This is a short chapter, but I enjoyed writing it a lot. It is written in a parallel structure, for the suspense. Enjoy!

Her reading glasses gently clink against the glass stool beside her chair, casting a watchful gaze as I cautiously close the door behind me. My heart races in a frenzy, my legs unsteady beneath me, and my lungs struggling for air. The dampness on my back serves as a testament to my harrowing escape, yet Mrs. Late remains unperturbed. Perhaps this room is soundproof because the chaos outside is more than the tip of the toes.

After the lift was brought to a standstill, we were forced to pry the doors open.

The lift lurches downward another inch, straining under the weight of those above. The frantic sounds of people clamouring onto the box to reach the hatch intensify the urgency of our situation.

"We need to hurry!" I say in panic, as I realise if we let them continue coming to us, we won't make it to the top.

"I got this!" Jacobson says as he takes up an unusual stance. His knees bend and his muscles flex as he attempts to pry open the lift doors. "I need your help, boy!" he growls, directing Cain to assist him.

He aggressively pushes Cain to his knees and between his legs and orders him to pull from the bottom. Iris looks at me then shakes her head in disbelief before handing me the bottom part of her staff.

"Use the sharp end to help them. I'll try to keep this patch door closed."

I nod before taking the staff and positioning it above Jacobson's head.

"Is it a good time to mention I'm aggressively claustrophobic?"

"You came. I am a little surprised," Mrs. Late says as she rises from her seat.

I gesture with my hand, signalling for her to stay where she is. "That makes the both of us."

She responds with a scoff, a hint of pride tugging at the corners of her coffee-coated lips. "If we're going to have a productive session without you sounding like a schizophrenic, perhaps you should take a seat. I promise, I don't bite."

"No!" I say assertively. "You lick wounds you've inflicted with your claws, not ones you've bitten with your teeth." I heave, feeling vibrations on the door.

Mrs. Late settles back into her seat, a subtle defiance in her posture. "Is that supposed to be a dig at me, Kendi?"

"You don't get it, do you?" I continue, frustration seeping into my anger-fuelled words. "You enjoy taking control, breaking things apart, and then attempting to piece them back together. That's your expertise."

She crosses her legs by the ankles and leans back on her seat, a mixture of curiosity and challenge in her gaze. "So this is about my son and you."

"It could be anything," I reply, the tension crackling between us. "Your need for retribution, a desperate desire to be seen, heard, and perhaps even revenge..."

"You've lost me."

The tension in the elevator is thick as the situation escalates. Our rugged breathing fills our ears, sweat blankets our skin from our foreheads to our thighs. With losing oxygen fast because of our heightened breathing, we are releasing hot air, and our space becomes stuffier by the minute. Cain's emotions are raw, looking like a poor nerd being bullied.

"Seriously?" the Jacobson frustration rings out in the confined space. "Take the stick. Kendi will hold it down for you at the bottom."

Cain's voice wavers with a mix of apology and defence. "I'm sorry. I know it's not the right time to admit it but..."

"Leave it be, Athenian," Iris interjects sharply. "Everyone has their demons. Yours just happened to raise you."

"Don't talk about my mother like that," Cain snaps, his protective instincts flaring up. "We still aren't sure if she's Medea."

I exhale with second-hand embarrassment as I take my position between Jacobson's legs, choosing to not contribute to this conversation.

"My claustrophobia is not because of my mother."

"Your whole you is because of your mother," Iris begins.

The lift drops another inch.

"On my count. Eyes on the door, boy!" Jacobson's command breaks through the tension.

Iris grunts as she struggles to hold the door shut. "Let me guess, your father was absent, you were raised with inherited wealth, constant visits to Athens to see your grandparents who showered you with gifts, but they scared you, they intimidated you, so you stuck to your mother like glue even more.  She lost you once, didn't she? In the crowded streets of Athens, you let go of her hand for a second and you were separated, a fear that has stuck to you like a leech for the rest of your life? You've never returned to Greece, sent off to an all-boys boarding school, where you met others like you, perpetuating a cycle of privilege and insecurity. Am I close?"

"Iris, now's not the time!" Jacobson warns.

Cain's breath catches, his vulnerabilities laid bare, unabashedly on display. "How'd you know?"

"Boy, focus! She's messing with you." Jacobson chimes in, his tone urgent.

Iris presses on, her words hitting painfully close to home. "It's all true, isn't it?"

"Three, two, one!"

"Don't play pretend, Mrs. Late," I stress the Mrs. "Your whole life has been a curveball wound by you."

She rises from her seat, her demeanour shifting to defensiveness. "You don't know what you are saying, girl!"

"Oh, really? The rich single mum, probably living off inherited money, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Why? Because she has to control who her son loves or doesn't."

Her expression tightens, a mix of anger and hurt evident in her features. "So it is about Cain."

"It's more than just Cain," I retort. "How many lives are you willing to manipulate for your own benefit? Are you even a real doctor? I wouldn't be surprised if you've fabricated your credentials just to maintain a façade."

She takes a few steps closer, her voice trembling with emotion. "Everything I've done is for my son and I won't let Corinthians like you and your father interfere with what I've worked so hard to build for him."

She inhales, her eyes burning into mine. "Yes, I inherited my parent's wealth, but before then, they cut me off when they discovered Cain was fatherless after lying to them for years. They had paid someone to follow me and report back to them every move I made. I was in school then, almost graduating, and had just started my practice, but they abandoned me, leaving me to fend for myself. I had to beg, steal and borrow, just to keep up the façade, for my son."

 A twist in my chest forms, making me regret pushing her buttons.

"I never got my degree, never earned the title of doctor. But I realised that Cain's happiness was paramount. I took risks, bought a license under his father's name, begged for his support, to cater to at least one thing for his son as I struggled to keep everything afloat. Thank God my parents died before they could change their will. You have no idea what I went through to get where I am now, and you have no right to judge me for it."

"It's opening!" I squeal despite the numbness under my armpits, overjoyed to get out of this metal box of biting sharks.

However, our elation is short-lived when a hand thrusts through the partially open doors, causing me to scream and stumble towards Iris who's still holding shut the hatch above us. In the chaos, Iris accidentally releases her grip, and the door opens, allowing several people to flood into the lift and it sinks even lower.

"Get it together!" Jacobson shouts as he manages to widen the gap between the doors. The lift has unfortunately fallen through an entrance, and the only space through is a mere inch at the very top of the open doors.

Cain almost falls through the opening as he lets himself be distracted by the space becoming even smaller, but Jacobson holds him midway before helping him out. He then turns to me.

"Stick to the plan, yeah?"

A woman jumps from the patch door, exacerbating the weight and causing the lift to sink further.

"How am I getting out?"

Iris and Jacobson share a look before Iris, quick and resourceful, uses her staff to lift herself from the ground. With a swift kick to a man trying to pilfer from Jacobson, and her other foot on the wall of the lift, she lifts herself up and out through the patch door. My eyes are both in disbelief and awe, watching her manoeuvre such a feat.

"Take my hand. The exit is wide open out here."

I get to my feet and leap, allowing Iris to pull me up and out of the lift. I wobble as more people try to make it into the lift. "We are right behind you, Kendi!" Iris shouts as she pushes me out to the seventh floor where the opening is, before she is pulled back into the metallic box.

"Iris!" I call out.

"Go find her!" her disembodied voice follows my response, pushing me to action. I pull myself from the bodies on the ground that are trying to access the lift and I head for the stairs.

"I—I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to judge you."

"Of course not." Her response drips with sarcasm. "You just had a written story of me you wanted to tell. The very same problem you are having."

The vibrations grow more intense and I reckon either Iris or Jacobson are on this floor.

"How do you know?" I question, curious yet wary of her insight.

"Isn't it obvious, darling?" Her voice softens slightly, revealing a hint of understanding buried beneath layers of resentment. "A lot has changed about you since your dad stopped drinking and since you stopped seeing my son. It's not about me, but trust me when I tell you I understand," she heaves. "But let me get one thing straight, you leave my son alone. There's a reason Corinthians and Athenians don't get along."

"You should really stop deciding for your son. He doesn't have an identity."

"You..." she begins but is suddenly interrupted.

A crazed man bursts through the closed window, disrupting the fragile balance in the room. Reacting quickly, I jump out of the way as he heads towards the door. However, before he can reach it, Jacobson storms in, throws him across the room with ease then faces Mrs. Late, proud and stoic without missing a breath.

"What is going on?" her voice trembles with confusion and fear as she faces Jacobson's imposing presence.

Iris enters the room, her limp a testament to the recent chaos. With swift efficiency, she tears two of the tendrils of her dress, ties Mrs. Late's hands behind her back and uses the other as a gag.

"Medea. You are coming with us!"