Chapter 36 Lark
Lark
Location: Polícia Judiciária Headquarters — Lisbon
Time: Midday
The room is designed to make you feel small.
Not through force.
Through control.
White walls.
One table.
Three chairs.
Two flags placed just off-center—intentional, symbolic.
And a camera mounted high in the corner that doesn’t even try to hide what it is.
Observation.
Documentation.
Judgment.
I sit with my hands folded in front of me.
Still.
Composed.
Because this isn’t about what I say first.
It’s about what they want me to say.
They don’t start with accusations.
They start with concern.
That’s how you lower defenses.
That’s how you make someone feel like they’re being helped.
“Dr. London,” the woman across from me says, her voice calm, measured, almost kind, “do you understand how serious this situation is?”
I meet her gaze.
Don’t flinch.
“Yes,” I reply. “That’s why I never made it public.”
A flicker passes between them.
Not surprise.
Adjustment.
They weren’t expecting that answer.
Good.
The man beside her slides a folder across the table.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like the motion itself carries weight.
I don’t reach for it immediately.
I let it sit there.
Then I open it.
Photos.
Charts.
Fragments of my work—pulled out of context and arranged into something that looks like intent.
And headlines.
So many headlines.
My name repeated over and over like it’s already been decided.
“You created a system capable of influencing investigations across multiple jurisdictions,” the man says. “Without oversight.”
I close the folder.
Carefully.
“I created a system capable of detecting manipulation,” I reply. “Someone else weaponized it.”
The woman leans forward slightly.
“And you expect us to believe that?”
I hold her gaze.
“I expect you to verify it.”
Silence.
A beat too long.
They already know.
That’s the problem.
This isn’t about discovering truth.
It’s about confirming a version of it.
They exchange a glance.
Subtle.
But practiced.
Alignment.
“We have testimony,” the man says. “From Director Jenkins.”
My chest tightens.
Just once.
Controlled.
“He states you were warned. That you proceeded anyway.”
Peter.
The name echoes louder in my head than it does in the room.
Of course he said that.
It fits the narrative.
It protects him.
It closes the loop.
“You’re going to charge the wrong person,” I say quietly.
The woman’s expression doesn’t change.
“That’s not our concern.”
There it is.
Clean.
Unemotional.
Final.
“Our concern is containment.”
Not justice.
Not truth.
Control.
And suddenly—
This room feels a lot smaller than it did when I walked in.
But not because of them.
Because now I understand exactly what I’m up against.