Yes

The silence in May’s office was as dense as the tank water. Magi could hear the beating of her own heart, a hurried, ashamed drum in her chest. She looked at the screen where the young woman with tired eyes and overwhelming debt was smiling with a hope that had long since run out for Magi. Then, she looked at her own hands, still marked by faint blue paint smudges that refused to disappear.

The memory of Julian’s hands, the weight of the glass scales, the penetrating cold of the water, and the thousands of eyes devouring her, crowded her mind like a black wave. The thought of another session, another "fascinating idea" from Julian, twisted her stomach into a knot of pure panic.

It wasn't a choice of power. It was an instinctual choice of survival.

"I accept," her voice said, sounding hoarse and foreign, as if her vocal cords were still constricted by the cold of the tank.

May's smile was not one of triumph, but the satisfaction of a confirmed prediction. "A wise decision." She slid a thick paper dossier towards her. "Your first target is Julia. Art student. Talented, ****, and with a debt to her professor that she can never pay back with money." Her gaze was a scalpel. "Your history is your credibility. Don't waste it."

An hour later, Magi was in a corner café, dressed in simple clothes May had provided. A disguise of normality that fit her just as poorly as the siren costume. When Julia walked in, her eyes searching anxiously, Magi felt a pang of guilt so sharp she almost got up and ran.

But then she remembered. The cold of the water. Julian's hands. The contract with a figure that could buy a truce, if not freedom.