It had been 20 long hours since Vivian Donovan had been taken into custody, and still, she had not uttered a single word. Her food tray sat untouched on the cold metal table, the steam long gone, its contents cold and congealed. She sat on the floor in her cell, knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her eyes, swollen from the weight of exhaustion, had taken on a distant, hollow look. The fluorescent lights above cast harsh shadows, making her gaunt face seem even more haunted. She hadn't moved. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't spoken.
Maya, tasked with watching over her, was growing restless. She approached the cell cautiously, standing just outside the bars. "Ms. Vivian Donovan," she began softly, "would you like to hire yourself a lawyer?"
No response. Vivian's eyes remained fixed on a crack in the ceiling as if she could lose herself in the tiny fracture. Maya tried again, her voice more insistent this time, "Ms. Donovan, it would be in your best interest to—"
Still nothing. Maya let out a tired breath, rubbing her forehead in frustration. The silence was oppressive, thickening the air in the room. Every question she asked felt like it was bouncing off a brick wall, and after a few more attempts, Maya gave up. She shook her head, defeated, and walked out of the room. Her legs felt heavy as she made her way back to her desk, ready to send in a request for a court-appointed lawyer.
She had barely sat down when the door to the station swung open. A tall man in his early thirties walked in, his presence immediately drawing attention. His hair was a mix of black and streaks of grey, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by an air of calm confidence. He wore a well-tailored coat, and as he unbuttoned it, he reached into the inner pocket, retrieving a business card. His steps were deliberate, and with a graceful hand, he passed the card to the officer sitting near the door.
The officer glanced at the card, eyebrows raised in recognition, and without a word, made his way toward Maya. Maya, who had been watching the entire exchange with curiosity, now looked up as the officer approached, holding the card in front of her.
"This man is a lawyer," the officer announced, handing the card to her.
Maya took the card and studied it for a moment. "Mr. Max Stillenski…" she murmured, her voice trailing off as she processed the name. She looked up at the man, now standing a few feet away from her desk. "A lawyer… and you're here for—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Max cut her off, his voice smooth and precise. "I'm here to represent my client, Ms. Vivian Donovan. She is here, yes?"
Maya let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "Ahh… Vivian Donovan." It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Yes, of course. Follow me."
She led Max down a narrow corridor toward the holding cells. The air in the station seemed to shift, the gravity of the situation pulling at Maya's nerves. When they reached the room, Maya pushed the door open and motioned toward a small compartment, separated from the rest of the room by cold steel bars. Inside, Vivian was sitting on the floor, just as Maya had left her, her body curled in on itself, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling.
Max stepped forward, his polished shoes echoing lightly against the floor. Maya lingered near the door, her eyes on the two of them, watching from behind the partial glass wall.
Max approached the bars slowly, his movements deliberate, but instead of immediately engaging, he simply sat down on the floor, mirroring Vivian's posture. His knees bent, arms draped over them, he leaned back slightly, his head tilted up toward the same crack in the ceiling that seemed to have captivated Vivian's attention. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke.
The silence hung in the air like a thick fog, but then, Max broke it with an exaggerated sigh. "Ahhh... alas, I couldn't poke a hole in the ceiling with my stare..."
Vivian blinked, her trance-like state shattered by the unexpected voice. She jumped slightly, her head snapping toward the direction of the sound. Her eyes, bloodshot and blurry, focused on the man sitting just outside her cell. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and wariness.
Max, still lounging on the floor, hadn't even glanced at her. He continued to gaze upward, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips. His demeanor was calm, relaxed, almost too casual for the situation. But when he finally turned his head to look at her, his own eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and tired as though he, too, was barely holding back an emotional collapse.
his eyes were saying, "at last, I found you".
After a while he broke his gaze and spoke again.
"Hello, Ms. Vivian Donovan," he said, his hand sliding between the bars, palm up in a gesture of hand shake. "I'm Max Stillenski, your lawyer."
Vivian didn't move. She stared at his hand, her mind struggling to process what was happening. There was something almost surreal about the moment—their shared exhaustion, the quiet vulnerability between them.
Her lips parted as though she was going to speak, but no words came out. Her throat was dry, parched from hours of silence, and when she finally tried to speak, it was with a rasp that barely resembled her own voice.
"I don't… need a lawyer." The words were slow, heavy, as if they were physically painful to utter.
Max didn't react, at least not outwardly. He simply kept his hand outstretched, his gaze soft but steady.
"I think you do," he said quietly.
Vivian's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her body stiffening as she turned her head away from him. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hands trembling as she pressed them in a fist holding close to herself, as if trying to block out the world, trying to wake herself from a nightmare. She let out a slow, shaky exhale, her entire body curling further inward.
Max sat there, patient, calm, his hand slowly retracting, resting now on his knee. His posture remained relaxed, his face resting gently against the wall of bars as he continued to watch her with a mix of empathy.
For a long while, neither of them spoke again. The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence enveloping them both like a cocoon. It was as if they were suspended in time, the tension between them palpable, but neither ready to confront it fully.
Vivian's eyes fluttered open, but she still didn't look at him. Her voice, when it came again, was barely a whisper.
"I don't need saving." It was a lie, one she told herself more than anyone else.
Max's expression softened, a flicker of sadness passing across his features. He leaned his head back, letting it rest against the cold bars, and stared up at the ceiling once more.
"Maybe not," he said quietly, "but sometimes we all need someone to stand with us when the walls start closing in."