"Are you serious?! My fucking boyfriend? You slept with Darryl?" Mercedes screamed, her eyes blazing with hurt and rage. "After everything I told you? After everything you knew about us?" Her face twisted in betrayal.
Rhea sighed. "I didn't want to. It just—"
"But you did!" Mercedes screamed, her voice cracking with pain. "You did. I don't give a damn about TJ, but you knew how much Darryl meant to me. I thought you were my friend."
Dozens of kids gathered around them, drawn by the promise of spectacle, hoping it would turn into a fight. Rhea's eyes darted around the circling crowd. She felt the pressure — the need to stand her ground.
"He wasn't nothing to brag home about," Rhea said, shrugging, staring at Mercedes flatly. "I don't see why you're pressed about it. Small and quick."
The crowd reacted immediately — jeers, laughter, comments piling on.
Mercedes's eyes widened. "They said you were easy," she continued, her voice trembling. "Rumors about you sucking off guys in parks — and I defended you. We all defended you. But this?" She jabbed a finger into Rhea's chest, her face twisting with pain. "You'd do this to me? After everything?"
Rhea glanced at Gabby, glaring as she stepped toward her. "You—"
Gabby took a few steps back, sinking into the crowd, turning her face away in guilt. She was the only one who had known.
Mercedes stepped back into Rhea's line of sight and shoved her again.
"Oh no," she snapped. "Don't look at her. Look at me. Look at me."
She shoved Rhea's chest once more.
"She was being a real friend," Mercedes said, her voice shaking. "But you? You've never been a true friend. You don't even know what real friendship is. We did everything for you."
Rhea's lids lowered, eyes hard as steel as they locked onto Mercedes.
"Whatever," she said. "We fighting or what?"
"Slut," Mercedes replied coldly.
"Learned from the best."
Rhea bumped past Mercedes, leaving her behind as Gabby and Raven rushed in to console her.
The image on the screen paused.
Officer Liao looked back at Rhea, watching as her expression shifted.
Guarded.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Then rage forced her upright.
"That's not how it happ—" she hissed as she was shoved back into her chair. She fumbled against the cuffs binding her to the table. "How did you even get that?"
"Is it wrong?"
"Yes!" she snapped. "It's clearly fake. I didn't do that—that's not what happened!"
Officer Liao watched her struggle against the table — the stammering, the pleading, the frantic grasp for innocence.
"Rhea," he said firmly.
She stiffened, then looked at him with manic eyes, her gaze darting over his form.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Rhea stared at the cuffs, then lifted her gaze to the two-way mirror. Her brown eyes were dull. Her soft tan skin was blotchy—bruised, smeared with blood. Her curls were matted, no longer curls at all, just thick frizz stained dark red.Her shirt hung loose, stretched at the collar and slipping off one shoulder, crusted with muck and blood. She couldn't look away from her reflection.
"I killed my mom…" she murmured.
"And?" he asked.
Her eyes flickered to his.
"And… my brothers and sister."
"Why?"
She went quiet, staring past the glass again.
He leaned forward. "Do you remember why, Rhea?"
She took a shaky breath and gave a small nod.
"Lynn—my m-mom…"
"She wanted me to go to the man's funeral." Her lip curled, nostrils flaring. "John. She wanted me there—tried to force me. And when she put her hands on me… I fought back."
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
"Then my brothers got involved. It was a blur. It just… happened."
He reached into the chest pocket of his shirt, pulled out a pen, then produced a notebook. The pen clicked once before he looked at her.
"And your sister?" he asked. "She didn't fight you, did she?"
Rhea inhaled sharply. Her lips parted—then pressed together.
"Rhea," he said calmly, "I'm trying to understand your side of the story. Withholding information doesn't look—"
"No." Her teeth were clenched.
"I'm sorry—no what?"
She glared at him. "No. She didn't attack me."
He waited.
"But she took their side," she snapped. "She called you—" She jerked her cuffed hands toward him. "And I just…" Her voice faltered. "I don't know."
He began writing. The scratch of the pen filled the room.
"So," he said, not looking up, "by your account, your mother—Kattie Lynn Drevinski—attacked you. You defended yourself. Your brothers then joined in." He tapped the pen against the table and finally met her gaze. "Is that correct?"
She nodded.
"If that's the case," he said, "where did the knife come from?"
Her body went rigid. A sharp gasp escaped her before she bit down hard on her lip.
"W-what?"
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, "You frame the incident as unprompted. Defensive. The blood evidence confirms the initial altercation occurred in the living room—at least with your mother."
The pen clicked slowly against the table. Rhea's eyes flicked between it and his face.
"Ten stab wounds. Your brothers' injuries suggest slicing—chest, sides, palms—defensive wounds. Their final positions indicate flight." His tone never changed. "Puncture wounds in their backs."
She stammered. "I—I—"
"And once you were surrounded," liao continued, "the knife was still in your possession."
"So tell me, Rhea—where did it come from?"
Her lips pulled tight as she stayed silent.
"This is your chance to tell your story."
Her fists curled tight, as she stared down at them.
"Your chance to prove your innocence." He leaned over the table, "to prove you aren't a cold heartless monster."
She could hear it. The amusement in his voice. She didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling.
"They think you are." He stated.
She snapped her head up to face him. "Fuck you! I know they do and I don't care. Do what you have to do okay! Whatever! I killed them all! They deserved it!"
Officer Liao leaned back with an audible exhale. "Honesty," he said softly, brushing his dark shaggy hair back. "Finally."
He looked at her—and something in his gaze made her skin crawl.
It wasn't anger. Not satisfaction either, but interest.
Her cuffs rattled as she shifted in her chair. "What…" Her voice faltered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
His lips pulled into a smile.
"Because now Rhea," he said, "We can begin." He paused, glancing past his chair toward the guards flanking the door.
"Zahir."
One of the guards stepped forward, lifting a box from the floor. His jacket collar was pulled high, obscuring his lower face. Dark lenses hid his eyes. A cap shadowed the rest. Most of his features were indistinguishable—except for his tanned skin.
He approached the table slowly, cradling the box as if it were unstable.
Rhea clenched her hands, thumbs scrapping at her palm as she tried to calm her heart. He stopped at the table, gaze distant— far beyond the room.
Carefully, he sat the box on the table without a sound. Then he stepped back and returned to the corner.
"Aeter."
The female guard stepped forward, same way Zahir had. Slow. Silent before pausing in front of the table. She grabbed the pen from her chest pocket and presented it towards the Officer Liao with a half bow.
"What the fuck…" Rhea whispered, watching as he sat it by the bigger box and the woman retreated to the corner.
Rhea's breath hitched. She flinched as he removed the lid.
He reached into the box with both hands and lifted out an old silver device.
Two shallow plates hung from a thin chain, swaying faintly before settling. They were suspended from an outstretched silver hand—detailed down to the knuckles and veins—its forearm rising rigidly above it.
It looked disturbingly human.
As if a real hand had been caught mid-gesture and encased in metal.
"Rhea narrowed her eyes. "What the hell is that?"
"A scale," he said, adjusting the chain as the plates rocked gently. She scoffed, her face twisted in a scowl. "'Scale' my ass. I've never seen one like that."
Officer Liao's gaze didn't waver. He watched as the plates continued to sway, then slowed to a stand still.
Only then did his eyes lift to meet hers.
"Rhea," he began, "your understanding of the world is limited to a sixty-mile radius." He paused. "I assure you—it's a scale."
Her brows drew low, eyes searching—combing through her thoughts for a meaning.
"My understanding—" she started, anger creeping into her voice. "Wait. What did you just say to me?"
He exhaled softly.
"Focus, Rhea."
He lifted the pen Aeter had given him and clicked it once and Rhea gasped at the transformation.
The pen unfolded into a white feather—pure, impossibly bright, its surface shimmering faintly as if dusted with light.
He set it gently onto the scale.
Only then did he look at her. Assessing her reaction for any sign of cognizance.
Her lips parted in confusion, Awe, Wariness—each flickering across her face. "You still don't understand," he muttered, "do you?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No… I don't," she breathed—what little awe she'd felt dissolving into frustration.
Her eyes grew hard amd suspicious. "What are you trying to do?"
She laughed bitterly. "What—this some kind of magic trick? —You trying to scare me? Make me smile? What?"
She strained against the cuffs, metal digging into her wrists.
"Just lock me up," she snapped, her nostrils flaring wildly, "Do it."
He watched her in silence, before speaking. "Do you remember what happened after you killed them."
The room got quiet. After a minute Rhea answered. "I made it.. like two blocks away, and then I was arrested." She jabbed a bound finger towards Zahir. "then he brought me here." She faced Officer Liao once more, "and now I'm with you."
Liao pressed his lips into a flat line and gave a nod.
"Rhea," he started softly, "you didn't make it two blocks."
Her lips slipped into a small frown. "What?"
"You didn't make it out of the house."
Her mouth opened in protest—confusion jumbling her thoughts. "Wait—are you saying that I—"
He didn't answer, just watched and something in his silence made her skin crawl.
She snapped wrists jerking against the chains. "You're out of your fucking mind."
She shook her head hard, damp frizzy strands giving her whiplash. "No. No, I'm not dead. I can't be dead."
She twisted in her chair, eyes darting around the room. The beige walls. The table. The scale. The guards posted by the wall—Zahir near the door, another just behind him.
"This is holding," she said, voice rising in pitch. "I'm arrested. I'm in holding."
She looked back at him, furious now. "You don't put dead people in holding."
Her cuffs rattled as she pulled against them. "I'm here. I'm talking to you. I remember walking. I remember running."
She barked a disbelieving laugh. "I'm alive."
Liao just watched her process her truth.
"You're a liar," she spat. "You're a liar."
Her voice was hoarse now, stripped raw by repetition. Her eyes were wide, jaw locked so tight it ached.
"You're lying," she said again, like saying it enough times might force it to be true.
"Denial is common," he stated as he stood, looking down at her. "I don't have the time," he continued evenly, "to walk you through it."
He stepped closer.
Slowly, he lifted a hand—tracing the air along the line of her face without touching her skin. She flinched, trying to inch away.
His hand stopped at her chest.
"It's time," he said, "to weigh your heart."