Chapter 28
Damien
Play - Anchor by Novo Amor
Win or lose?
She doesn’t look at me when she walks in.
Interesting… That’s new.
It's a strange feeling, to know she’s there before my eyes even see her. The room changes when she enters, not to anyone else, but apparently, for me it does. Enough that my focus fractures for half a second. I keep my expression calm as I continue writing on the board.
I’m trying not to think… Except now I'm overthinking because she sits down without her usual glance up, her shoulders tight, her attention fixed somewhere too far inward to be listening.
I clear my throat, turning back to the class, and wait until everyone is seated before I start.
“Every agent in this building has lied to survive, some to criminals, some to victims, and some to themselves.” I can see them all being confused, so I continue, “The problem isn’t lying. The problem is lying badly.”
A few students try to read and understand what I wrote at the beginning on the board.
“Out there, you don’t get multiple choices. You get one chance to read someone correctly.” I pace once in front of them. “Today is about controlled deception. Mine.”
A few brows lift and a hand rises in the front row, “Sir, you’re going to lie to us?”
“Yes. One by one,” I say. “You’ll sit in front of me. I’ll give you three statements, two are true, and one is a lie.”
“And what do we have to do?” Someone else asks.
“You’ll have to tell me which one is false and also why I lied the way I did,” I reply as I pull a chair forward and sit. “Who’s first?”
The first student sits, nervous and overthinking everything I say. He guesses wrong, and so does the next, and the next. They focus on my tone, on likelihood, on what sounds believable and what sounds too extreme.
Then it’s her turn. Miss Vitelli walks up without hesitation and sits across from me. I watch her closely as she adjusts her posture, sitting in the chair.
I give her the same statements I’ve given everyone else. “I speak three languages. I’ve been undercover before. And I was the top student in my graduating class.”
She watches, but she’s not focused anywhere near my face, she’s moving her fingers one by one, checking the timing, the pauses, or the way my hand settles against the chair arm.
“Repeat the first one,” she says.
A few students murmur and I raise a brow, slightly stunned by her question. “You don’t get to redirect the exercise.”
“I’m not,” she replies calmly. “I’m asking you to repeat the same thing.”
I repeat the statement, and she nods once, like she’s confirming something already decided.
“The third one,” she says. “That’s the lie.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because the other two sound like things you did,” she says simply. “The third one sounds like something you need people to believe.”
I lean forward before I mean to. “That’s your reasoning, Miss Vitelli?”
She shrugs slightly and replies, “Yes.”
My fingers tighten slightly around the arm rest before I force them to relax. “You’re certain?”
The corner of her mouth lifts as her eyes stay on mine. “Pretty sure of my answer, Mister Caldwell.”
Is her hair different today?
A voice from the back of the room cuts through my thinking. “So… was she right or not?”
The moment breaks and I look away first. I adjust my glasses and smooth the edge of my rolled up sleeve, and sit back slowly, nodding, “Correct,” I say.
A few students shift as I stand, turning to the board. “This is what you’re looking for,” I tell them. “Not confidence or instinct. You need to look at the structure and the narrative.”
I write a single word. INTENT
When I turn back, she’s already standing, ready to return to her seat. I gesture once, dismissing her. As she passes me, I lower my voice and whisper, “Good job, Miss Vitelli, see why you’d be a good addition to my case.”
She doesn’t look at me, but her step falters before she keeps walking.
For the rest of the class, she stays quiet, even when her friends are trying to make her laugh, she’s… thinking about something.
I should’ve stayed on Saturday. This thought is persistent and so unwelcome, it returned way too many times in the past two days. It’s irritating because it serves no purpose, I barely know her.
But I can’t stop the images from coming back. The way she looked at me, the fear, the confusion and the exhaustion. I recognize that expression, and I wish I didn’t.
The course ends, and every student is leaving with a small thank you, sir, but she’s walking with her friend, hands tight, eyes empty, and the only thing I find to do is grab her arm gently.
“Miss Vitelli, can you stay a little longer? I'd like to talk to you about something.”
She looks at my fingers around her arm before smiling to her friend and telling her she’d follow them soon; Ethan Bennett, her other friend, glared at her, uncertain about her reply to the point of asking her if everything is fine.
She smiles and just lets out a small, “yes go, I’ll meet you outside.”
They leave, and we’re all alone in this classroom again.
“Keeping me around at the end of your classes is becoming a routine,” she says.
“I’m allowed to talk to my students,” I smile and then continue, “Is everything okay?”
She glances at me, tugging her hands deeper into the sleeves of her jumper. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You don’t look okay, Miss Vitelli…
I nod toward the rooftop beyond the windows. “You like high places.”
She stills for the briefest moment, as if the memory has caught up with her. “They’re quieter,” she says then. And before I can ask what she means, she adds, “The view’s not bad either.”
I hold her gaze for a second too long and something close to a smile threatens at the corner of my mouth before I push it away.
My mind wants to ask more. Why are you always there ? Why were you scared ?
But I don’t press further because the hesitation in her voice is enough. Instead I shift my attention elsewhere. “How about a game?”
“A game?” She repeats, confused.
“Intellectual,” I say. “If you win, I will leave you alone this year. No asking every day about the case. If I win… You work with me.”
She studies me, tilting her head at me. “Mister Caldwell, are you serious?”
“I am,” I reply, leaning on the desk, watching how her eyes track me, the faint lift of her brow, the way her hands curl harder inside her sleeve. “Pattern recognition and observation…you’re very good at this, but are you competitive?”
And for the first time today, her eyes lit up and she smiled. “I’m very competitive.”
She’s so close I notice the faint curl of her hair at the nape of her neck, the way her scar under her eye catches the light when she shifts. What a strange, intriguing and stubborn creature she makes.
“Game on,” she says finally.
“All I had to do was provoke you to consider it as an option?”
“Should’ve done it sooner, Mister Caldwell.” She turns and walks toward the door, and continues, “Where and when?”
I smile, looking at her, “Tonight at the library, be there at midnight.”
“Noted,” she says before disappearing.
Tonight, midnight.