug being engineered, something groundbreaking. It was like ecstasy, only better, more powerful. I put two and two together, and I found a way to repay my debt, twice, three times over. I went to The Tiger and proposed a plan. I said, 'Hey, if you steal this formula, you could make a lot of money out of this," and luckily he heard me out."

Simon looked up for a brief moment, and saw Zara's jaw clenching and unclenching. Mad was an understatement. It really was taking her all not to flip the table, but Simon was confused as to why.

Stealing from capitalists isn't exactly stealing.

At least that's the philosophy he abided by to save his own hide. He wouldn't have expected Zara to be proud of what he did, but at least recognise how ingenious his plan was. "They got me to arrange a meeting with our head-researcher, the man who discovered the formula and oversees the lab operations. It was simple—he usually stayed in the lab during after-hours, so I had the freedom of approaching him without being suspected of. Honestly, at first glance, he seemed like a bit of a loser," He chuckled, "But his greed overpowered any hesitation he might have had. He decided to help, as long as he would get compensation for it. He didn't mind screwing the company over. He never got any credit for any of the work he did anyway, it was always Rubair, Rubair, Rubair! Stupid bastard." Simon shook his head, and took another sip.

He willed Zara to speak, to laugh along with him at the ridiculousness of the situation, but she remained silent, a mute.

He needed to hurry this along.

"The trick was to delay Rubair's production, and begin the Jaguar's. It was simple, all they had to do was steal the catalyst and the notes, which set them back by a lot...for the rest, I don't know. My work was done, but the Jaguars had to keep me in custody until they could start their own production. I don't care what happens from here on. I'm just glad to be back at home and with you," Simon smiled, reaching over at Zara.

She flinched away from him and stood up, "You have—you have no idea! No fucking idea." Zara grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, then picked up the chair she had been sitting on and tossed it against the kitchen counter. Simon jerked in his seat, picking up his cane as a reflex and bringing it up to his chest. He had expected anger, but not this. Never this.

"What?" When Zara began pacing, Simon repeated his question, his voice more furtive the second time.

She suddenly stopped pacing and said, "I have to go." She stalked towards her bedroom, ignoring Simon's calls.

Anger grew within him in response, so he stood up as well and limped after her. In her bedroom, Zara had been going through her drawers, pulling out random pieces of clothing and shoving them into her backpack. Their previous contents, stationary and notebooks, were strewn all over the floor, adding to the mess in the room.

He couldn't go in there, not with the floor littered the way it was, so he stood at the entrance, blocking her possible escape. "Stop!" He yelled, reaching out in the attempt to grab her arm, but she pulled it away before he could get a hold on it. Simon shifted his weight from the cane to his good leg, "Stop right this instant!"

It was like Zara couldn't hear him—Simon saw her mouth move as she muttered incomprehensible things under her breath. "I have to go!" She said loudly, without stopping her movements. There was nothing Simon could do, so he decided to just stand there and wait for her to burn out and give up. But she didn't, and after collecting a couple more trinkets from her desk, she zipped up her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. "Get out of my way," She said, in a voice so sinister that it nearly made Simon follow her order. He stood his ground though, looking down at her with a frown on his face.

"Turn around, and put everything away, right where it's supposed to be." He kept his voice levelled. The last time he had chastised her, yelling at her seemed to have done the trick, but not this time. She just stood there, huffing through her nose, pure evil in her eyes.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

"Your room, now—"

Zara charged forwards and tackled him to the ground, screeching like a Celt going into war. Simon's bad leg twisted underneath him. A dry crack reached his ears, almost instantaneously followed by a pain so severe, it was like someone had taken a hammer and chisel and driven it through his knee. His vision danced with stars, his thoughts were flashes of light in his head. He couldn't formulate sentences, words, nor even individual letters.

Stunned by her own actions, Zara sprung off him like a spooked cat and staggered to her feet. When she turned to look at Simon, that viciousness was gone, replaced with horror. Her eyes darted from Simon's face to his leg, which was bent the wrong way, and a strangled cry came out of her mouth.

Simon just laid there defeatedly, his body flat on the ground except for his head against the wall and his leg. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were wide open, the irises darting back and forth.

One foot behind the other, Zara forced herself away from him, her face pale and distraught.

What are you doing? Come back, help me, he wanted to shout at her, but no words came out of his mouth.

None.

Keys jangled, locks were unlocked, and the front door was slammed. 

-:-