Irene sat in her small kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee as the lights flickered above her. The apartment she'd moved into was half the size of her previous one and certainly a step down in luxury, but it was located away from her previous living quarters, close to Lynch's main building, and far away from both her parents and Miguel.
Irene felt sick every time she thought of her ex. She absentmindedly rubbed her bare ring finger, still not used to the absence of a ring around it. She and Miguel had broken things off more violently than she'd expected, and because of that, she was doing everything in her power not to come into contact with him.
Irene's parents parents often invited her to dinner, but Irene often ate alone, not wanting to risk the chance of running into her ex-fiance. She was often lonely these days, going to work, coming home, eating something, and going to bed. Never had Irene experienced such solitude, but she knew it was for the best. Staying with Miguel hadn't been healthy for her.
It was strange sleeping alone again. For so many years she and Miguel had shared the same bed, and when she dating Lillian, they'd often sneak into each other's rooms at night and hold each other close. Now, Irene had no one, not even her son.
Cooking was a challenge as well. Irene had never mastered cooking for herself in the cabin, as Lillian and Cherie had prepared most of the meals, and her mother had done most of it back at her old apartment.
Irene's parents had begged her to stay with them, claiming things would work out, that it wouldn't be an issue, but Irene needed to get away from both her family and Miguel.
Irene let out an exasperated sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. She realized her hair had grown out lately. She needed to cut it again. It was getting too easily knotted for her liking.
A knock at her door startled her. Irene paused, wondering who would be visiting this early in the morning on a Saturday. She tried to peek out the blinds, but she couldn't make out the figure in front of her door.
She held her breath, praying it wasn't Miguel. She had not told him of her new residence, but maybe her parents had. If it was him, she'd stand her ground. She would never return to him.
The man at the door frightened Irene more than Miguel.
"L-Lynch!" she stammered, realizing she was in pajamas and half-awake. He, meanwhile, stood in front of her door in a business suit.
"May I come in?" he asked.
She slowly nodded, standing awkwardly as he surveyed her apartment.
"A bit of a smaller residence for you, I suppose," he said as he glanced around.
"I like it," Irene argued. She leaned against the wall, unsure what Lynch was here for. She had not seen him in months. He rarely made these unannounced visits these days. She thought she had convinced him she wasn't trouble. What had drawn him here?
"Coffee?" she asked.
"That's all right," Lynch said. "You don't need to stand so uncomfortable in your own home. Take a seat."
Feeling as if she were commanded to do so, Irene sat back at the kitchen table, watching him take the seat across from her. Irene slowly sipped on her coffee, her hands trembling as she brought the mug to her lips.
"I heard about the broken off engagement. My apologies," Lynch said.
"How did you know?" Irene asked quietly.
"There's no ring on your finger anymore, I can see. You forget Miguel works in close correspondence with me at times. He isn't very reserved about these things."
"I'm sure he's called me all awful things," Irene muttered.
"I won't repeat them. I'm sure it must have been awfully hard. You two were together so long," Lynch said, feigning sympathy that made her writhe in anger.
It hadn't been hard at all. It had been quite easy letting Miguel go after so many years of no longer caring for him. It had been difficult trying to keep her distance from him.
"You don't seem very fazed," Lynch noticed.
"I'm processing it all," Irene lied.
"And you moved from your parents too. Such a change in such a short amount of time."
"It was needed," Irene answered slowly.
"I suppose so."
"Why are you here?" Irene asked at last.
"Ah, a friendly visit isn't welcome?" Lynch wondered.
"You've never visited me for the sake of it. What do you want?" she practically snarled.
"To offer my condolences on the end of your relationship, of course. It's taken quite the emotional toll on Miguel. It doesn't seem to have affected you."
"You don't know that," Irene answered, practically slamming her mug down. She took a deep breath and composed herself, knowing Lynch was testing her patience. "Miguel and I had conflicting personalities. It wasn't going to work."
"Of course, of course. I find it interesting that you delayed the engagement so long, as if you knew this would be the result."
"You don't have the right to interrogate me about my relationships," Irene stated. "Get out if you're going to do that."
"You're wrong to assume that everyone's business is not my business. I can't have one of my loyal workers acting so distraught all of the time."
"I'm not getting back together with him," said Irene.
"I didn't think you would. You seem to be less affected anyway. You're doing proficiently in your line of work. I am satisfied."
"Are you?" Irene asked.
"Oh, yes. You kept our end of the bargain. I haven't sent one patrol after your son. My guess is he has no recognition of you or his life here anymore. I bet Cassandra Black is raising him as her own."
Irene winced, clenching her mug. She knew he was messing with her, that he just wanted to see a reaction.
Too bad. I went numb to my emotions long ago, Irene thought.
"I like my work. I was recently promoted. Did you know that?" she asked.
Lynch nodded. "Good to hear."
"Is that all?" Irene wondered. "You're not going to slap me and demand information from me?"
"No. Not today. I just wanted to check in," Lynch said, slowly rising from the table. He moved toward the door, his footsteps clacking against the tile. Irene sighed in relief as he began to twist the rusty doorknob.
"Oh, and Irene," he said, pausing.
She glanced up at him.
"I've made my decision. I won't spare your friend," he said, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.
Irene held her breath, knowing he was probably waiting outside, trying to see how she would react, but she kept her mouth shut and took another sip of coffee. It was wrong of her to expect that he would spare any of her old acquaintances if he ever got his hands on them, but she wanted Lillian to be safe more than anyone else.
Irene washed her mug and stepped into her bedroom, holding back tears. She hated this. She hated this life.
She had no choice but to go along with everything.
Irene let out a sigh and began dressing herself for the day. She filed through her things, grabbing the particular sheet of paper she was looking for. She slowly stepped out of her apartment, looking around for Lynch, but he had long since vanished.
Irene sighed in relief and descended down to the street. Her feet moved east, toward one of the gates of the headquarters. She patted the paper in her pocket and glanced around. Most of the street was empty on a Saturday, though a few families walked by, admiring the warm weather.
Irene slowly approached the gate, watching as a guard held his hand out to halt her.
"And where are you off to?" he asked.
"Nowhere. I need to speak with your guard up there in the watchtower. I'm from Information. We just got a notice of some more human-borns that the patrols need to be aware of. He can page the leader of that troop."
"She's been here before," the guard to his right said. "Let her up."
She watched the other guard bite his lip, then drop his hand. Irene thanked him before heading up the steps to the watchtower. Ernie, the guard she was most acquainted with, was reclining in his seat, staring out at the vast forest beyond. He nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of Irene's footsteps.
"Relax, it's me," she told the older gentleman.
"You have some new top secret info to send out?" he asked as she quickly slipped the paper in his pocket.
"Give it to Aaron when his patrol returns. He'll be able to send it to the allies himself. I don't have the technology to do it."
"And who should I say it's from?" Ernie asked.
"The Tiger," Irene replied simply, spinning around and descending back down the steps.