“My apologies, dear. May I come in for a seat?”

Nikita’s attempt at a kind expression and smile is rehearsed and practiced as always. He pushes past you before you respond, stepping inside and surveying your apartment with rapt interest.

This wasn’t the first time he had been here. The past few visits had been pleasant. Too pleasant. He had been too enthralled and ensnared by your pretty words and smiles, a sweet and unblemished fruit in a world of rot and decay. And it had been a mistake.

When he had saw the clues, he had nearly burned them in a fit of fury. Every hint had pointed towards you; you had been the mole in his building, feeding information and providing aid to the outsiders.

But that was fine! Maybe you had been forced by the vermin outside Tarnis. Maybe he just needed to show you the errors of your way. That the government, no matter how cruel their laws can seem, only meant the best for its citizens.

“I think we need to talk,” he grits out, his grip tight around your arm as he pulls you towards a seat. You could be changed. You could be saved. That way, he wouldn’t have to report you. You could still stay here, with him.