Snake Eyes [closed/solo]

He'd let her go.

Scott could feel the heat of the flames all around him, even while the rain fell down cool and icy against his skin. The smell of wet ash invaded his senses. Ryan had burnt them all out, and this entire neighborhood would be razed to the ground before the fire department could arrive. That was the price you paid when you went up against Argona. He knew that. Still, he let her go.

Yeah, he knew he'd made a lot of mistakes. This wasn't some fairy tale where he could turn around and change it all. There wasn't any resetting it all back to normal, no matter how much he wished he'd chosen differently. But when he looked at her, standing in the charred ruins of her room, clutching a ragged soot-stained teddy bear in her arms... He'd let her go. Would she make it out there, all alone? Or would it all be for nothing?

He didn't know.

A part of him didn't want to. If he'd thrown his life away just for her to get caught by someone else, he didn't know how he'd be able to take it.

With a bitter smile, he figured it didn't matter. He wouldn't live long enough for the regret to sink in, not unless they wanted to save him for an even worse fate. He drew in a deep breath, turning on his heel. Embers danced through the air like fireflies. He could hear the sirens in the distance, but it was too late. Every gifted that lived here would be dead or captured by the time they arrived. All except one.

There was a girl standing across from him, wearing bright clothes underneath a black cloak, with wide, gray, childlike eyes brimming with anticipation. A low giggle quivered past her lips, barely heard above the roaring flames. Her cloak stirred in the wind.

A silver flash. It all happened before he could blink, and the pommel of her sword went smashing into his jaw.

It all went black. Scott blinked open his eyes again, sprawled out across the ashes where a little girl's bedroom used to be. His head was spinning, throbbing, the sky spinning around him, fading in and out of his vision. Rain brushed against his cheeks. It was just past midnight, but the clouds burned like dawn was just on the horizon. He mustered up enough strength to lift his head up from the ground, staring down the tip of a thick, notched blade with unfocused eyes.

"Ouch," he croaked.

"Naughtynaughtynaughty!" the girl in the cloak bubbled, flashing him a smile like she'd just caught him stealing from the cookie jar. She slung the sword back over her shoulder, placing a gloved hand on her hip. "Scott! How could you?! Aww, mannnn... I was really starting to like you! But then you had to go on and do something so stupid. Now you're gonna have to make me pop you! Remember, like I said..."

She didn't look terribly distraught about the idea.

"It was nice knowing you too, Snow..." he muttered, pulling himself into a sitting position. The sword wasn't what scared him. It'd be better than splattering like a ripe tomato. He didn't see any point in denying it. "So, what happens now?"

"Well, what do you think, silly?"

"A romantic dinner date?"

Snow snorted, her face twitching like she was trying to keep herself from laughing. That, or she was about to slice his head off.

Footsteps crunching through the ashes. Another figure appeared behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. White hair, lilac eyes. Cinders drew up around his shoes with every step, whirling around his legs. Of course. He'd be at home here, in a burning hell like this.

"What'd you do that for, Jill?"

She'd been staring up into the sky with a gloved finger on her chin, maybe considering that dinner date, when Ryan had snapped her back to attention. "Ryyyyyyyyyy!~" she whined, twirling on her heel to face him with a pout. "Scottie broke the rules!"

A frown spread across his face. Scott did his best to smile up at him, but after that thwack Snow had given him, he was sure his teeth were coated in blood. He could taste it at the back of his throat, every time he breathed in the singed air.

"He asked you out on a date?"

Snow pursed her lips. "Nonono!" She paused, and then turned her head away again, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Well, ehehe, he did that too..." she tittered.

Ryan allowed himself a small smile. "Then what?"

"He let the target go!"

The smile died.

"She was standing right there, and, and, and, like, he just let her run away! And then she ran, like, woosh, all the way over there! I dunno where she even went... it's all dark over there, and I didn't wanna look..."

For a heartbeat, there wasn't any sound except for the crackling of the flames and rain pattering against concrete. Thick, black smoke rose up from the neighboring houses.

"Did you, Scott?" he asked, with a strained light tone, like maybe this was all a mistake, a misunderstanding, like it was all going to be alright. "Jill's not just telling fibs again, is she?"

"I do not fib!!"

The words all seemed to choke up in his throat, so all he could do was stare. Finally, he nodded. That was all he needed. Ryan let his gaze drift away to somewhere in the distance.

"So, like, do I get to pop him now?" she asked, with a hopeful tinge in her voice.

Ryan kicked away at a piece of charcoal. Scott eased himself into a kneeling position, and then he stood on unsteady feet, massaging at his jaw. At the very least, if he was going to splatter right here, he could do it on his feet. Snow would like that. She always said it was more fun when they were standing.

"No," Ryan said after a moment of silence, still not looking at either of them. "Callahan will want to see him first. Maybe later."

Scott could feel his blood freeze, just at the mention of the name. Callahan... He was the guy running the whole operation here in this city, ever since they'd gotten stationed here. They'd gotten assigned here a few weeks ago, when some trouble started growing in the back-alleys... All this, over one little girl. And he'd let her go.

"Aww, really...?" She let her sword droop defeated at her side, the tip of the blade plopping into the ash. "Dang it... Danny never lets me have any fun..."

"Never say never," he said with a grimace, glancing over his shoulder. "C'mon, Scott. We're going for a drive."

Now that he was listening for it, Scott realized he couldn't hear the sirens anymore. Where did they go...?

"Should we like, cuff him or something...?"

Ryan let out a breath and turned with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, strolling through a crooked charred door frame. "Don't worry about it, Jill," he murmured. "He won't run."

He was right. He couldn't. It'd be pointless. All that would change was that he'd go from being prisoner to being prey, and even getting splattered would be better than being hunted. Despite the flames, Scott shivered, a woman with no name and two ruby eyes crossing his thoughts.

No, he'd go. Even if it was the last thing he'd ever do.

That was the price you paid when you went up against Argona.

Scott followed them into the street. He could hear the sirens again.

Even if he was walking death row, it didn't matter. He was glad to leave this place. Scott didn't want to think about the homes or the people that used to be here, before they'd swept in like a storm and swept it all away overnight, like a child kicking over a sandcastle. It'd been so easy. That was the worst thing. If they'd fought back, it would have felt less like murder. But he'd done it. He'd gone along with it, every step of the way, until that girl had frozen him in his tracks.

They already had their getaway car waiting for him, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows that wouldn't attract an ounce of attention when cruising through a chaotic downtown. Ryan popped open the back door, and Snow let herself in with a giggle, practically leaping into the backseat. Scott followed after her, and the door slammed behind him. With them both in, Ryan climbed into the passenger seat up front.

Click. The doors locked. Did they really think he'd try to run? Scott felt his gaze drift over to the rear view mirror, where a sharp-featured man in his fifties or sixties gazed back through black, beady, vulture eyes. He completed the look of a chauffeur, black suit and all.

"And where to, Master Patterson?"

Master. Ryan's family servant. It was still jarring to hear him get called that, even now. From what he'd picked up over the past year or two, he came from some hotshot gifted family in the Dakotas, but besides that, it was hard to pick apart gossip from fact. It was all bits and pieces from all over the organization. The only thing he knew for sure was that the Pattersons were old blood, and of course, that Mr. Patterson himself never talked about it. You wouldn't expect the guy to be royalty, but after you got to know him, it started to explain a lot... Although, the puzzle never seemed to come together just right. Scott figured he'd never know now. He'd always meant to ask, but somehow he'd never found the time... and now all his time had just ran out.

"Callahan's. Drop us off at the tower."

"Of course, sir."

The car pulled out into the street, and with a lurch he wasn't expecting, went streaking down the road toward the city skyline. There was still no sign of the fire department, only the distant wailing of sirens. Snow howled with laughter, throwing up her hands like it was a rollercoaster, but Scott just shifted in his seat. He could the wince on Ryan's face as he clicked in his seatbelt. The flames all blurred together outside his window until they were in the inner-city again, zipping past shops and apartment buildings all crowded in side by side. Lights and street lamps flashed through the rain, lighting up the dark interior of the car. Traffic, people, a bustling city life that carried on without them. It was like they were oblivious to it all, just another tragedy somewhere else in the world, even when it was just a few blocks away. Their car slowed, falling in behind a souped-up Mustang. One in a million.

Scott leaned his head on the glass, chewing on the inside of his lip. Snow's hands were folded in her lap now, swaying her body back and forth in her seat, humming to herself. Ryan and the driver were dead silent.

His life was over. Even though he knew it was coming, he wasn't sure if he had come to terms with it, or if it just hadn't sunk in. That was the only way to explain how numb he felt. He should've been fighting, screaming, bailing out the car door and screaming for help, even if it was hopeless... But he didn't.

I had it coming. He knew he wouldn't make it, deep down in his core, even way back when he'd first joined. All anyone talked about was how high he'd rise, how he'd have everything he'd ever wanted, about how much promise he had, how much potential... and when he was facing his old life, it'd seemed so simple, because he had wanted to believe it. It'd been so tantalizing, so just within reach, that he'd convinced himself that it was the only path he could take. But that wasn't true, was it?

He would've taken that old life back in a heartbeat. When he closed his eyes, listening to the rain patter against the roof of the car, he could see it so clear in his mind... Some old, gray, weather-beaten town where nothing ever happened, a family that hated him, no future, nothing to cling onto. But he could've changed that. When he'd arrived at Beata, he could've found friends, a girlfriend. He could've been living a typical student life, and instead he was in the backseat driving to his death.

But this had seemed like the easy path. In the end, he'd just wanted to protect the people who'd meant most to him, because he'd never done a thing for them before in his life. More than that, he'd wanted to help them, and help himself... Freedom, power, family, control over his own life, adventure. Argona had handed him the reins of his own destiny. All he had to do was reach out and take them.

Things were never that simple, though.

There was such a thing as too good to be true. This high-flying life... It wasn't meant for small town boys like him. He'd never wanted the glory, he'd just wanted... Well, he didn't know what he wanted. Scott smiled to himself, despite it all. I'm an idiot.

He opened his eyes again. A fire truck went blaring past, racing back the way they'd came. Scott followed it with his eyes for as long as he could until it disappeared around a sharp corner. "It took them long enough..." he finally muttered.

Ryan was silent for a moment, glancing out the window. "Faith kept them busy while we were doing business."

Scott could feel his blood run cold at the mention of the name. "Busy...?"

He allowed himself a soft, almost patronizing smile. "This whole city is under the Shadow."

A light giggle broke into the exchange. "I wish I could've seen it, ehehe..."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Silly Scottie! Don't you know anything?"

Ryan was still staring out the window, his cheek resting on his hand. "I'm not speaking in riddles," he said. "We wouldn't be able to get anything done in a city like this if we didn't have someone tripping up the feds. She held 'em up. Caused an accident. I heard it on the radio before I checked up on you two lovebirds—..."

"Hey!"

"There was a massive pile-up that ended with a big bang. A quarter of the city is deadlocked because of it. If it wasn't for that, then..."

Then there wouldn't have been any time before that whole block was swarming with firemen, ambulances, and police cars.

Scott was silent. Suddenly, the dark didn't feel as safe anymore. His eyes flicked down to the floor of the car, where his shoes were lost in shadow.

"Do you know how a spider web works?"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Snow waved her hand in a pickmepickme! sort of way.

"I think I get the basics."

"Aww..."

Ryan smiled. "Well, think of it more like a trip wire. You pluck a string, and the vibration lets the spider know where you are." Silver-gray bangs fell over his eyes, hiding his expression. "So, let's just say that if you run into any red ribbon while wandering around..."

He didn't need to finish.

A cold silence filled the car, the kind of chill that you only get in a tomb. Everyone in this car knew he was a dead man walking. So why bother? When Scott looked back down at his feet, the thick shadows had dissipated like they were never there. Was that just his mind playing tricks on him?

"I don't think I like spiders..." Snow murmured with a low whine, tucking her hands under her arms and slouching back in her seat. "They're pretty icky..."

"I always hated them too," Ryan admitted. "My family would've killed me, but whenever I saw one crawling around somewhere, I'd light them up."

Scott just smiled. "You would've loved it at my place," he said. "The whole house was filled with daddy longlegs, and these big fat ones would come out in the summer..."

"Ew...!"

"There was a lot of forest, and we didn't take care of our yard, so they just got everywhere." He was lost in thought now, reminiscing about sun after the rain and walking home from school with his brother and sister. "I walked into webs all the time. Once, this fuzzy orange one got in my hair, and it crawled over my mouth when I tried to—..."

Snow gagged, throwing a gloved hand over her mouth like a spider would come flying at her face at any moment. A laugh escaped him, and then Ryan was laughing too as Snow waved her free hand around. "No! Nononono! Ach... Gross! I can't! I can't! Just shuddup, okay?!"

Things felt like they used to, even if it was just for a few seconds before he remembered. He wouldn't have expected it, but it was nice to just talk and joke around like this, swapping stories back and forth, even in the moments where Snow would clam up in an unfitting silence whenever the subject drifted to their lives back home... But then, one wisecrack later, it was like she sparked back to life, with all the vibrant childlike energy from before. Most of the drive went like that. If this would be one of his last memories, then it'd be bittersweet, but it was better than staring out into the rain brooding on all the mistakes he'd made that had let up to this.

Finally, after what felt like twenty minutes stuck in downtown traffic, he'd worked up the nerve to ask. "Ryan," he started with a smile. Snow was curled up in her seat, her shoes lying discarded on the floor, sucking noisily on a juice box. Ryan had his feet kicked up on the dashboard, leaning back, his eyes closed. Scott thought he saw a hint of annoyance in the driver's eyes whenever he glanced at Ryan's soot-caked sneakers. "I heard you had a fiancee."

Snow choked on her juice. Ryan's eyes flashed open. He saw the driver sniff, a twinkle of amusement in those beady vulture eyes.

Ryan closed one eye, his face contorted in a hilariously unconvincing attempt to play it cool. "And where'd you hear that?"

"Here and there," he answered, fighting to keep a straight face, and failing. "You didn't deny it."

He sniffed, closing his eyes. "That's ridiculous."

The driver cleared his throat, glancing back in the rear view mirror, but said nothing, with just the barest hint of a smile.

"So it's not true?"

Silence.

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

". . . WHAT?!"

The silence exploded.

Snow lunged forward, stretching over the console of the car, and snatched Ryan by the collar. The driver shied away as best he could while maintaining his posture. Her juice box had found itself in Scott's lap, spraying all over him in the process. He'd only gotten a few dabs of it in his mouth, but... ugh. What was that stuff? Vegetable oil?

"YOU'RE MARRIED?!" she shouted, shaking him like a ragdoll.

"No, b-betrothed, you idiot!"

Scott drew in a sharp breath. Snow just gasped, gawking, and shook him more.

"Why didn't you tell me?!?! I wanna know! I'm your friend, aren't I?! Hey, c'mon, this is a big deal!! Like, seriously! Who is she?!"

"Hey, watch the gloves...!"

"I should pop you!"

"Don't even joke about that!"

Snow fell back into her seat, pursing her lips and folding her arms in a pout. Ryan looked more than a bit ruffled, smoothing down his jacket. "It doesn't matter, alright?"

"I think it matters," he interjected.

"It doesn't matter what you think—..."

The driver cleared his throat again as they continued down the road. "Master Patterson was matched with a young woman from an old blooded family at age eleven."

Even in this car, with these people, in his circumstances, an idea like that felt surreal. "Why?"

"It is a fitting match. Every Patterson for generations has followed this tradition to sharpen and preserve the Gift."

"I broke the betrothal," Ryan shot in.

"Master Patterson's parents happen to not accept this."

How could you respond to something like that? Scott fumbled for something to say, and spoke the first question that came to his mind. "Well... is she ho—?"

"Yes," they both answered in unison. The word had barely even left his lips. Scott fell back into his seat, scratching his head. Snow sniffed, shooting them all an indignant 'humph!' that everyone pretended not to hear.

Scott had been about to ask for the details when Snow piped up again. "We've been in the car for-everrrr!" she complained. "Like, I'm gonna die or something! How much longer?"

He flinched. He couldn't help it. After all this time, it was just a cold reminder. Now that he thought about it though, the time had been slipping by while he hadn't been paying attention... Even with this traffic, the drive to Callahan's tower shouldn't have taken this long. Scott glanced around, over the rain-streaked windows. A souped-up Mustang. The same familiar shops, apartments, buildings...

They'd been here before. Multiple times. Were they going around in circles? This was only a few blocks away, so...

It hit him all at once.

These were his final moments.

His gaze drifted up back toward the rear view mirror, his eyes meeting the driver's. Scott nodded, a rush of emotion surging up in his throat, but the driver didn't respond.

Ryan seemed to have caught on too.

"Not long, Jill," he murmured, a bitter smile on his face. "Just a few minutes."

"Yaay!"

The rest of the car ride continued in silence.

They pulled into a parking garage just across the street, winding up and up to find their spot. Was this his stairway to heaven, then? When the keys turned in the ignition, and the rumble of the engine died away, a hollow feeling seeped into his chest. It was all going to be over the moment he stepped inside that tower.

Callahan's tower. It was a sleek black skyscraper, an obsidian dagger thrusting into the clouds, with open glass panes that glimmered in the sunshine and let the water run down in gray curtains when it rained. The tower had another name, and another owner, but while they were here... Mr. Callahan had taken charge, for the time being. The real CEO was hogtied up in a panic room somewhere while his residence was being 'borrowed' for their own use.

Scott stared out at it when the door popped open, Snow jumping out into the rain with a bubbling laugh, twirling around in the puddles. "Finally, finally, finally! We're here!" she squealed, running back to duck her head into the car to stare at Ryan. "C'mon! Are you comin'?"

Ryan gave her a smile. "We'll be a few minutes. You go on ahead, Jill. We'll catch up."

Snow sighed, but her beaming grin flickered back onto her face. "Well, okay, but don't take too long, alright slowpokes? Or else I'll get bored!"

She slammed the door and bound off across the rooftop lot, sliding down a rail with a shriek of excitement, and then she was gone.

There wasn't a word left. Now, here, they were reminded of what had to come next.

"Well?" He didn't know what to expect anymore. A minute ago, they'd all been joking and talking like friends, and now they were going to march him to his execution. Talk about jarring, right...? Scott had promised himself that he wouldn't let the fear get to him, but he could feel his hands shake.

Ryan didn't have an answer for him. Not right away. "We have to make our report."

They both knew that. That's why they'd driven here in the first place. That neighborhood had been a thorn in their side for months, and this was supposed to have been their final, crushing strike.

But of course, he'd fucked up, and let the girl go.

"And we tell the truth."

It was like a punch to the gut.

"It all went without a hitch. The target was eliminated. The street was completely leveled. There's nothing left for us to do here. I'll recommend you for a promotion or something. "

Scott wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. "You know that's bullshit."

Ryan didn't answer. He couldn't. They both knew that'd just been a false hope.

"He'll know. The moment he looks at any of us, he'll know. If you lie, then..."

He grit his teeth. Ryan clenched his eyes shut and leaned back in his seat. "Start up the car. Gun it for Portland." After a moment of hesitation, the driver reached for the keys.

"Don't be an asshat," he muttered. The driver's hands froze over the key. "We both know there's no running away. You'll get us both killed."

"Then we won't run. We'll hunker down in a motel for the next few days."

"You have to make your report."

"Or what?"

"You know what."

Ryan looked away. Scott stared down into his lap. "I'm a traitor. I fucked up. There's no coming back from this. If you try and save me from what's coming, then you'll just get the ax too." He lifted his eyes to the roof of the car. "We both know I'm going to die either way. I don't want more blood on my hands for nothing, because some idiot tried to defend me after I broke an oath."

"So what do you want me to do? Just stand there?"

"Keep Snow occupied. I'll make the report." He forced a smile. "It'll be over in a second."

"Jill will miss you, you know."

That affirmed it. Scott Andrew Campbell already had one foot in the grave.

He almost could've laughed at that, if he didn't feel like he was about to choke up. "She didn't seem too upset."

"Jill..." Ryan looked like he was struggling to find the words. "Well, I don't really think she understands. Anything, really. Someone has to try and understand her. She'll be sad, once it's all over. Believe me."

Scott grinned. "You mean she'll be sad she didn't get to pop me."

Ryan glanced away with a sigh, the hint of a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That too." He popped open the door. Scott followed, and they slammed both doors shut in unison. The rain still fell, droplets collecting in his hair.

"We'll be enemies from now on."

That was the foregone conclusion. It didn't matter what happened now, what happened in the past, what was going to happen. One mistake had separated them forever.

"I know."

It was easier that way.

They walked down together, enemies, side by side.

It was just across the street, but the walk toward the tower doors felt like it took an eternity. They moved in silence, dressed in black, as the rain came pouring down all around them. The city glistened, light reflecting off wet metal and concrete. Scott drew in a deep breath, and it came back out as a cloud of mist. He drew in deeper into his coat, his gaze drifting up the length of the tower, wondering if this would be the last breath of fresh air he'd ever taste. It was cold and crisp, and filled his head with memories of home.

He'd really fucked up. Not just tonight, and not just because this time, it would mean his death. No, he'd fucked up time and time again, and right now, standing at the edge of it all, he just wished he could turn back time and do it all over again. But it was too late for that, wasn't it? Scott clenched his hand into a fist as they approached the doors. Ryan picked up the pace to pull ahead, out of the rain, and open the door.

Scott gave a vacant nod of thanks, breathed in one last lungful of air, and walked through the doors.

He wasn't about to rush. If these were the last steps he was going to take, he wanted to savor them.

Ryan slipped in after him, the door closed, and the rain became a muffled pitterpatterpitterpatter against the glass. Scott glanced behind him, his eyes lingering on the knot of red string around the door handle. The lights along the walls flickered, like the shadow of a wing passing over the room. He didn't stare.

Snow was lounging across a couch in the corner of the room, her face pressed up against the aquarium like a cat. The room was as twice as big as it needed to be, and a rich patterned carpet spread across the floor, barren except for the couches, tables, and fake plants furnishing the outer periphery. A wrap-around desk crowned the far side of the room, flanked by two spiral staircases, and elevators lined the walls. It was subtle, but it felt like everywhere he looked, he could see a glimpse of red string, looped around the legs of chairs or hanging from the walls like cobwebs.

The lobby had that office smell, fresh and clean, but there was a hint of something else in the air too... mothballs?

Scott paused in his tracks. Something was off. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck... But maybe that was just the nerves from walking to his death. Of course he'd be put off by this place. Ryan stopped beside him. "I'll keep Jill occupied," he muttered, low enough that Scott had to strain to hear. "Will you be alright on your own?"

Ha. "Why wouldn't I be?" he murmured back, flashing him a grin. "I'll be just upstairs."

Ryan glanced away, smiling softly. "Right." He took a few steps away, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and glanced back at Scott over his shoulder. "You probably shouldn't keep him waiting, then."

There wasn't anything left to say. Snow perked up as Ryan walked away, making some dumb joke about clownfish, and Scott made his way toward the desk at the far end of the room, whistling as he walked. The woman working at the desk seemed to be waiting for him, her hands folded in front of her. Blonde hair fell down her back and around her shoulders in ripples, and her eyes were as deep as ocean pools, flashing between green and blue with every shift of light. She was too pretty for a boring desk job, but she just wore a sleepy, aloof smile on her face, a fixture of the room.

"Monsieur Campbell," she greeted with a slight tilt of her head, her expression never changing. "It is very pleasant to see you this evening."

"You too," he murmured back with a small, awkward smile. He couldn't keep up with her formality. That's how it always was with her. Some guys would've killed to get a chance to talk to her, but... Well, it was too much pressure talking to someone like that. If he looked at her too long, he would forget how to speak, so he focused on the wall behind her instead, his gaze drifting over the curve of her neck, the way her honey colored hair fell so perfectly and so effortlessly around her sh—...

... ahem ...

There he went again. He just couldn't help himself. After staring ahead for a few moments, dazed, he recovered his senses and flashed another smile, drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk. "I need to see Callahan," he finally choked out.

Elodie just nodded, oh-so-softly. "Of course, Monsieur." If she saw him staring, she didn't give any signs. That was probably for the best. The last thing he needed was some extra embarrassment piled on. He was already a train wreck inside, all nerves, all adrenaline, no brain... He'd probably end up doing something stupid. "Will Monsieur Patterson and Madame Snow accompany you?"

He'd been staring again. It took an extra second for the words to sink in. "No," he said, straightening up. "Just, um... me."

She nodded in understanding. "I see," she answered. Her expression turned more serious for a moment, but her tone never changed, soft and gentle, the kind of voice that drew you in, the kind of voice you could get lost in. All the words all melded into a sweet, sleepy melody, and when she stopped speaking, you could barely even realize you'd been disarmed, or that you weren't even sure what she said. "I am so sorry, Monsieur, but I am afraid I must ask you to take the elevator..."

Scott blinked. The... elevator? "That's... Well, that shouldn't be a problem." But what was that for? He pulled back, slipping his hands into his pockets. All of a sudden, it felt too informal, but he would've looked like an idiot if he pulled his arms right back out. "Can I ask... why?"

"Ah, let us say... There is a terrible mess." She smiled apologetically. Scott knew better than to nose into what kind of mess it was. "So if it would not trouble you..."

That was a long walk anyway. He gave a faint smile, nodding. "No problem at all." Did she know that she'd just sliced his lifespan in half? Oh well... What were a few minutes anyways? He'd be lucky if it was over quickly. He turned on his heel to face the elevator. "Thanks." He started to walk, his funeral march looping over in his head, but he stopped in his tracks when he heard her get out of her seat.

He glanced over his shoulder, blinking. She was standing there in a slim black dress, a silver locket glittering at her chest, with her hands folded in front of her. "Ah, I apologize, Monsieur... But I should go with you, non?" She bowed her head apologetically.

Scott could only give an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, I guess it's not a problem." It might take his mind off things, at least. Maybe. Probably not. "But, uh, shouldn't you be down here?"

She walked out from behind the desk, her hips swaying. Every step felt rehearsed, like she'd choreographed it all beforehand. Elodie stopped just beside him, smiling softly. "Security will not be an issue, Monsieur." Scott's mind wandered over to Ryan and Snow, who he could hear bickering about angelfish on the other side of the room, but he swore he could've seen a glimmer of amusement in those sea blue eyes. "This is my duty too, non? If you are making your report, it will only be for the elevator ride. Unless, of course, it is too much of a problem..."

He hesitated for a moment, but gave in with a low sigh. "Don't worry about it," he said, starting back toward the elevator again. She followed after him, her expression unchanging. "I don't mind the company."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he paused to let her in first. He couldn't forget his manners, could he? She walked in with small nod of thanks and he stepped in after her, glancing around the car. Red velvet covered the floor while the walls were paneled in rich patterned wood. Fancy. He turned around just as the doors closed.

Ding.

Something in the air changed, cold and heavy, like his whole body was under pressure and the walls were about to close in on him. A burning cold crept down his back like an icy finger, his heart started to race, his head... Agh, his head...

Elodie reached out and pressed a button, click, lighting up under her touch. Floor 13.

It was like he'd stepped into a tomb. The feeling hit him like a freight train, all at once.

His ears started to ring. He stumbled to the side, fumbling for the railing as the elevator started to lift. A low whirrrr of gears churning filled his ears like a roar. His stomach was doing somersaults. It wasn't nerves from what was about to happen... It felt like he'd had the whole night to internalize it. This wasn't the time to get sick. No, this was... something else, a hate-filled presence that was making his body break out in a cold sweat. What was wrong? It was like he'd just got hit from some late night food poisoning...

He glanced at Elodie. She was just staring straight ahead, like nothing was wrong. His eyes drifted over the room, his vision blurring in and out. Red string lined the elevator door, a loose thread hanging over the entrance. The light flickered. Scott blinked.

The buttons. They'd gone black, like someone had filled the lights with ink. But then, a second later... Back to normal?

What the fuck is wrong with me? he almost muttered to himself, if not for the other person in the car. I'm going insane, aren't I...?

Then he felt it.

His beating heart froze in his chest. It took whatever adrenaline was pumping through his body for him not to topple over.

A breath on the back of his neck. Cold, sticky, filled with moisture. That wasn't him. It wasn't Elodie. He couldn't look behind him. Even if he wanted to, his body felt frozen in place, like someone had locked his limbs in iron casts. Scott tightened his grip on the rail until his knuckles were white, and the shadow against the wall seemed to darken, deepen, until it was like a rip in the fabric of space, until the breathing filled his ears like the roar in a wind tunnel.

".  .  .  celui ci est pas nourriture .  .  ."

Her voice sounded an entire world away.

The presence lifted. All at once, it was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and he could stand again, breathe again. Scott straightened up, wiping away at his forehead with his sleeve.

"Are you okay, Monsieur?"

He brought a hand up to his chest. Had he imagined all that? Was that really his nerves catching up to him? Sometimes, when he thought of what was about to happen, it'd made him sick... But never like that. He'd never felt anything like that.

"Did you... feel it, Monsieur?"

Scott glanced up at her. "What the hell was that?"

It wasn't the proper language to use around a proper lady, but for now, he'd forgotten all about that. All that mattered was that he'd survived whatever the hell was that.

She gave him a small smile. "It... is not important, Monsieur Campbell." Floor six, floor seven. The elevator continued to rise. "There was no danger, but it seems... You did not take well. That is all."

That just left him with more questions than answers, but she looked away, dismissing it all. He fingered at his coat and stood up straight, sucking in a lungful of air. If there wasn't any danger, then why did it feel like he'd just slipped out of a noose?

"Are you trying to say I imagined that, then?" he breathed, leaning back against the wall. "Am I just going crazy?"

"No," she said, still smiling, her eyes fluttering closed, "and no."

"Then..."

"There was no danger," she asserted, ever so gently. "Forgive me, Monsieur, but sometimes it is best not to ask questions."

She knew something he didn't. That wasn't a surprise, he supposed... But it didn't drive him any less insane.

"Please, feel at ease," she said, sensing the spiked tension in the small elevator car. "I did not feel it as you did, but I know what you speak of. This city... It is full of such presences."

Silence. It'd take more than a few sweet words to put him at ease, but was there any use arguing?

"I know how it must feel, to be spoken of in such a way..." she spoke again, quieter now. "I do not wish for you to feel..."

"Insane?" he finished, after a hushed moment, like she was struggling to search for the word.

It was a sad smile. "Yes," she answered, after what it felt like an eternity. "I see things, Monsieur. Sometimes, I cannot tell what is reality." He didn't look at her. He was staring straight ahead, at the thread of red string twined around the button panel. "There are sounds and sensations as well... I can feel emotions from things that have not happened yet. It has been as such since I was a young girl. My gift is strong in my family, but I am the only one living who possesses it."

What could he say to something like that?

"There are days... where it feels like I am living in a separate existence from the rest of the world."

Scott turned to look at her, fumbling for things to say. Finally, he could only ask the first question on his mind. "Why are you telling me this?"

Elodie didn't answer for a long time. Finally, she spoke, barely loud enough to hear, but it was like her voice filled the elevator shaft. "Forgive me, Monsieur, but I believe this will be the last time I speak to you."

All he could do was stare.

"I dreamed of you. You were drowning in shadows."

Floor eleven, floor twelve...

Ding.

The doors slid open.

She bowed her head. "I apologize, Monsieur. I hope I am wrong."

Scott stepped out of the car without a word. The entire floor was submerged in darkness except for the elevator light, casting his shadow across the floor. There were no lights, no lamps, just the moon and the stars and the city lights shining through the glass. Rain washed down in sheets, blurring the world outside.

"Bonne nuit."

The elevator doors closed, and the light disappeared. He stood at the end of a dark hallway, with no sound except the lash of the rain against the windows. A door stood on the other side of the hall.

It hit him, for maybe the first time that night, that he didn't want to die.

He'd spent all this time trying to get to terms with it, laughing it off or trying to push it out of his mind, but this was the first time those exact words crossed his mind.

I don't want to die.

But he didn't have any other choice but to take his last steps. He was dead the moment he'd let that little girl run off into the night.

Scott drew in a deep breath and walked down the hallway. Red string snaked across the floor, lining the walls. He didn't dare step on it.

The door opened without him touching it. Red ribbon was tied in a bow around the knob.

"Scottie!" a voice greeted, a white smile flashing like a knife in the darkness. A man in a suit leaned back in his chair, his feet kicked up on a desk. His gloved hands were held up in a welcoming gesture, one gold eye shining through the gloom. The other was concealed with a patch.

Another man's name was engraved on the plate resting on the desk, Thomas Wolfsheim, but he hadn't bothered to remove it. Maybe it was a trophy, a reminder for anyone who walked into this room.

Daniel Callahan.

He tilted his head, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Now, that's interesting." His eye seemed to shine, piercing right through him.

Scott grit his teeth.

"Do you have something to tell me, Scottie?"

"Well?" he asked. "I can see the guilt pouring off of you already, Scottie." He pressed a finger up against his patch. "I don't even need my eye for that."

Each syllable tiptoed up his spine, as sharp as a knife, mockery dripping from every word. He already knew. Scott knew that much already. You couldn't fool Daniel Callahan, no matter how smart you were, no matter how good of a liar, no matter what excuse you came up with. That was his gift. Where other people could start wildfires by snapping their fingers, or topple skyscrapers with a poke, or drown a whole city in darkness, he could see into your heart and peer into your mind, no matter what walls you put up to hide behind.

And he already knew the truth. The rest of this was just a show for his entertainment. They'd dance around the subject, shooting questions and answers back and forth, and then when he got bored, he'd kill him. Scott was just a puppet dangling over a fire pit, with a child holding onto the strings. That was his fate, the grand finale of the chain reaction stretching back to the moment Scott had let that girl go.

That was the kind of person Daniel was.

Scott supposed this was a long time in the making.

This silence was suffocating him, but he didn't want to play into his hands. Daniel would pick him apart, one word after another, and when it was done...

Well, there wasn't any point in fighting it. He'd already given in from the moment Snow had ratted him out.

"What do you want me to say, Daniel?" he asked, in a small, quiet voice, a bitter smile across his face.

Callahan snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Shouldn't I be asking that?" His eye almost seemed to shine in the darkness. "I can already tell something happened. I'm feeling a little left in the dark here, Scottie." His gaze dropped down, oh-so-subtly, toward Scott's feet. "It looks like someone doesn't like you."

He shouldn't have, but the curiosity would've eaten away at him. He didn't want to die with unanswered questions. Scott glanced down. There was an unnatural ring of shadows around his feet, stretching from the dark half of the room, and he could feel his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. It didn't fit the lighting filtering in from the window. The musty scent of cobwebs and mothballs invaded his senses, and the circle around his shoes reminded him of a gaping maw ready to swallow him whole.

"Why aren't you getting along with Faith, Scottie?" he asked, tilting his head, his eye patch hidden behind a lock of dark hair. "She might be a bit shy, but she's a sweet girl. If you made her angry, you must've crossed a line you shouldn't have."

Scott couldn't answer. There wasn't any need to answer. Daniel already knew that. He tore his gaze away from the shadows at his feet and met his gaze, clenching his jaw shut to muster up the courage to keep eye contact. If he was going to die, then he didn't want to die with his head hanging like a petulant child.

"You wanna play this game, huh?" Callahan sighed, reaching down below the desk. Scott stiffened up as he lifted up a revolver, a glint of gray steel flashing in the dim light as he twirled it around on his finger. His grin widened.

BANG. A casing hit the floor. He flinched. How couldn't he flinch? The blast, lighting up the room for a split second like lightning, almost made his ears pop. It rattled him to the core, straight to the bones, but when the ringing in his ears subsided and he opened his eyes, Daniel was just smiling, the same expression as before. Scott's gaze drifted up to the smoking hole in the ceiling. "Beautiful sound, isn't it?" he said, almost lovingly, laying the old gun on the desk in front of him. There were scratches along the muzzle, imperfections that looked like they could be polished out, but it didn't look like an attempt had ever been made. "Loud as hell, too. Not like today. That old witch who tagged along with us loves her high-tech weaponry, but you can't go wrong with the classics. I guess I just never saw the appeal of a modern gun." Daniel sighed again, running a gloved hand through his hair. "But maybe I'm just an old-fashioned man, huh?"

It was intimidation. He was trying to stun, daze him, keep him off guard and confused so he could strike when he was most vulnerable. Scott didn't let his guard down, still tensed up after the gunshot, not moving from where he stood, and not replying.

Daniel frowned. "It looks like you've forgotten all your jokes, Scottie. Don't tell me you've grown up and gotten boring since when we last saw each other. That'd disappoint me more than whatever you're about to say that'll force me to kill you."

He said it so casually, and Scott knew him well enough just by reputation to know he wasn't bluffing.

Scott drew in a breath and dropped his gaze, his hands curling into fists. "Yeah," he muttered. "You're right. I guess I have outgrown that sorta thing in the past hour or so." Death sobered you up like that. He wasn't Mercutio, and he wasn't about to keep laughing right until his last breath. He wasn't that brave, and he wasn't that strong. "I don't have any excuses. This won't be much fun for either of us, so we should just get this over with."

"Is that so, huh?" His smirk disappeared. "You make me sad, Scottie. Let's keep this cut-and-dry then." His eye started to shine. Honestly, genuinely, legitimately shine, like an ember. It was almost dazzling to look at, but he wouldn't let himself look away. "Why are you up here?"

"To make a report." The answer came surprisingly easy to his lips, despite his nerves. Maybe it was the influence of Daniel's gift, but if they were both being honest with themselves, there wasn't any reason to lie or dodge or delay anymore. He was as ready to die as he'd ever be.

"Why you and not Ryan?"

"He didn't want any part of this," he said. The question twisted at his heart. "He's downstairs distracting Snow."

"So why you?" he repeated.

"I'm facing punishment. It's quicker this way." Still painful, but less dragged out. He'd already spent too much time brooding.

Callahan frowned. "What is your report? Status of the mission? Did you complete your objectives?" This didn't sound like Callahan. Right now, between them, in this interrogation, it was all professionalism and all business. He sounded more like a dry CEO than the grinning maniac Scott had learned to know over the past year.

"Failure. The target escaped."

Things had felt dangerous before a few minutes ago, when Daniel was laughing and smiling, but now there was a barely concealed seething rage behind Callahan's glowing eye. Scott fought his body's screaming instinct to step back to escape the fury of the storm. "Did Snow or Patterson have any part in that?"

"No," he rushed to answer. "Just me."

Silence.

It felt like a dark cloud had enveloped them both, but in that moment, the mechanical facade began to melt away again, and Daniel's smile returned. "Then here's the million dollar question, Scottie..." he said, his eye glowing brighter. "What the hell did you do?"

This was it. These were the four words that would seal his fate.

Did he regret it?

Could he regret it? Was it too late for that?

He knew he'd made a lot of mistakes. This wasn't some fairy tale where he could turn around and change it all. There wasn't any resetting it all back to normal, no matter how much he wished he'd chosen differently. But when he looked at her, standing in the charred ruins of her room, clutching a ragged soot-stained teddy bear in her arms...

Scott knew he'd made the right choice.

Even if that was the last thing he'd ever do, when he closed his eyes and rewound to that moment, he couldn't find any of the melancholy and guilt that he'd grown so used to. That's how he knew he couldn't regret it, never regret.

That's how he knew he'd die content.

He grinned, clenching his fists, and looked up to meet Callahan's eye. With one deep breath, he mustered up the courage to speak it out loud with pride. If these were his last words, he wanted it to reflect his life. Yeah, he knew it was too late to take back all his mistakes. But maybe, after it was all done and over with, he could end it on a good note. Then maybe he'd be forgiven.

"I let her go."

Callahan's smile vanished, and a grimace spread across his face. There wasn't anything as satisfying as that. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he said after a moment of stunned silence, not moving from his chair. "Do you know how much money and time and resources you've wasted? Do you know how much danger we're all in now? Do you realize what's at stake?"

Lives were at stake. Not just people in their organization, but this entire city, hell, maybe this entire state, maybe everyone with gifted blood in their veins.

That's why they'd come here. That's why they'd spent months preparing. That's why this city had been set up like a bear trap, ready to snap in on itself when they'd caught their prey.

She wasn't a little girl at all. That's not how he was supposed to think of her. They'd warned him about that. That girl was a monster. If she wasn't stopped, and if that entire cult hadn't been razed into ash, then who knows what would've happened to this city. But Scott had let her go.

But when he looked at her standing there, what else was he supposed to see except a scared little girl?

He would've been a hero if he'd managed to kill her right there, but instead he'd stopped in his tracks and said one fateful word.

'Run.'

Scott met Callahan's glare, unflinching. "Are you going to shoot me, then? Let Snow pop me? Torture me to death?"

There was a menacing glint in his eye. He didn't hesitate to answer. "Do you really think it'd be over that easy, Scottie?"

His blood ran cold.

"You have a family, don't you, Scottie?"

The past few hours had been a maelstrom of emotions. Fear, remorse, disgust, shock. This was the first time he'd felt anger. Not the same anger he'd felt toward himself, but a visceral fury that twisted his insides into knots and lit a fire inside his gut. Adrenaline went pumping through his veins, and it took all he had not to go charging at Callahan right now to strangle him from across the desk. "You piece of shit..." he muttered, digging his nails into his palms until blood welled up between his knuckles. "I left them all behind. They don't have anything to do with this!"

"They have everything to do with this," Callahan shot back, his voice carrying a sharpness he hadn't shown before. He stood to his feet, his chair flying to the floor. "This isn't a tiny slip-up. You betrayed us and now you pay the price. You should thank God I'm not her. You're going to suffer, and your family is going to suffer, but it's going to be sweet mercy compared to what she'd give you." He grabbed the gun on his desk. "Come quietly, Scott."

His family was going to die. He was transported back to rainy days with his sister, walking under pine boughs, sitting by the creek, innocent days spent not worrying about a thing in the world.

...They didn't deserve that. No matter what had happened between them, none of them deserved that. It didn't matter what kind of horrible, bloody death they had for him. He'd known what would happen the moment he'd made his decision, and he'd come to terms with them. But for them to pay the price for all his actions, after how much he'd already burdened them...

That was unforgivable.

Could he stand there, meekly, and be a pawn again? A minor character in a big, grand stageplay?

Ever since he'd let that girl go, he'd been coming to terms with death. You couldn't escape fate. But he was stupid for not realizing he'd had another option this whole time, no matter how impossible it seemed, no matter how stupid, how unthinkable, how out of reach...

Wind stirred at his fingertips.

It started like a swirling current inside his chest, filling his lungs with air, giving him a new lightness. Part of that was his gift, but right now, it felt more like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Wind filled the room, a cool breeze at first, but then it began to whip around and around, knocking loose fluttering papers and sending books toppling off shelves until it was roaring all around them.

Scott grinned. "It's simple, then," he shouted above the wind. "I just have to kill you all."

BANG.

You could barely even hear it above the wind. Daniel Callahan was a legendary shot, but his aim couldn't have been more off in this whirling cyclone. Glass shattered, and the room flooded with cold air, rain blowing sideways into the office as the windows all fell away. He glanced behind him, but the door was covered in a sheet of inky darkness. Scott's gaze shot to the floor. Shadows were slithering along the carpet, out from the corner of the room, like tentacles... shooting towards him?!

He released his fists, spreading out open palms, and a new burst of air boosted him along as he went springing to the side, bounding for the open windows where the glass had fell away.

Callahan stood there, gripping his desk and gritting his teeth, staring after him.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

He heard the bullet whiz past his ear, but he barely noticed.

Scott Campbell leapt into the abyss, enveloped in the wind.

The first step to flying was falling.

The second step was not hitting the ground.

So far, so good. It looked like he'd mastered the first step. Out here, plummeting to the ground with the wind whipping at his face and tugging at his clothes, you got sobered up really quick. Kill them all... Wasn't that stupid? How could he kill them all? All these people were monsters, murderers, demons. But he'd always been weak to empty boasts like that, and if he really asked himself why he said it...

Well, it just sounded cool.

The wind blew away the cloud of rage and hatred that'd filled his head, and now, watching the city lights spin dizzyingly beneath him, he was facing his new predicament. He was falling. When he hit the ground, he'd die. Reality was slow to catch up to him.

Holy shit, I'm falling.

It felt like he was watching it all through someone else's eyes, outside his own body. He guessed that it wouldn't feel real until he hit the ground, and then it'd be too late. The wind pushed at his limbs, swirling around his fingertips, flowing through him, filling his lungs through his open mouth...

Oh, his mouth.

It looked like he'd been screaming for the past ten seconds. He just hadn't heard it above the wind.

Scott continued to flail around, turning through the air as he dropped closer and closer to the ground. Was this the part where his life was supposed to flash before his eyes? He spun, until he was looking up at the sky, the wind pushing up against his back. The rain beat against his face.

He'd just escaped death.

Ever since he'd made his choice and let her go, he'd been internalizing it, justifying it, coming to terms with it. Death was inescapable. Everyone had to die sometime, after all. He never thought he'd leave that room alive, and if he did, it would've just been so he could face a worse fate.

Instead, he was falling.

No, he was flying.

Scott had just escaped an inescapable death.

Was he just going to let himself splatter across the street, after all that? That wasn't any better than getting popped by Snow. It was a second chance, a second wind, and he'd taken a leap of faith and seized a few more seconds of precious life. When he'd jumped, he wasn't sure what he was thinking. Maybe he'd just wanted to take things into his own hands, but maybe, he'd meant it. Maybe, he had to go through with his promise.

He had people he wanted to protect.

If he wanted to do that, he had to live, and shed off that aura of death that'd been following him since he'd gotten in Patterson's car.

It sounded so drawn out in his head, but it was a simple realization that only took an instant to hit him. Or maybe that was just survival instinct, and he'd just applied the reasons afterwards. Either way, it didn't matter. Right now, he was falling. He flipped around, balls of wind forming at his palms and soles of his feet, and then he was dipping toward the ground, headfirst. Time seemed to slow, but then he was pulling up, gliding over the rooftops, propelling through the air and riding a wind current.

None of it felt real. He heard the distant wail of a car streaking down the street, the scream of sirens, a horn honking, but it all might as well have been in a whole other world.

That's when he noticed he was flying face first into a concrete wall.

Scott flailed around, flipping gracelessly through the air, and threw out his arm. He collided into a cushion of air just before he could make impact against the side of the building, and then he was falling. Well, he said a cushion. It was more like smacking against a pool of water from three hundred feet up. He threw his head back as he fell, tumbling through the air toward the ground again, the world spinning around him in shades of black and gray.

CRASH. He felt himself sink into garbage bags, staring up at a patch of sky cut from an alleyway. A cat went flinging itself out of the dumpster, yowling, but he barely heard it. His entire body was in pain. It felt like someone had just smashed him in the small of his back with a sledgehammer. But he was alive. He'd just caught two lucky breaks to slip out of death's hands again.

It took a few minutes for his senses to come back to him, and for him to clamber out of the dumpster, falling lifelessly to the ground and onto the wet concrete. Splash. Right into a dirty puddle. He just laid there for a few moments, drinking in the sounds of the city, the rats scurrying through the garbage strewn across the ground. This was right where he belonged. It was his heaven, his Promised Land, his salvation, and he never wanted to get up. When he got up, the chase would begin. They wouldn't let him off that easy. When they saw that he wasn't a red smear right outside the front door, they'd go hunting for him. Then it'd be back to reality.

He pulled himself onto his knees, the grimy water running down the side of his face and down his neck, slipping under his shirt. His face was still frozen from his half-assed flight.

Was there a God looking out for him? Scott hadn't believed in that kind of thing for a long time, or fate or destiny, but was there any other explanation for it? He'd lived when he shouldn't have. An impossible storm of coincidences, or a higher power guiding him to safety, still wanting to keep him around. Maybe he was some cosmic plaything, and someone up above the clouds wanted to punish him, or just draw all this out for fun. Or maybe it was nothing.

He realized he didn't care.

It didn't matter what sort of predetermined destiny he had. He'd already chosen his own purpose, for once in his life. This kind of meaning was what he'd always been chasing, and he'd only found it just now.

He was going to kill them all and save the world.

It always worked out like that in the movies. Impossible odds, plucky, lovable, handsome, and quite humble hero, and a villain he needed to stop. Who could write it better than that? God loved screenplays and worn out cliches as much as the rest of them.

Scott stood up, clutching his ribs, and drew in a ragged breath, filling his lungs with new air.

Even on the brink of death, he hadn't felt this alive in years.

A wide grin spread across his face, a flurry of papers swirling around him as he turned and walked into the dark, each step kicking up dirt and grime with blasts of air. This was what he was made for.

Man, I'm fucking stupid.

He didn't know how long he'd been wandering. A dull ache throbbed across his shoulders and down his back, and the pain grew hotter and sharper as the adrenaline from his flight wore off. But he was alive. Scott was still high on that fact, his mind rushing with that simple pleasure he'd always taken for granted. I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive. Had it been ten minutes since he'd escaped Callahan in that tower, or had it been half a night? In either case, every second spent outside had been one more second he hadn't expected to still be there. Right then, it'd seemed inevitable.

For the first time since he'd pulled himself up from the ground, he'd stopped in his tracks. The distant thrum of traffic added an ambient backdrop to the rain beating against the concrete. Icy rivulets ran down his hair and down his neck, trickling down his spine. A siren blared in the distance, bouncing, echoing through the night.

Scott turned his head, drawing in a breath. Out of the corner his eye...

The shadow sprung from the darkness like a blade, lancing through the air. He threw himself back, two feet, three feet, carried on a sudden burst of wind that billowed out from underneath his feet, and hit the ground rolling. What looked like an inky spear, a wisp of a shadow with a shape that shifted like sand, had struck the bricks where he'd been standing a moment before. It looked like something out of a hallucination as the shadow melted away again, a puncture wound in the wall the only sign it'd ever happened. Bits of brick, the size of pebbles, fell out and crumbled, clattering against the ground.

If he'd been a normal human, that shadow would've pieced through his temple and out the other side of his skull like a harpoon, and he would've died. Scott let out a shaky breath and stood up again, poised to jump, fight, run, anything. But how did you prepare for something like this? A killing blow that could come from nowhere, and anywhere? He looked around, litter and trash skittering along the concrete as wind began to swirl around him, tugging at his coat.

A thread of red ribbon dangled from a gutter like a spider web. He took a step back, too keen of how alone he was, how his sneakers crunched against the grit, how narrow this alley was. I'm an idiot... Why didn't he run out into traffic screaming his head off? She couldn't get him then, at least without causing a scene. How could you fight against something you couldn't see?

He took another step back, his heel bumping into a forgotten steel pipe that had been lying on the ground. Scott sucked in his breath as the sound echoed down the backstreet. There was a pause, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds too long. Then, from the upper gutter, a spike of shadow lunged forward again. Scott could barely even see it in this drizzle, and in this lack of light. He just heard it, cutting down toward him, and felt it in the way the air shifted as if it was cleaving through.

Scott jumped to the side, hurling himself toward the wall as it went piercing through his jacket and tearing through the heavy fabric like it was an old rag. Another lance, leaping out from a puddle of darkness, stabbed forward, scraping along the brick wall as Scott went scrambling to the floor, his fingers wrapping around the old pipe as he found his feet again. Another shadow went thrusting forward before the other had even evaporated, flying over his shoulder. A hot flash of pain washed over him as it nicked his ear. Left, right, up, down, from every direction one by one, spears of darkness went piercing forward. Scott gave a pant, sprinting down the alley. New plan. Get the fuck away. There wasn't any winning if he stayed in one place.

kkkKASH! Something struck at the concrete near his feet, sending up a blast of debris the size of softballs, but he didn't even look as he leapt over the mini crater in the ground, a furious tailwind shoving at his back as he pumped his arms. Fast. Inhumanly fast. Even an Olympic sprinter couldn't have kept up with him, not with the air itself under his control. If he went any slower, just for a second, he'd be skewered. Scott grit his teeth, every pump of his heart feeling like it'd explode in his chest.

Abruptly, it all stopped.

No attacks, no shadows stirring in the corner of his vision, no telltale signs of blood red thread. Of course he didn't stop. He didn't even think about it. All he could think about was escaping, and if he stopped to catch his breath, that would be their perfect opportunity to lance him through the heart.

That's not what made him come to a standstill.

A figure stood at the end of the alleyway, blocking his path. Her black cloak stirred in the wind, flapping to reveal bright, popping colors and a grinning face, eyes as wide as moons. Scott skid to a stop, as light as a feather, his grip tightening on the pipe in his hand. Snow stepped forward, her shoes clicking against the concrete. Tap. Tap. She twirled the blade in her hand, a menacing flash running up the steel. It was a notched, ugly thing, but he'd seen it close up. That edge was razor sharp.

Scott glanced behind him. A wall of inky darkness blocked his way.

"Ohhhh, Scottiiiiiiie!" she giggled, letting her sword trail along the wall. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard. "C'mon, c'mon, what are you backin' away for? We're friends, aren't we?"

He didn't answer, just swallowed and gripped the pipe with both hands, holding it in front of him. You like to play with your food before you eat it. That was enough reason, but he already knew she didn't care. She only cared about having her fun, and she only had fun when they loosed her off her leash. Scott took took another step back, planting his foot back. I can't beat her in a fight, but if I can just get behind her...

Snow burst forward with a sudden unexpected speed. She leaped, planting her foot against the wall in midair, and pushed off, swinging down. Scott brought up his pipe to catch it. CLINK! A scrape of steel against steel. The shock reverberated down his arm as he went falling back, and Snow brought the sword down again like a butcher's cleaver. He swung, catching it, and pushed to turn it aside, but she just brought it up again, a fervid, frenzied look in her eyes. CLINK! CLANK! Two more times, holding the metal bar over his head to protect himself, a numbing sensation running down his fingers with every blow. Her sword bit cuts into the pipe with every swing.

She brought it up again and swung one last time.

CLINK!!

It sheared through the weak, rain-damaged metal like butter. The pipe almost broke straight in two, ragged cuts making the top half hang limp, connected by a thread. Snow brought up the sword again, and Scott thrust his hand forward, a surge of wind shotgunning up his arm. She went stumbling back with the sword still raised in the air, off balance, and Scott rolled to the side, pulling himself into a kneeling crouch.

She spun around, nimble as a dancer, and brought the sword around in a sweeping crescent strike. He sprung into the air just in time, taking to his feet, the sword missing his nose by a few spare inches. Snow twirled and slashed out again, following after him, and he danced just out of reach, panting with every swing. The sword smashed into the wall as it missed, and the whole alley seemed to shake under the berserk fury. She lunged, and he sidestepped, wind forming around his knuckles, pulling his fist back as he stepped inside the sword's range.

He swung, a flying right hook curving toward her temple. She ducked her head and pushed forward, roughly slamming her shoulder into his chest. Scott staggered backwards, a sharp elbow catching him just under the collar bone, a knee crashing into his thigh. Snow spun as Scott buckled, and with an unexpected strength, a flying kick smashed into his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground. It'd all happened in what felt like less than a second. He was still dazed, lying on his back, when he felt her foot stomp onto his chest. The wind was knocked out of him in an instant, and he was lying on the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water. No... I can't die here, I can't die here, I can't die here, I can't die here... His vision blurred, the gleam of the sword rising above him, as he flailed his arm out, grabbing a socked leg, while his other hand skated along the ground, looking for something, anything...

A handful of mud. He dug his fingers through the glop and hurled it up.

It splattered against her face and Snow reeled, gasping, spluttering, but didn't move her foot from her chest. She wiped it away from her eyes with a sleeve and glared down at her, silver eyes burning, grinding her heel into his sternum and pushing down, harder than ever before.

The sword came down, stabbing into his shoulder. He screamed, a deep, guttural scream that ripped away at his throat, and Snow twisted, twisted, twisted. She ripped the sword away and blood spurted up in a dark fountain. He gasped, filling his lungs with air, when the pressure was suddenly lifted from his chest and Snow stepped away, but she just stooped down and grabbed his collar with a gloved hand, lifting him up from the ground and dropping him again. Scott turned onto his side, scrambling onto hands and knees, and her leg kicked out, the tip of her shoe connecting with a sick CRUNCH.

Scott fell again and pushed himself onto his hands, and then into a crouch. Could he stand? Could he stand? Could he stand? Shaking legs that felt like twigs stood up, and then he was supporting his own weight, staggering and hobbling around like a drunk. Snow just stood there, watching him, and then her hand flashed forward again, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him against the wall.

He slumped down, a steady trickle of blood pouring from his pierced shoulder. A ringing in his ears. Snow's figure was blurred in the rain, a shadow in the alley half-light. Scott sucked in a raw breath as she reached out, curling her fingers in his hair, and slammed his head against the bricks behind him. White filled his vision, blood filled his mouth, and he crumpled to the ground, stars dancing in his eyes.

Her voice went in and out of hearing, a distant dream.

"Scottie, Scottie, Scottie..."

It sounded like a whisper in his head.

"C'mon, stand up..."

Shaking hands fumbled for some kind of hold as he began to crawl along the floor like a worm, his eyes focused on some distant light. The end of the alley. He just had to get to the end of the alley.

A crunching, blinding pain smashed down on the back of his knee, but he couldn't tell if he screamed.

"Don't crawl, stand...!"

He could never refuse Snow anything, could he?

Scott pulled himself up, somehow, some way, drawing in the last of his strength, the wind whipping around him, swirling around his wrists, and stood. He began to limp, a pathetic attempt to run, almost slipping on the wet concrete. Snow followed behind him at a steady, leisurely place, her shoes tapping against the ground, her sword scraping along the bricks. It all felt like a dream. A nightmare.

She walked past him, turned, and stood in front of him, quivering. Her sword dropped and clattered to the ground. Snow reached up and plucked her gloves off her fingers, letting them fall to the ground like sopping rags. Delicate pale hands.

"That's enough, Jill."

A dark shape was leaning at the end of the alley, an almost bored expression in his face. Scott stared into familiar lilac eyes, but they were as hard as stone.

"I get to pop him now..."

"No, I'll—..."

"Yes! I get to pop him now!"

Sure, why not? a distant voice muttered from some faraway corner of his brain. It'll be over in a second.

"Jill, just hold on..."

But no. He wasn't about to just lay down and die, not after what he'd said to himself back then. Scott had made a promise to himself. Snow turned around, shouting something at Patterson, and that's when it struck him. A flint of heat in his chest, a sudden rush through his veins, something that screamed to his body, 'stay alive, stay alive!' She wasn't even paying attention. That was always her problem.

Scott poured fired into his legs, sucked in his breath, and sprung forward, shoving into her from behind with all the strength coiled into his hands. He ignored the pain, the blood pouring from his shoulder, as the ringing in his head was drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears. She went flying with the gale, rolled, and found her feet in one clean, fluid movement, but she was still skidding along the ground, pushed along the ground by the sudden hurricane force of wind. Her cloak whipped around her like a bird trying to take flight, billowing up and finally ripped away from her, flying into the night. Snow's discarded sword went spinning along the ground, swirling away into the darkness somewhere further down the alley.

Light filled the alley, flaring around them in an inferno as Patterson put himself between Snow and Scott, a steely look in his eyes. The flames whipped and leapt around them, a storm of smoke and heat and sulfur.

"You were a good friend, Campbell," he said, a thin, sad smile on his face as the flames spread around him. His voice was almost drowned out in the scream of wind and flame. "You were too soft to get tangled up with monsters like us."

Monsters.

A burning hate bubbled up in his throat. He said he'd kill them all. All of them, down to the very last grunt. "Don't talk down to me...!" he growled, clawing through the air, gray currents ripping where he dragged his fingers.

"You should've kept your head down." Was he even listening? "Agrona's going to fix this place. We'll have real peace, real change, real unity. But you can't do that peacefully. You can't flinch when you have to do the ugly work. That's why we exist. We'll be the monsters and do the things no one else has the stomach for."

Did he really believe that crap? Just a few hours ago, he'd been talking about turning cloaks and running away with him.

But of course, he'd misunderstood back then. Ryan Alexander Patterson was as much of a monster as any of them, as devoted as any of them, as loyal as any of them. He'd been willing to give up a cause he believed in to save his friend, but it was only a momentary lapse, words that left his mouth without thinking.

We'll be enemies from now on.

He'd meant that. It was just sentimentality that Ryan didn't let Snow kill him right there, back in that burned out shell of a house. It was just a friend's courtesy to offer to let him escape, knowing he wouldn't. Parting words.

Ryan Patterson was a monster.

It was just that twisted sense of nobility that he hadn't burned him to a crisp, and instead walked him to his executioner with a friend's smile on his face. Ryan believed in Agrona in a way other people didn't. Surrounded by all these maniacs and murderers, it was just a veneer of sanity. He wasn't a sociopath like everyone else. He was just willing to shuffle all those morals away for that woman.

Scott knew him well enough for that.

"Get out of my way."

"I won't let you hurt Jillian."

"...get out of my way."

"You betrayed us, Campbell. You have to die. We weren't supposed to meet like this."

"Get out of my way!"

Ryan closed his eyes, lowering his head, and let out a breath. He stared up at Scott again with a new resolve. "You forced this."

Scott launched himself forward. Ryan raised his hand, his arm wreathed in flame, and flicked his wrist, a blinding column of fire lunging toward him like a great burning serpent. Scott gathered a ball of air in his palm as he ran, compressing it in his hand, and hurled it forward, a torrent of wind flying through the narrow alley and into the flames. A crash, a blinding gust of soot and cinders blowing out in a black cloud as the flames were dispelled. Fire licked up from burning pieces of debris, rubble, but it extinguished as Scott rushed forward, the wind at his back.

Blown over trash bins lined the walls. Scott whipped his hand through the air, and the wind sent them flying toward the enemy. One. Two. Three. Ryan sidestepped the first, letting it crash into the ground behind him, and snapped his fingers as the others came spinning toward his face. A burst of flame enveloped the trash bins in the air, only its silhouette visible against the blinding flash. A storm of cinders blew around him, a few scraps of blackened metal skidding along the ground around him.

"Ryan!"

Six feet, three feet, striking distance. Scott lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar in a full body tackle. Heat. Red and orange filled his vision, but he didn't even feel it as they both went flying to the ground, just screaming in rage. A knee caught him in the stomach and he was sent rolling off, as Ryan climbed to his feet. "Jill, get outta here!"

Scott scrambled back up, pure adrenaline, rushing at him again. Ryan stepped back, flames meeting a suffocating gale as their hands shot forward, crossing each other.

The force of the two elements colliding blew them both away like a bomb blast. Scott flew back, a cushion of air softening his landing as he landed on his feet, skidding against the concrete, while Ryan hit the ground in a violent tumble.

Snow, from a distance, stared. Scott met her eyes until he realized she was staring past him, behind him.

"This is pathetic. I'm not even allowed to chase my food. Am I a house pet? Are you all trying to hand feed me?"

The voice of the Hunter. All at once, his blood turned to ice. Scott didn't turn around, couldn't turn around. He could feel the killing intent, an atmospheric pressure that threatened to crush him right then and there. The watching shadows all recoiled away as her shoes tapped against the ground.

Snow turned and ran.

Ryan pulled himself up from the ground, breathing hard. "This one isn't your food."

"You've certainly got a mouth on you," the woman with no name drawled. He could feel her approaching with every step. A cold presence. "Who are you to say who is or isn't mine? I've already walked all the way here."

He didn't answer, just stared, the unmistakable look of fear in his eyes.

"Go run along now. I'll spare you the heartache of burning your pet alive."

Ryan opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away. "You won't go, no matter what?"

"You won't make me budge, no. Your master doesn't trust you two to do the job properly, so they let me have this one. It is very vexing, the way that man talks to me."

The person who'd once been his friend turned his back. "Then there's nothing I can do." Defeated, with just a few simple words.

"Hurry on before you test my patience."

Ryan followed in the direction of Snow. Once they'd both gone, the woman's footsteps grew louder, louder, until she was standing right behind him. The crushing presence behind him threatened to make his knees buckle. All his pain from before caught up to him at once, but he barely felt it compared to the fear.

"Now turn around."

With no other choice, Scott Campbell obeyed. Ruby eyes, the color of blood, pierced into his. She clicked her tongue. "They battered it up. I prefer them whole."

A thick silence grew between them as they stood, almost nose to nose, his breath coming out in ragged, steamy puffs. She was wearing a black sundress despite the icy rain beating down on them.

"Well? Are you going to make this worth my time?"

The words barely registered in his mind.

"I'm telling you to run."

That kicked his mind back into gear. Scott stepped back, another step back, and then turned, sprinting, his arms flailing. His heart was racing like it never had before. He pumped his arms. Like this, he was even faster than an Olympic sprinter. I have to live. I have to live. I have to live. That thought was all that drove him as he pressed on through the alley, through puddles and grime, until he heard the increasing blare of traffic. Street lights. He was almost there. Almost there. Almost there. The woman still stood where she was before, a statue, watching him run.

A twenty foot gap.

Almost there.

She began to run, shoes pounding across the concrete, a rapid, inhuman, inexorable approach. Scott never looked behind him, but he heard the echoes as she approached. A sharp crack took him in the small of his back and he went slipping forward, falling face first into a puddle.

The woman had closed that gap in less than ten seconds.

She ran a pale hand through her faded hair, standing over him, flipping him over onto his back with her foot. The woman breathed a sigh, half a pant, half disappointment. "A waste. A normal chase in a narrow path like this is never a challenge. I don't know what I was thinking." She glared down at him, frowning. "Look at you. Bloody and covered in grime. You wouldn't be fit for swine to eat. I should just let you go. That would annoy the master here. He desperately wants you killed."

Scott stared up at her, pleadingly, but she just narrowed her eyes. "But I did already come all this way."

She knelt down beside him, in the grime and muck and the garbage, pressing a finger against his forehead. "Rest, now."

A torpid storm of all the emotions he'd ever experienced. He could feel himself twist, convulse, contort, bones creaking and flesh twisting. Memories burned through him, each one siphoned away with a sensation like his body was being pressed through a one inch tube. Images, memories that weren't his. A young girl with strawberry blonde hair, standing in the desert. A hundred thousand names in a hundred thousand languages flashed through his head, burning away at his synapses, and he screamed as every last thread of his body unraveled and every essence of Scott Campbell was devoured.

The last memory, before the maelstrom, was of his sister.

Oh.

It all ended in agony.