esradurmaz

[esradurmaz]

A good-natured scoff passes between her lips in response. All the wrong places indeed. The explanation Serkan offered should've otherwise soothed her wounds or at least eased the sense of betrayal and abandonment, but the effects burrowed so deep and become core to her personhood. Resentment festered into a nasty vine laden thing, gnarling around her ribcage until whomever Esra had once been was suffocated beneath it. Forgiveness died in that German countryside.

His words gave her no solace now. They just fucking hurt.

Aslan was a salve in some ways, cooling the burn in her veins before it threatened to consume her better judgement. Healing over everything that sat reopened in front of him whether he recognized it or not. Confirming the validity of her upset, resolute in not stoking those flames any further. She'd missed him like a severed limb.

"I know you will." Her eyes follow the movement in his jacket with faint intrigue before the unmistakable weapon was placed on her overpriced coffee table. Silence settled like a weighted blanket over the pseudo siblings before Esra's gaze shifted back up to his face. "You're joking." He almost never was. "What the hell am I going to do with a gun, Aslan?"

Esra's recount of what she experienced following the events on the yacht pulled a subtle shift in his expression. It's not surprise to hear of Serkan's reaction - he knows how he operates in the exact opposite manner that Aslan himself would - it's more perhaps his greatest regret. That he'd never told Esra what troubled him about her attachment to the eldest Balik, for someone he'd once considered a friend. Foolish of him. And a mistake he'll never make again. At the time, he hadn't viewed it as his place to question her choices. Now, in hindsight, that silence felt like a betrayal of its own. There's no room for an apology - even if he were to give her one, it would only fall short with nothing that'll properly convey the eternal lament he carried.

"Clearly looked in all the wrong places." When the answer had been within Serkan's own home the entire time. But the anger doesn't simmer with that thought, it only grows in company with his knowledge of what environment Esra grew up in - one which compounded upon the reasons this interaction held more than malicious memories of Kurtlar, Germany and kidnappings for her. A reminder to the house she'd thought she was saved from, only to result in a hell far worse than what she'd attempted to escape.

"You're right." It comes with a nod. For he'd never been one who believed in forgiveness, and this was yet another example that cemented that belief for him. "Don't think any of it's fucking forgivable." That equation included himself - whether Esra agreed or not.

"If there's anything else, you tell me. I'll handle it." After a beat, he shifted quietly, reaching for the suit jacket resting on the arm of the couch. From it, he pulled a Glock and set it down on the table between them. "And as of tomorrow, you're learning how to use this." It wasn't a concern that stemmed from Kurtlar, or Serkan, or anything from the past - but the mere fact of the matter was the least he could do was give her something useful to never allow anyone the chance to get close enough to repeat the harm.

[esradurmaz]

"In what world would I have left you? In what version of the truth does that even—?" Frustration clouds her voice, cutting off the words when Esra exhales sharply into the emotional weight of how utterly wrong he was. She'd practically worshipped him. Serkan had been the keeper of her salvation, an avenue of escape from the life she'd been so desperate to leave behind. The bitter irony of how that came to fruition wasn't lost on her; the monkey's paw continued to curl even now. "I didn't leave, I was taken from my home. From everyone I knew and cared about." All for the pitiful crime of being young, dumb, and in love. Heavy on the middle part.

The tale he weaves is almost too much to bear and she nearly asks him to stop at several points, her dark hair shaking in response to each unfurling page. It burns to hear from his perspective. Acidic, corrosive. Searing holes through a decade long narrative where he'd been a secondary villain in her story. Are his words truthful? Does his story hold any water at all and even if it might... what the hell is she supposed to do with it now? The damage reaches far beyond them, far beyond what he can fix or what Esra can easily forgive.

"It wasn't a fucking trafficking ring that kidnapped me, Serkan." She refuses to focus on how odd the actual word sounds coming from her lips, a gravity laden phrase not often used. And with good reason, there was no need to provide unnecessary opportunities for spiraling. "I need you to consider who had the most to gain by keeping you in line and preventing us from going through with our plan." His family demanded unflinching loyalty to the Kurtlar. No distractions and certainly no elopements into the sunset. "When they took us, your father's men, they mentioned him by name. Right before they threatened to put a bullet in our heads if we ever thought about stepping foot in Turkey again."

Movement to her left startles Esra and she doesn't make any attempt to hide it before acknowledging the reason for her stomach falling unceremoniously onto the pavement. "My car is here."

Eyes were focused on her, searching her face as if to remember all her features again. Not that he'd ever forgotten; they'd been the last thing on his mind, what he thought about as he fell asleep at night for so many years. She was stunning, even more so now. If he let himself - which he wouldn't, he could never forget how he'd felt the day she'd disappeared - he was certain he could fall in love with her all over again just by looking into her eyes again. But with that feeling came the reminder of how broken he had been for so long. So fucking long. He couldn't let himself go through that again. "The hell do you mean what part made sense coming out of my mouth?" he questioned, eyebrows raising at her question. What part of it had been confusing? That had been exactly how it had happened. She'd. Left. Him. Cut and try. Clear as day. He opened his mouth to speak again when she continued, reminding him of all the places she hadn't been. As if he couldn't have forgotten. And yet there it was. The words 'your family' embedding themselves into his brain like he was speaking English for the first time. "My family?" he questioned, eyes glued to her again. "I-" he paused, shaking his head. Words couldn't form, they wouldn't form, but he suddenly had so many more questions. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He'd get to the back end of that question in a moment. "Every fucking where." he stated, nodding his head as if to emphasize where he had looked. His journey to find her had been what had brought him here to begin with. "I looked everywhere I could think of." The statement was simple, yet he looked at her, exhaling as he placed his hands in his pockets. "When there had been no traces of you anywhere, I went to the only other place that I know that could've been where you'd gone to. A trafficking ring in Turkey. I was convinced they'd kidnapped you or something, hidden you away from everyone. And your family too; at that point I was too distraught to think too clearly on anything else." he stated, though he looked back at her again, trying to form a coherent sentence. "They'd convinced me that they didn't have you. I didn't believe them. I trusted the wrong people, nearly got myself in trouble with them and that's when dad sent me here. Said that I needed to remember where I came from and essentially sent me here in what I think was his own version of a time out." he paused. "He told me he'd clean things up, even said he'd keep looking for you. His own version of a promise in a sense. But I get the feeling that you know something I don't." he swallowed, feeling anger build up in his stomach as he tried to put the pieces together. "Are you saying my father had something to do with this or am I completely misreading what you meant, Esra?"

[esradurmaz]

The very last thing Nico Barone wanted was a fucking thank you card slipped under his door like a second thought. If anything, he might prefer they never address it from now until they're both in the grave and quite frankly, that worked perfectly fine for Esra. She'd never been very good with small sentimentalities anyway. "I can thank our fearless Don by not disturbing his perpetual solitude." A grateful smile crossed her lips again, "Credit should always go to you." There was another topic she wanted to broach in the wake of the yacht incident, namely the connection she'd discovered between Cami and Aslan, but it hardly seemed the right moment

A singular brow rose as Cami described the flashy yacht parked in the marina as if it wasn't one of the most gaudy purchases known to man. The revelation of its owner hardly surprised her, but she exhaled with faint exasperation. "Of course it's his." The influence of the Windsors was second only to their eccentricity. "I suppose he doesn't need to be on the boat if we want to use it."

Esra's reaction was enough to stretch Cami's smile wider, her pride radiating effortlessly. She shrugged dismissively when she mentioned not knowing what to say, it wasn't that big of a deal, it was just a small villa. "Should probably thank Nico." She said casually, though the slight gleam in her eyes lingered. "Bought it with his money." Obviously. Not that it was anything unusal. Cami had never been particularly adept at handling her own finaces and leaned unapologetically on her brother. "But it was my idea, and I picked it out. So, credit goes to me." She quickly added, not wanting the important part to be lost. Especially because Cami had wanted to thank her. For saving her reputation. For handling the media, but mostly for just being there.

"Can't." Cami shook her head slightly. A year just wouldn't do, not when Troy was the proud new owner of a purple Lamborghini yacht and she was practically starving to set foot on it. "There's a lambo yacht parked at the dock calling out our fucking names." Though, she'd be fine if it never left the dock. "Courtesy of the Attorney General."

[esradurmaz]

Who: @troywindsor Where: outside of Esra's house

In the weeks following her visit to Troy’s home, Esra felt as if she were on a path towards damage control both internally and externally. Distance provided clarity, particularly with him flying to DC for work, and it granted her enough space to chalk their last meeting up as an odd fluke. A sort of manufactured intimacy that came with being slightly vulnerable in front of the person she claimed to despise the most.

To her own credit, she’d been fairly successful at compartmentalizing that encounter and returning to business as usual where the Attorney General was concerned. Had she been responding to his texts more often? Perhaps, but it came with the job. Had she also glanced at his location while he’d been away and stared intently at the little dot wandering into bars? Also part of her job when the dot in question had a penchant for debauchery of the highest order. Never mind how the implication prompted her stomach to turn uncomfortably.

Which made the sight outside of her front windows all the more confounding and nerve-wracking. Propped against his Aston Martin like some kind of editorial campaign come to life in her driveway, Troy Windsor appeared to be waiting. For what she couldn’t fathom, but Esra took significantly less time finishing her morning routine before heading to the door and casually stepping outside.

"Is there a reason you’re standing in front of my house at nine in the morning?”

[esradurmaz]

"Green? Is that all?" Surely he had at least the brand and model in mind, although for the life of her Esra couldn't fathom why she suddenly felt a little too invested in this stranger's midlife crisis vehicle. "It shouldn't have taken a promotion, but sounds like congratulations are in order." Something about his brand of eccentricity rang with vague familiarity, although she struggled to put her finger on it until Charlie outright connected the dots. "He hasn't," she tossed Troy under the bus and then backed it right up over his corpse. "Must've been trying to keep you all to himself. I'm Esra, I run his PR."

Charlie’s eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face at her response. “It’s green,” he murmured, thinking of the jet ski he'd been wanting. “Probably pick it up once they hear about my promotion at work, though.” He probably should have been more concerned about the stranger standing in his brother’s house, but Charlie’s mind was elsewhere. The jet ski, actually. Besides, if she'd meant to kill him, surely she'd have done it already. “Anyways, Troy’s probably mentioned me,” he finally offered, still comfortably seated. “Charlie. His favorite brother. Cooler. Older. Currently lacking a jet ski, but who's keeping count, right?”

[esradurmaz]

“Whoever your little bird is, they’re correct.” Turning the bottle of Coche-Dury on her desk appreciatively, Esra’s gaze flickered back to Mia after a moment. “That’s very generous of you, but admittedly it’s my job and she’s a good friend. Helping out was the least I could do.” Not to mention that Nico had explicitly asked over a bag of churros, but she would’ve stepped into the media fire regardless. Cami meant quite a lot to her and so few earned a place in her life where she’d willingly wear herself down to prop them up. “Dinner would be lovely.” Something about gift horses and mouths. “How are you holding up after everything?”

WHO: Esra Durmaz @esradurmaz LOCATION: Esra's office

Mia had been so caught up in tying up all the lose ends that came with a case being dropped and with the other cases she'd been pushing to the back burner that now needed her attention. Because of all of this, she hadn't had time to properly thank Esra for her help in Cami's case, for yet again having her and her family's back as well as the back of the Family. Knocking on Esra's doorframe, and smiled as she walked in the room. "I have it on good authority this is your favorite." She held up the expensive bottle and set it down before taking a seat. "I wanted to properly thank you for helping out with Cami's case." The attack on the public sphere against the LAPD had helped her. "How about dinner? My treat?"

[esradurmaz]

@nicobarone

[esradurmaz]

“Maybe believing isn't always the same thing as trusting."

There is no mistaking what her words mean. To anyone else, possibly, a way to let them know just how hard it is to earn her respect, let alone her trust. For Troy, who stood in front of her as she accused him of unforgivable actions only a few nights ago, it should be enough to deter him from even thinking it's possible to ever deserve to be near her. It should make her seem unattainable.

And yet he stays put right in front of her.

There's a sharpness to Esra, a defense mechanism made of perfectly chosen words and practiced indifference, but Troy's now starting to see the cracks. She's never made it easy; never said exactly what she meant, never stayed long enough for the silence to settle. Her words cause the exact opposite reaction within him; they become directions, a direct translation for Troy.

His answer is complete silence, clearly aware now that his words mean nothing if he can't show her just how much he means them and finally fully aware of why she's standing here now: everything he's done to help Cami's case, the version of him that she'd never really seen, and not expecting her to even notice it. Almost as if they'd opened Pandora's box with their argument that night.

His eyes don't leave her as he lets their newfound closeness take over, letting them trace her features slowly, even after she announces her departure. Esra always looked the same way she acted; composed, intimidating, striking in a way. But there's something different now, something that Troy can't figure out on the spot, as she looks away, wearing a look on her face that he's never seen before. As if she were looking at him like she wanted to believe in something and hated herself for it.

"I'll walk you out." Troy says finally, realizing that she had no plans to finish her sentence and there was no point pushing for it now. She would tell him once she was ready. If she ever was, if they ever allowed themselves another moment like this one.

THE END.

[esradurmaz]

[esradurmaz]

Esra had been asking herself that same question since the moment he walked away on the yacht. Why did it matter? Why had she been so incensed? For someone who spent well over a year claiming to dislike Troy and all that he stood for, it didn’t paint the usual picture of cool indifference that she normally reserved for him. If apathy is the antithesis of care then what the hell did it mean when she couldn’t pull that off anymore?

"I don't know.” Another rare spark of honesty, tumbling out before she could swallow the words and polish them into something more refined. Oddly, the rawness of it only encourages more truth rather than her well-practiced procedure of reeling back and reforming before she continues. “Maybe believing isn't always the same thing as trusting." Esra doesn't offer the latter with ease. Not anymore. "Maybe I needed to see for myself."

Her fingertips brush the wall again. A welcome distraction from the magnetic scent of his cologne, once a faded hallmark while his jacket lay draped over her shoulders, now attached to the very real version of him as he entered her space. Esra didn't know how to parse the memory of it quietly comforting her throughout all the evening's agonies from the owner. Intrusive thoughts whisper about what might happen if she pulled him flush against herself and drowned in it. Suddenly the room feels impossibly warm.

I would never take part in something that could harm you.

Bullseye. A single declaration and whatever tepid grasp remains on this façade begins fracturing in the way Esra's brows lift and pull together slightly. He wouldn't be the first person to lie about such a thing and as an attorney it was practically in his job description, but all of the rationality in the world couldn't prevent her immediate impulse to believe him. "Troy, I—" Her lips part to finish the sentence, but it stalls in her throat. Instead she foolishly allows her gaze to drift lower, tracing the contours of his face before snapping back up and then looking away. This is dangerous territory; wanting. Like a child who clearly didn't learn when the stove burnt her the first time.

"I should go."

It does not escape him; that despite how often Esra has accused him of lying since that night, he has never thought of questioning her honesty. Finding a connection, in their line of work, that allows complete transparency is almost impossible. He has a job to do, she has a job to do, and often times they have different objectives and priorities. Her honesty, outside of what she thinks of him, wasn't why he hired her to begin with.

Even when he reads headlines about his office that he knows she came up with, Troy has not once wondered if she means harm to him.

Though the night of the party he had been offended by her accusations, his questions are different now. His curiosity now lies on why and that is the only word that pops in his head as he studies her face, almost distractedly. Taking notice of the color of her eyes, the way her hair frames her face, the defiant look on her face. Almost as if he is seeing her for the very first time. It takes everything in him not to smile when he remembers they are supposed to be arguing.

"Why?" he mumbles, and there is no accusatory tone or nothing that isn't pure curiosity laced in his words. Had he not proven himself enough the past few days? She hadn't been around to understand everything he'd done to help, but surely she had noticed. Troy figured if she still wondered about him, she would not be standing in front of him now, he lets her know exactly that. "Why does it matter, when you already believe me?"

Troy has barely realized that he is the one closing the distance between them, so focused on the why's, not noticing the natural pull she seems to have on him. Why is she still there? Why was she there in the first place? Why does it matter to him? Her arms dropping from around her middle as he walks further into her space is the first indicator. Her admission following right after? Almost an invitation. A slip up that let him know she wasn't as indifferent to his advances as she claimed to be. So Troy takes another step towards her, a small one, ensuring the wall behind her isn't what is keeping her in place.

"I guess you haven't been very honest either." He's fully aware of how close they are now, her head moving up to be able to lock her eyes on his. Troy, on the other hand, has to remind himself that he should not be wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch her, what her reaction would be. Instead, he speaks up, his voice quieter. "Honesty clearly isn't our forte. But I wasn't lying when I went looking for you that night. I would never take part in something that could harm you. I hope that is clearer now."

[esradurmaz]

True to his word, Aslan refrained from prying further or asking Esra to repeat herself. Instead she watched as he shifted backward in his seat with a quiet sort of rage that he so rarely allowed to surface. The pair sat in relative silence for a few moments after, punctuated only by the faint sound of cars and a few dwindling songbirds as the sun began to lower behind the canyon.

What did he say to you?

"He was angry and accused me of leaving him." Part of her thinks to mention the yelling, but why tattle at this point? He knew perfectly well how Serkan operated by now. Dark tendrils shook off the memory, clearly still unnerved by it. "Said he never stopped looking for me." Which she supposed fit their conversation on the yacht, how Aslan earnestly believed her former flame didn't know about what happened. It hardly absolved him in her mind, but at least he had neither planned nor taken solace in her absence.

As pathetic as it sounded to her own ears with Esra calling on her adoptive brother after the other person hadn't even made a direct threat, the confession raised her hackles anyway. "I don't know if he meant that or if it's even true, but either way it's not enough. The damage is done and I can't just forgive based on words." Even if his words were once the cornerstone of every belief she held, ten years of resentment left them utterly worthless. "Doesn't really matter now, does it?"

There was nothing more than a nod of his head to confirm this would happen occur once and never again. Never would it be repeated outside this room, or with anyone other than the two of them. He sat before her still as stone, hands laced in front of him, elbows resting on his knees, gaze locked on Esra in a way that felt immovable. And though no part of him moved physically, a tightness had begun to coil from low within his chest. All he could do was listen, as he always had, despite how difficult it was for him to hear her voice shift and crack into a tone Esra seldom used, one he hadn't heard in over a decade.

An act of mercy. The words echoed in his mind long after she stopped speaking. Hauntingly. As though he'd heard the statement (that was a blatant lie) previously or some memory floated within reach he couldn't quite grasp. Though he learned long ago the one thing Kurtlar seemed to lack was mercy of any kind. If it were from his own childhood, growing up within the bounds that shaped him forced him into becoming who he was today, that bent every last part of him outside of the confines of the gang to become imbedded and burnt within it.

The only break through the silence came once he'd leaned back slowly with a heavy exhale through his nose in an attempt to release the tension that built within, the rare bout of anger that simmered under the surface that directed at himself, at the organization, at Serkan—where the last bit of respect he'd ever held for the other had extinguished the moment he'd walked into this house and his eyes met Esra's. Truthfully, the only thing he could think of that steadied him was the entirety of the Balik family hanging. And yet, if it had been happening before him right then and there, it wouldn't be enough.

"What did he say to you?" There would be nothing offered in terms of the past, for Aslan truly had no idea what to say in that aspect. No anecdotes or cliches to make it better. He's sure Esra herself would be attempting to contact emergency services if he'd began to speak that way. Instead, he'd focus on the actions that came next. That came with never allowing her to relive a moment of what she'd endured again.

[esradurmaz]

Coming to The Arsenal was Aslan's idea in truth, because Esra had no concept of what she was looking at as her eyes traced along the merchandise. Minus the occasional difference in design or size, they all appeared very much the same from her point of view. Probably for the best that he hadn't accompanied her to balk at such a cursory assumption.

Thankfully, one of the employees approached and began assisting as she detailed out the information sitting in the notes app on her phone. One arm perched on the counter, her pointer finger lazily tracing nonsense along her jawline, she almost doesn't notice the second person who joins them. Only when she speaks and the vague familiarity of that voice draws Esra's gaze upward does she actually feel the weight of her sister's presence, the way air seems to deplete from the room until she nearly chokes on the emptiness.

Stunned doesn't even begin to describe her features. So accustomed to being void of any real reaction, poised and careful in every respect, any learned demeanor melts away almost instantly as she rights herself. Miray. Here. In Los Angeles. The words rattle across her brain without permeating as she fails to make sense of the possibility. A trillion to one chance and she's standing in the middle of a gun shop holding the most unlucky lottery ticket in existence. "What are you doing here?" It's easier to question before the ache of missing someone sets in.

@esradurmaz

Location: The Arsenal

Miray hardly remembered that night, or maybe she'd just chosen to bury it deep. For fifteen years, she’d built walls around that particular memory, shielding herself from the terror that haunted her. Yet, no matter how tightly she sealed it away, there was no forgetting the fear she felt. She remembered the feeling all too clearly. Being dragged from her bed in the middle of the night, wearing only a thin tshirt and pajama shorts. Her eyes covered by a blindfold and her wrist bound in front of her. Every sense heightened, and each moment stretching endlessly into panic. Forced to stumble through a foreign country, unable to understand the language, driven purely by the instinct to survive. As hard as she tried, Miray couldn't forget what that fear felt like, so instead it had become the driving force behind her all these years. Desperate to never feel that way again.

Her visit to The Arsenal was supposed to be short. A quick in and out to accept a weapons shipment for her buyers. A simple enough task that she'd done a thousand times before. As she walked out from the back room, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her browns eyes locked onto the familiar figure of the woman, leaving her in shock and speechless.

Los Angeles hadn't exactly been Miray's first choice at relocation. But it was the job, and she didn't fight it. So, leaving Miami had been done strategically. It was a trauma response that she'd developed over the years, one that ensured she was at least three steps ahead at all times. That had her planning for every possible scenario in her mind. She'd even rehearsed what she'd say when she finally found her sister again, but all of that went out the window the second she realized it was Esra she was staring at.

After a painfully long silence, Miray finally managed to find her voice, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Esra?"

[esradurmaz]

Esra's Bel Air Home

Courtesy of Ambrose and The Network.

Just off the Stone Canyon, tucked away like a hidden oasis. This is her protected sanctuary and only close friends (or select Network personnel) have secured themselves an invite inside.

From the listing: Encompassing 11,251 square feet, the private estate boasts 7 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms, a two-story entry, living room, dining room, an elevator, a formal library, dual powder rooms, a second-floor family area, and an expansive gourmet kitchen with a double island adorned with granite counters. The kitchen also features a breakfast room with French doors opening to the lush and private grassy lawn, as well as the inviting pool/spa and cabana. The lot includes a second lawn area with striking mountain views.

From reality: Esra has never lived quite so large as this, certainly not in her youth and definitely not in Europe over the last decade. Nice things and nice places aren't foreign these days, but the quality of the house was her ultimate bribe to come work for The Network and she doesn't take it for granted. Purchased with their money, signed in her name, this is easily her most prized possession and she treats the entire estate as such.

There's a coldness to the decor though, despite how colorful and well curated it might appear at first glance. No family photos, no sentimental knick knacks, not even a generational cookbook propped up on the counter. It's a gorgeous house, a shining trophy of achievement, but not a home.

[esradurmaz]

I didn't forget anything.

Neither had she and that was the worst part. A perpetual knife in the gut for years whenever Esra closed her eyes, endlessly carving out the memories and the what could have been's. None of which were relevant to the woman she'd chosen to become as a means of survival, rather it's the lingering grief for her past self. For the girl who smiled with ease, loved ferociously, and dreamt of a fantasy life that would never exist. She was still laying in a grave somewhere in Germany. Mere bones now.

His claims of looking for her only twist that same sensation, but the wound is numb. Hollow, scarred over. Esra doesn't know how to believe him yet the urge is there, impulse perhaps from being in his presence after so long apart. And then it dies with the emergence of his temper; accusations hurtling towards her like shards of ice. They melt and evaporate, but the damage remains as she gingerly takes a step back from him.

"I left you?" Incredulous really. She'd laugh if the entire night hadn't already drained her so completely. "Which part of that made sense when it was coming out of your mouth?" Her own voice doesn't raise to match him, instead she levels the man who once encapsulated her entire world with a fractured glare. "You're right, I wasn't there. I wasn't in my home, or with my friends, or Aslan. I was in another fucking country after your family terrorized mine and forced us to relocate in the middle of the night." Kidnapped still felt strange on her tongue all these years later. "Did you even ask your father what happened?"

To her, it's ten years of abandonment and looking over her shoulder. To him, he's been searching all the while, although Esra can't fathom where to put that information now. Too much time had passed, too much damage had been done. "Where the hell were you looking that it took ten years, Serkan?"

She wasn't wrong. They were adults then too and Serkan hadn't forgotten. Not the way that he'd grieved her for years, or the way that he'd still been expected to show up every day. "I didn't forget anything." he let his voice linger on that last word. Because he'd been haunted by the idea of her for so long, he wasn't sure he'd ever fully gotten over it. He almost felt like he was in a nightmare. That if he were to move just the right away and startle himself awake she'd be gone again, and while he wasn't sure that he believed this was reality, he let his eyes linger over her. She looked good, he'd almost say better than she had before; like wine she seemed to only look better with age and for a moment Serkan had to remind himself she wasn't still his. Despite the fact they'd never technically broken up, they'd both lived a thousand lives since then, he could nearly guess it. It was her statement that caused him to raise an eyebrow, his gaze focusing on hers as he did so. "I looked for you." he stated bluntly, eyes focusing on anything he could to keep from shouting. It wasn't her fault he'd never found her. Or maybe it was, he didn't know. He'd always been to busy blaming himself. "For years. That was all I did." He refrained from sharing the information that that was what landed him here in the first place. "So don't go giving me that bullshit because you weren't there. You fucking left me and I looked for you." Maybe getting angry wasn't his best move; so he exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't mean to yell I just-" he paused. "I honestly don't think I ever really stopped."

[esradurmaz]

Here's the thing: she doesn't like Jack. Something about the way she moves, embodying the equal predation of snake and panther, yet appearing disturbingly human all the same. It's unsettling and sets her nerves alight in ways Esra hasn't been accustomed to in quite a while. So she watches the other woman in silence, guarded like a prey animal who refuses to admit their lack of upper hand as dark locks shift into view. The path behind herself isn't blocked, she could leave, but instinct whispers rather fervently to never turn her back on this one. Instead she waits, absorbing the veiled taunts, before speaking. "Is there something I can help you with?" Curt and concise because she's not attempting to make friends. "Or do you plan on loitering here all day like a juvenile delinquent?"

@esradurmaz

There's a sickening twist in the pit of her stomach that might have sent a far saner person in the other direction but she's never been accused of something so mindlessly boring and upon setting onyx hues on Esra, her radar pings off like lightning. "You certainly have been busy," tongue clicks against the back of her teeth as she leans just far enough across the railing of the bannister to block the woman's path, the corner of her mouth twitching as she indulges a lingering once over, encapsulated in the smallest huff of a sound; as if she'd come to some long awaited conclusion. "So many rumors — so much to clean up..." The Nightshade alone were impervious to a great many secrets in the city; wraiths in the night very rarely seen in places that offer unspoken truths, but even Jack had her own eyes and ears and despite the quick efforts, something always slipped through the cracks. "It must be exhausting."

[esradurmaz]

"I knew you'd be understanding." Not particularly, although half the fun in living her own life outside of the Network came at the expense of riling up Ambrose. He'd survive without her, they all would, but Esra wouldn't lie and claim his immediate prickling didn't stoke her ego a bit. The mention of CNN and calling off the world on her behalf prompted a half-smirk as she glanced towards the window. "You know I don't like when you do me favors. Hate feeling like I owe you something." With a sigh, she turned back to him, "Try last few weeks. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not entirely a machine." Opinions varied, she was sure. Then her nose wrinkled slightly at the mere idea of another person invading her work space. "An assistant would only slow me down."

it took everything in the male not to outright snarl like an irritated dog, nose wrinkling up in momentary disgust at her announcement. he respected her for it, was the trouble. that audacity was what'd attracted him to esra in the first place, professionally speaking. plus, she was a woman, and though ambrose had his many, many shortcomings, there was little he valued more than a woman who said exactly what she meant. " oh ? " he couldn't help but scoff. " okay, i'll just let everyone know that they'll need to reschedule any upcoming scandals for when you come back. " he sunk deeper into his swivel chair, mirroring the way she sat across from him. " i'll call fucking cnn while i'm at it, and get them to take a brief hiatus. " a thwarted huff expelled from his lips, and he found himself wishing for a cigarette. " last few days really did a number on you, huh ? should i be thinking about getting you an assistant ? "

[esradurmaz]