"Rosalind?" Mac repeated, stepping forward like he was entering a soap opera scene. "What did you do to Charlote?!"
Philip felt a nervous twitch pulsing at the corner of his eye.
Oh, great. Here came the standard protagonist.
He answered before he even had time to think:
"Mac, for the love of whatever deity you prefer. Are you blind or deaf?" He pointed straight at Charlote. "She fell an hour ago—" he exaggerated without an ounce of remorse, "—and now she suddenly remembers she has a 'sprained ankle'… an hour later."
Mac blinked, confused, looking from Charlote to Rosalind, then to Philip, like his brain was trying to process too many things at once.
Philip added, in a pragmatic tone:
"And please, use your brain at least once today. The only thing Rosalind did was exist in the same building. The poor girl barely even breathed."
Charlote, realizing she was losing control of the narrative again, tried to force an angelic expression of pain.
It looked more like constipation.
"Anyway, you two can deal with that—" Philip made a vague gesture, spinning his hand toward the whole scene, "—this circus. Have fun. I'm leaving with Rosalind."
He turned around before anyone could protest.
Rosalind, confused but clearly grateful for the escape route, hurried after him.
Mac took a step forward, ready to chase after Rosalind.
But Charlote, seeing a golden opportunity to keep control of the scene, practically threw herself into his arms.
Literally.
She let out a dramatic little gasp, grabbed his sleeve, and spoke with a trembling, quivering voice:
"Aaah, Mac… my ankle… it hurts… I… need you…"
Philip watched the whole thing from the corner of his eye without even stopping his stride and could only think:
Dear God, her acting is so bad it causes emotional cramps.
Mac froze, looked down, saw Charlote hanging off him like a needy houseplant, and his face immediately shifted to his usual expression around her: a mix of guilt, obligation, and functional stupidity.
"Uh—I… of course, Charlote… I'll help you. Calm down…"
Philip rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his own brain.
Rosalind saw the scene too, and her expression was a mix of resignation and… quiet pain. Not for Charlote.
For herself.
Philip clenched his teeth.
Great. I can't believe Rosalind is a soft-hearted idiot. Exactly the kind of problem the System sent me to fix.
He let out a long, suffering sigh.
"For God's sake, this goddamn story has been a mess since the first line of dialogue," he muttered to himself, picking up the pace.
Rosalind cast him a sideways glance, as if she wanted to ask a thousand questions but didn't know where to start.