My father’s birthday will forever remind me of you. And when the birthday candles come out, I see you in the back of my mind. A place where you are hidden but not forgotten. When the moon comes rolling in bright and new i think about the time we watched it from your car and how it reflects off of the silver waves crashing and winding down below with the rocks.

“Please, we’re fine.”

We were, in fact, not fine.

“Yes, because hanging on by quite literally a thread to the side of a mountain face screams fine.”

“I’ve never been better,” he retorts.

I feel a brief and overwhelming urge to shove him over the edge. At least then you could have the whole platform to yourself.

“This was a horrible idea! I don’t know why I agreed to do this in the first place.” He spins around as fast as possible, stopping short when the rope above you creaks.

“Do you really think I planned for this?” He hisses, as if the rope will break if he’s any louder. “You know I wouldn’t have purposely put you in danger.” For a moment, the only sound is the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he gets out.

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. He looks at me with those remorseful puppy dog eyes he knows I can’t stand.

“Seriously, it’s okay. We’re going to be alright. I promise.” I grab his hand and he grips it tightly. Rubbing small circles across his hand absentmindedly, I begin to formulate a plan.

“Okay. So, a couple of our ropes are unfastened. We can still make it down. What weight did you say those carabiners could hold?”

“230 pounds.” He’s relaxing as much as one can in this situation, and I can see his gears start to turn as well. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Between you and me we’re 235. We can make it.”

“But 230 is the maximum it’s rated for.”

“Do you have a better idea?” His silence on proves my point.

“Okay. We’ll fasten the rope to both of us. We’ll switch on and off climbing down while the other will be let down.”

“That could take hours.” He takes in your look. “But, what other option do we have.”

“I’ll go first. You’re in no condition to climb right now.”

“Please,” he scoffs. “I’m not about to let a begginner climber go before me.” His smirk, so familiar, settles your nerves.

“Let’s do this.”

Dad, I’m freaking out! I admit that it was dumb to leave our campsite alone, but Charlie was getting on my nerves!! I can’t take it when she smirks at me after I ask her a question or say something directly to her. It’s like she’s holding on to what I want and won’t give it up and instead spits on it.

Okay, so Charlie was intentionally ignoring me, and I left her at the car/campsite. I yelled back, “I’m going to get a shower!” and heard no reply. Now I’m lost on whatever trail, and it’s getting dark… and I’m pretty sure I just heard a “moo”… 😬

“She’s here.”

Pippa glances around. The cave opening in front of her looks completely normal to her.

“You sure?” She asks.

Whirlpool glares at her which Pippa takes as an indication to shut up.

“This cave is surrounded by water, Sunny. Water not currently in the sea. It’s pretty obvious,” she says, gesturing to the swirling water just below the opening. This would not appear so strange if they were near a body of water. But they aren’t.

“It’s Beacon,” she corrects once again because she can’t help herself.

Whirlpool rolls her eyes. An action Pippa is becoming very familiar with. “I don’t care for your silly hero moniker.”

“I know. I don’t care for yours either. Should I call you Swirly?” Pippa teases. Whirlpool scrowls, eyes narrow at her. “Fine, Beacon. You win.”

Maybe they can get along. Pippa just needs to speak Whirlpool’s language. Insults and sarcasm.

They both turn back to the task at hand.

“How is this going to go down?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You don’t answer enough of them.”

After a beat where they have a small standoff, Whirlpool sighs and begins, “I’m going to burst into her evil lair. I’ll distract her. Maybe with words, maybe with fighting. Whatever my mother decides she’s in the mood for. I have to play into her hand.”

“As you are doing that, I sneak around you and free Cotton,” Pippa finishes for her though Whirlpool doesn’t appear to appreciate that.

“Yes and no. You need to get behind her and dry the air with you light and heat powers. Hit her with all you have if that’s what it takes.” While Pippa understands that they need to disable Flood’s source of power, she’s a bit hesitant to go all scorched earth on her.

“Um…how much is too much?” Light powers are seemingly harmless, but when you get a blast of concentrated light, there’s heat. And Beacon can generate a lot of heat.

Whirlpool shakes her head, her spindly hair dangling into her face. “She can take it. I promise you that. You won’t permanently hurt her. And if you do, that won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

If Flood wasn’t the most dangerous villain that Pippa has ever witnessed, she would object that no one deserves to be really hurt. But she took Cotton and she needs to be stopped.

“You ready to get back my brother, Beacon?”

“Whenever you are.”

OoOoO

“Oh Mother! I know you’re in here!” Whirlpool yells, making small tornadoes of water stay at both sides of her. “I think you have something that isn’t yours.”

Pippa’s foot nervously taps on the ground as she waits outside the entrance until she’s sure Whirlpool has Flood’s attention. It’s not normal for her to have to rely on someone else. Beacon is a hero, but a solo hero with occasional allies.

“Darling. How wonderful for you to join us. Now it is a proper family reunion,” a smooth, deep voice echoes in the cave. It oozes confidence and power. From voice alone, she reminds Pippa of the Evil Queen from Snow White. Intimidating, and she hasn’t even seen her yet.

“Where is Water Craze?” Whirlpool gets straight to the point in a tone so flippant, Pippa would feel bad for Flood if she wasn’t…..you know, Flood. She wonders what it was like growing up around a supervillain.

She always thought even villains love their kids. But maybe not all of them.

“So you care of about your brother all of a sudden?” Flood taunts.

“More than you. I can see him. Just give him to me and you don’t have to see me again.”

Pippa knows that the part about being able to visualize Cotton is directed to herself. She’s telling Pippa that Cotton is near. Close enough for her to get to.

Flood must say something quietly or make a gesture that annoys Whirlpool because she scoffs.

“I don’t think I will,” Flood insists.

Why can’t anything be easy?

A whip of water hits the walls, the sound bouncing off the sides that Pippa can clearly hear it. They both are revving up their abilities.

“Well if that’s how it is, then I guess I’ll have to get him myself,” Whirlpool says.

Pippa peeks her head just barely around the wall to see.

Whirlpool is on a ginormous, powerful whirlpool, water whips in both hands. Flood is a bit obscured from Pippa’s view but from what she can see, she is in a fury of tiny razors of ice and blocks of water. This won’t be fun.

If this is her not even at full capacity, she shudders to think of her at 100%.

With both of them focused on one another, Pippa slips in. She has to power down completely as to not draw attention. Creeping further along the side, her heart pounds as she cringes at any noise her shoes make.

Whirlpool and Flood are throwing various forms of water at one another. Whirlpool is just encased in water and frozen. But the ice shakes and she breaks through, evidently that’s happened to her before. In turn, she tries to strike her with her whips but the moment that they get close to Flood, the water loses it’s form. Flood is too strong.

Pippa sees Cotton now. He isn’t even tied, just controlled from the water in his body.

She’s close enough now. Using her power, she begins to heat up the room, drying it gradually, hoping that Flood doesn’t notice.

It is a brutal battle of sheer strength and strategy between the mother and daughter. Even with Pippa drying the air, Flood still manages to immobilize Whirlpool, taking control of the water in her body just like she did Cotton. She probably could have done that earlier but sounds like someone who likes to play with their food before taking a bite.

“Is that all you got, Brooke?” Flood says with glee dripping from her tone. Pippa couldn’t even relish in finding out Whirlpool’s name since Flood’s victorious, toothy smile had Pippa shuddering.

Whirlpool isn’t phased by being caught. Matching her mother’s expression, she announces, “Actually, I have my ace.”

Pippa guesses that her signal. With that, she concentrates all the light into her palms, feeling the heat. It’s not Pippa in this moment. She’s Beacon.

Beacon shoots out her hands and a ball of pure light hurdles towards Flood.

With her back to her, the water villain attempts to block it with a wall of water, but her small sun ball burns right through it, steaming up the space. Her blast hits Flood hard, causing her to fall to the ground, writhing in pain from the heat. Burns cover her body, skin sizzling from the attack.

It honestly feels like a desert in the cave. With how much energy she is expelling, her veins could have been filled with lava and she would believe it.

Whirlpool—Brooke and Cotton, having been released from their mother’s hold, both relax, now their bodies are back under their own control. “Tink, we’ve got to go,” Cotton says, voice hoarse. He grabs her hand and tugs her towards the opening of the cave.

Brooke stays rooted in place, glaring at Flood who is still on the ground. “Come on, Brooke, we need to go before she’s back to strength,” Cotton insists.

He’s in pain. Pippa can see him clenching his jaw and his grip on her hand is too tight. He needs a hospital.

Brooke’s gaze lingers on their mother, the burns already healing.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she finally agrees.

As they leave, Flood lets out a laugh. Not one that is joyous but of the maniacal kind. “You’ll come crawling back when the hero’s life isn’t what it’s cut out to be. A villain may not be as glamorous, but we at least have the guts to do what needs to be done.”

Her words echo in Beacon’s mind even after they can’t hear her laugh anymore.

—— (I didn’t edit this so I hope there’s no too many grammatical errors.)

I grit my teeth at the manager.

“Are you serious? I have to work night shift with them?” I complain, a trace of disgust strong in my tone. “They’re both late!”

She nods her head slowly. “You are aware that their dad owns this restaurant, right?” Mrs. Kindles comments, her tone dry and unoriginal. “Just try to get along with them. If we get any reports, you three will end up without jobs.”

Before I can stop myself, I roll my eyes.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”

I smirk. “Whoops.”

“I can fire you on the spot.”

A voice breaks out from behind us. “You won’t, though, will you, Mrs. K?”

I swivel on the balls of my feet. It’s Runne.

He’s leaning against the counter, in a tank top, his completely tattooed arm placed on the top of it.

What kind of forearms are those? How can someone look so attractive—

Mrs. Kindles turns to look at him, adjusting her glasses with a grimace. “Mr. Runne,” she acknowledges, “why is it your business if I were to fire her? You hate each other anyway; it would put you out of your misery.”

Runne throws me a look I can’t decipher, with his eyes darker than usual and his mouth tilted in that smirk. “I wouldn’t call it misery,” he replies, pushing off the counter towards me. All with maintaining eye contact. “More like… a breath of fresh air or an anger diffuser.”

He’s about two feet away from me now, leaning down slowly to grab his suit from the uniform cabinet beside him.

“And it helps that she’s all dressed up. She looks very cute when she’s angry, but she looks beautiful in her uniform, while she’s angry.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I glance back at Mrs. Kindles.

She’s speechless, and I must say, I am too.

——————

It’s 2 A.M.

Lucas arrived a while ago, and the shift was finally coming to an end.

I wave goodbye to the customers, nearly bumping into the closest table. I begin to gather all of the dishes, grabbing a napkin as well to wipe the bit of sweat off of my face. Lucas walks out of the kitchen, a towel over his shoulder.

“Runne’s cleaning the kitchen, so I thought I could help out here,” he explains, immediately joining my espionage of cleaning the tables, “he’s not much of a talker. You are way more fun to talk to.”

I laugh a bit, but I don’t really reply. My mind still races back to the incident at the start of the shift.

Did he mean to call me, his enemy, cute and beautiful?

I keep replaying the scene.

It takes me a second to realize I stopped moving, and Lucas has now cleared off all of the tables.

“You good, G?”

Lucas wouldn’t tell anybody, would he?

“Will you tell anyone if I tell you something your brother told me?”

He catches my eyes. “Why would I?”

“‘Cause you two are the most popular guys in school.”

Lucas rolls his eyes playfully, walking over to the trash cans. With his back towards me, he continues the conversation.

“But I’m smart. I won’t tell secrets, especially if they have to do with my brother.”

He turns back to me and leans back on the counter. His eyes share a sense of comfort as I begin to explain.

“You remember last year when I had a crush on Runne? I think it’s back,” I tell him, throwing my head into my hands at the stupid thought. I then proceed to share all of the details of the incident from earlier. “Am I stupid?”

It’s not Lucas who answers the question.

“If anyone, I would be the stupid one.”

I close my eyes to the voice and bite my tongue out of frustration.

Did Runne hear all of that?

I realize, too slowly, his presence behind me. His frame is nearly ghosting me as if he’s afraid to move any closer.

“Giselle, would it bother you if I hugged you right now?”

“I never pegged you for a guy who would ask permission for a _hug,” _I tease, just as his arms wrap around my middle and pull me a small distance backwards. He buries his face in my shoulder.

I never thought he’d like me back.

Is he playing me?

“I don’t want to do something you don’t want as well.”

My heart warms at that, and I relax into the strange hug.

Suddenly, I remember Lucas is in the room, but as I glance to him, he winks just before disappearing into the kitchen.

I still have a question on my mind, but I want to mess with him a bit before asking it.

“I thought you were a bad boy?”

Runne hugs me a little tighter. “I still am, but I guess I fell for the good girl and got a little soft.”

“Okay, when did you fall for me?”

“The moment you poured honey over my head.”

“That was two years ago.”

“Yep.”

His voice melodically hums in my ear, and I’m surprised the sound isn’t lost in the cloth of my suit jacket.

Runne’s liked me for that long?

“Why didn’t you stop liking me?”

“Who could ever stop liking you?”

I laugh at his cheesiness, but I swiftly turn in his arms. My gaze immediately jumps up to his face as I smile a little too bright at him.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you’re so cute.”

I shrug a little before wrapping my arms around him in a normal-ish hug.

“You’re still cheesy, Runne.”

He simply shrugs.

Character 1: Ethan Harper
Ethan Harper, a seasoned outdoorsman in his mid-thirties, is tall with a rugged build, the type that speaks of years spent in nature. His dark hair is flecked with early strands of gray, and his beard is just long enough to make him look slightly intimidating but approachable. Ethan’s calm, stoic demeanor masks a deep understanding of the wilderness, born from countless solo treks through some of the harshest terrains. He’s equipped with a sturdy backpack, a reliable compass, and a weathered map, which he trusts more than any digital device. His blue eyes are sharp, always scanning for potential dangers, but there’s a softness in them that shows he cares deeply for those he chooses to protect.

Character 2: Mia Reynolds
Mia Reynolds is in her late twenties, with a lithe frame and an infectious energy that belies her inexperience in the wild. She’s a city girl through and through, with short, curly brown hair that’s always a bit untamed and bright green eyes that seem to absorb every detail of her surroundings. Though her knowledge of survival is minimal, Mia’s resourcefulness and quick thinking have seen her through tough spots before. Dressed in hiking boots that are just broken in, jeans, and a hoodie, she carries a small backpack filled with snacks, a water bottle, and a flashlight. She’s the kind of person who laughs easily, but beneath her lively exterior lies a steely determination to prove she can handle whatever life throws at her.

Ethan and Mia had planned for a simple day hike, but as the sun dipped behind the trees, they found themselves disoriented in the thickening forest. The Whispering Woods, notorious for its labyrinthine paths and eerie silence at night, was not a place to be lost in after dark.

"Ethan, are you sure this is the right way?" Mia asked, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to keep up with him.

Ethan paused, scanning the dense foliage around them. "I think we might have taken a wrong turn an hour back," he admitted, his tone calm, though his mind was racing. "But don’t worry, we’ll find our way. We just need to stay calm and make a plan."

The temperature had begun to drop, and the last light of day was fading fast. Ethan knew that panic was their worst enemy right now. He motioned for Mia to sit with him on a fallen log. As they sat, he rummaged through his pack, pulling out a topographic map of the area and a small lantern.

"We’re here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "but the path we should’ve taken is somewhere over here. We can’t risk trying to find it in the dark. It’s safer to set up camp for the night."

Mia nodded, her earlier anxiety settling into a nervous resolve. "Okay, so what do we do?"

Ethan smiled at her willingness to learn. "First, we need to find a spot that offers some shelter. Somewhere with natural windbreaks, and off the ground if possible. We’ll also need to start a fire to keep warm and ward off any animals."

They scouted a nearby area and found a small clearing surrounded by trees, their thick branches providing cover from the wind. Using fallen leaves and branches, Ethan taught Mia how to build a makeshift shelter. He demonstrated how to start a fire with the flint from his pack, showing her the technique to create sparks. After several attempts, Mia managed to ignite a small flame, her face lighting up with pride.

"Good job," Ethan praised, adding more kindling to the growing fire. "This will keep us warm through the night."

As the fire crackled, they sat close, sharing a modest meal of granola bars and the last of Mia’s snacks. The night was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of leaves or distant call of an owl.

Ethan noticed Mia glancing nervously into the shadows beyond the firelight. "The woods can be intimidating at night, but remember, we’re prepared. As long as we stay by the fire and keep alert, we’ll be fine."

Mia nodded, drawing comfort from his words. "Thank you, Ethan. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I was out here alone."

He chuckled softly. "You’re stronger than you think, Mia. You’ve done great so far."

Hours passed, and the two took turns keeping watch. The fire burned steadily, casting dancing shadows around their little camp. Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that the woods were watching them, whispering secrets in a language she couldn’t understand. But whenever fear crept in, she looked to Ethan, whose steady presence kept her grounded.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the trees, the oppressive darkness of the forest started to lift. The world around them slowly came back to life with the songs of birds and the rustling of small animals. The fire had died down to embers, but they had made it through the night.

"We should move out while we have daylight," Ethan said, packing up their gear. "We’ll find the trail soon enough."

With the sun rising, the forest didn’t seem as menacing. They walked side by side, Ethan leading the way but frequently checking in with Mia, ensuring she was okay. The bond they had forged in the night was strong—two people from different worlds, brought together by a shared struggle.

After a couple of hours, they finally found the trail and their way back to safety. The ordeal was over, but the experience had changed them both. Mia had discovered a resilience within herself she never knew existed, and Ethan had found a companion in the wilderness—a reminder that even the most experienced adventurers can benefit from a little company.

As they emerged from the Whispering Woods, Mia turned to Ethan with a smile. "Next time, let’s bring a GPS."

Ethan laughed, a sound that echoed with relief. "Deal."

Why Russian agents who seemingly defected insisted on spending winters somewhere as cold as the country they had defected _from_was beyond Jemima. Certainly it couldn’t be from homesickness, the entire reason MI6 had had its back up was because of the clandestine visit, the Russian Oligarch had made to St. Petersburg the previous week. Why couldn’t he have spent winter in the Bahamas? It was what Mischa tried to do at least twice a year. Jemima glanced at her phone and looked at the photograph her smug godfather/handler had sent her only a short time before of himself in Trinidad. Biting back a curse, and pulling her coat tighter around herself, Jemima leaned on the doorway of the closed bakery. The small step into the doorway gave an excellent view into “The Commissary” where on one of the back tables, oligarch was eating a late dinner. She had been playing the part of somebody either awaiting a lift, or waiting for somebody only for a brief time. She had switched surveillance with the bartender coming off duty. Apparently, from her observational notes, for a multi-millionaire  the guy was a bad tipper. Go figure. “Sorry I’m late, doll,” came a loud Boston voice, breaking through her idling thoughts.  She looked slightly down the street at where a tall man in a camel coat was climbing out of a car. “Car troubles.” “I believe you,” she said, dryly. “Not sure anyone else will but I do.” The bearded man gave her a rueful smile as he began walking towards her, a Styrofoam cup in his left gloved hand. “Cappuccino, extra hot and two sugars.” “From Loretta’s?” “Where else? Best Coffee in the whole city of Boston,” he stated as she took it from him and took a sip. “Forgiven?” She let out a hiss of sheer satisfaction. “Forgiven.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek and followed by wrapping a black scarf around her neck. “Thanks. I thought you were in Istanbul?” “Would you believe I got called back?” she cocked an eyebrow at him and he chuckled. “No I wouldn’t either. Our plans were terminated early.” “Terminated?” A stiff nod . “Sorry Bishop. I knew how you wanted the Line to end, but not like this.” “Thanks.” Bishop turned and leaned on the doorway. “But it’s nice to be home too... talking of which – how come he hasn’t made you yet?” Jemima huffed and pulled the collar up of her coat again, attempting to hide herself from the cold and damp. “The man was in the business and still is. He knows somebody’s hunting him, and I have no doubt that your Langley boys are around the place too.” She shrugged. “He’s been in the game long before I was born and started around the time you were born.” “I’m only ten years older than you, Jem,” “According to Mischa he has socks as old as that,” Jemima said, raising her eyebrows. “Which raises the question how were you able to track me down?” “Somebody was honest on their ESTA... James Buchannan – with the espionage question.” He let out a chuckle at her groan. “You know us being senior agents in the crèche means very little to these agents.” “Apologise to the Langley boys for me and by the way tell them to split up when delivering Pizza? Most conspicuous,” she said, tossing the last bit of coffee back and handing him the empty Styrofoam. He huffed and threw it to one side. “Cheeky and I was right.” “I hate junior agents.” He said, deciding to put his arms around her and pull her closer. She raised an eyebrow. “What?” “You’re getting Spy-related dementia – forgetting the lessons that the crèche taught you?” she mocked. “Open spaces are the best places to meet, talking in the street is okay – and the only time you speak in a hotel room and a car and speak about a plan is for the benefit of the enemy,” he said, putting n an exaggerated accent before returning to his Bostonian. “Yes Mischa’s lesson stuck in. Hence why we are not in a nice bedroom now enjoying a glass of champagne.” “We can talk about your fantasies later,” Jemima said, firmly. “Made my other members?” “Couple kissing, the homeless man – and two old men.” “The guessing game is such fun, no wonder we keep it secret,” she said, smiling when he slid his hand around her back. “And none out eight.” “I made you?” He said, kissing her softly. “I let you.” She spotted movement and realised that the oligarch was going for the back door. “Find me later. Ciao.” He didn’t have time to speak, nor did she give him the chance to as she walked off into the drifting snow, her once British accent now turned into a pale Bostonian. It wasn’t a strange relationship, not to them at least. With Bishops secondment to CIA for training the CIA version of Crèche, the training for future MI5 & MI6 agents, this had provided an ample time to test her own junior agents on one of Mischa’s enemies. She had hoped to bump into him, purposefully doctoring her least favourite students marks jut because the man was so arrogant he deserved to be taken down a peg or two. She had the strangest feeling even without that mistake, he would’ve tracked her down. She expected him to find her soon enough, make love and then in the early morning light make plans. They never talked of the work they did in the shadows. Not the bloody assassinations or the all too brief moments – they spoke of wedding rings they couldn’t wear and what would happen when they finally got out of the game. They never talked of the work they did in the shadows, because it was all too easy in this game, for that brief candle of hope to be snuffed out and for the shadows to consume them.

emima was always lucky, Philly mused as she watches her coffee being made like some sort of tribal offering of peace. The waitress raised her brow at seeing her alone and she nodded, feeling like a Queen giving orders all with a wink and a nod. That’s what she says that’s what the world is built upon. Or people like Jemima, fantastic anecdotes for every occasion yet where she is known as a clown but strangely enough the joke killer. Philly’s head jerks up as she thinks of this and as she hears a flurry of Welsh curses as Jemima burst through the door with all the dynamism of a pigeon slamming into a . She looks around the room with that usual calm effacing look that is always at odds at her physical presence, nodding approvingly as she walks over and sees the coffee being placed into the space in front of her. “Thanks,” she says, casually throwing herself into the seat opposite and purposely bumping her short legs against Philly’s long ones. She tilts her head to one side. “No offence, and don’t take this the wrong way but that outfit makes you look like a fish.” Philly doesn’t comment, just give her a flash of a glare that she knows is worthy of her grandmother, if her grandmother really exists. She calmly assesses her. You’d never say Jemima ever had two pennies rubbing together let alone the three hundred she keeps in the heel of her normal cowboy boot. Today it’s her ‘fuck off’ boots, so there’s at least five hundred crisp notes underneath her socks and on the sole. “Still got those boots?” Philly asks, smiling at Jemima’s incredulous but offended cough before she takes a sip. “Told you before, they’re my end of the world shoes. I’m Armageddon ready,” she looks around the cafe with an affected calmness. Philly know she’s building up for her next question and knows its coming fast. “Are you-” “Going to the States?” Philly finishes, and smile at her guilty if nervous smile. “Yes. At least when the investigation is over.” “Until then you don’t move.” Jemima stood abruptly and clickedher fingers at the woman. “Two coffees to go.” When Philly cocked an eyebrow at the rudeness, Jemima returned the lookbefore addressing the waitress. “Please.” The waitress carefully placed the polythene cup down for Philly and then slams the cup down for Jemima who flashed a condescending and ingratiating grin. The two walked together out into the cold, sipping their coffee and not speaking until they are in a particularly loud area that their voices become meshed.   “Bishop is pissed.” Jemima never minces her words and isn’t likely to now. “You got too close, didn’t report in time and you are very luck that Special Branch still needs your assets or I think we’d have a bag assassination again.” “I thought our business was MI5?” Philly says attempting humour and despite the wry smile shot in her direction she knows that there is very little to laugh at. “Bollocks to the name, Philly,” says Jemima, her cold efficiency shining through as she lightly dodges a young man with a polite nod. “If you thought we were in this job for Queen and country, let alone patriotism and loyalty, then you’re not only naive but incredibly stupid. We’re all different factions of a Civil Servant Assassination Squad.” “When should I come in?” “Once the enquiry is done with and when I need you,” she says with a finality and coldness. “But I’ll be vilified for the press.” “I told you once when I hired you; it’s not a James Bond movie. You get fucked. Fucked by me, fucked by Bishop, fucked by the government and Queen you serve.” The woman continues to walk this time the wry smile, positively primal and predatory. “Bet your arse hurts tight now... oh and Bishop told me that you’re not to kill yourself. We need you so we can fuck you over again.” “Sure thing, Duck...” Philly closes her eyes as they step into a quieter area, now the code name is used and the mission over. “You fucking bitch.” “Now you get the idea... but you can make a suicide attempt in a few months... pass it on.”

“Don't look now-” He whispers, putting his hand on my shoulder and his mouth up to my ear. “But they're right behind you.” I can hear the smile in his voice as I continue drawing the symbol into the sand. My hand shakes with the feeling of being watched. As long as I'm in the circle, they can't get to me. Although the knowledge should comfort me, I can't shake the pressing feeling of their venomous eyes on my back. The autumn breeze sends a shiver through me. My gown, in the process of running from the palace with the king's symbol key, got a little torn up. To put it simply. “Kennedy…” Taren bounces on his heels, “The suns almost all the way down. The circle can only hold one person for 30 minutes. 10 more to go darling.” “You're making this harder.” I shake my head. “Silly girl, that's my job!” He leans over, his head almost touching my shoulder. “I didn't survive the night this long by helping people.” His words send a chill through my body and I hear him pull out his pocket watch. “Five minutes dear.” Why does this symbol have to be so freaking detailed?! I silently curse whoever sealed the magic bonding the night to these monsters. “Taren?” I wearily ask. “Hm?” He chirps in reply. “Could you bring back the day?” I sigh, “It's been night for the last 2 months.” Taren sighs lightly, clearly putting on the act of giving a crap, “I really can't Kenny.” I hate it when he calls me Kenny. “And why is that?” He laughs, “Silly Kenny.” I feel his breath on my neck from behind me, “I've killed the sun.”

"It's time", I whisper. In front of me, he already started to change. I keep my gaze firmly trained onto his, as he grunts in pain. He begins straining against the silver chains I locked him in. They're just a precaution for the changing progress, as I know that tomorrow I'll have to go to the silversmith again. It's become a monthly meeting, and walking into that shop tomorrow morning, he will raise his hand, grunt a good morning and take the chains, not even bothering to question what happened. "Maya.", he growls. "Undo the chains." He now has a feral, wild expression stuck on his face. I refrain from rolling my eyes and answer, like always: "Will you bite me if I come close, doggy?" He has a pained grin on his face, obviously biting through his pain. "I just might.", he spits out through his teeth. "Elias, Elias.", I sigh. "It hasn't really sunken in yet, has it? If you want something from me, best asking it nicely." He shakes his head, hair flopping in his face. Chuckling, he scolds: "Manners are not something you can start teaching me, shadow girl." I raise a hand, my fingernails long and black, a complete contrast to what they looked like ten minutes before, hot pink and glossy. Looking down at my body, I scan the rags covering it, sighing in pleasure. "Refreshing. Really refreshing." No. Maya, no, not refreshing. I shake my head to clear it from the malicious thoughts and raise it again to stare Elias straight in the eyes, which are starting to become red and menacing. Now they're like that, but after the change I know they'll change back to their usual gold color. The only difference is that then he'll also be covered in fur, have a snout, walk on all fours, and have sharp claws which could kill sheep. Or pigs. Or a fellow werewolf. Or a human. And when he'll have killed that human, maybe I'll kill him, so that I can feast, after which I'll hunt down its entire family— Maya, stop. "The. Chains." The words come out strained, the last word ending in a growl. I need to undo the chains before I'm fully transformed, my will bent by the night-deity part in me. I inhale, and grab the key from around my neck, where it always rests on my collarbones. Elias' face splits in half in a ferocious half-grin, half-snarl. "There you go, witch. Finally." I grin, dangling the key in my hand. "Well, time to let the dog out, isn't it?" I jump, closing in, unlocking the chains, and jumping out of reach in one swift motion. Before he can even growl at me, I'm gone, becoming one with the shadow and hiding from his bloodthirsty, unfamiliar eyes. He howls, his whole bending and reforming, bones crunching, skin ripping. His face elongates, his fangs grow out, his ears fluff out and grow. He gets down on all fours, shaking, and slowly his fur begins to grow. I scoff, recalling the days when I would be so bothered that he was in pain, but now, I revel in his pain. I love seeing how his face contorts and his teeth grit together, hearing how his bones snap and crunch. I shudder with pleasure, and let out a cackle. As soon as the change is done, I'll go out and hunt down a tasty little human to rip apart. I thirst for their blood, long for their flesh. Oh, how very delightful it is to hear their screams of agony rippling through my veins as I tear them apart. The wolfie snarls, the last of his changes ending. Sadly, his agonies are over, which means it's time for me to go. I travel from shadow to shadow, until I reach the well-lit hall of the building. I condemn myself as I recall it was me, the other me, who installed all the lights, to prevent me from exiting this building. That door is the only way out, and currently there's a wolf pounding on it, unable to open it without thumbs. I cackle as he hilariously tries to break out that door, knowing that the other me took safety-precautions for that door too. I untangle myself from the shadow, and step out in the open for Wolfie's eyes to see. I open up my arms, and make a proposal. I'll open the door, he won't attack me, and we'll both be free. Of course I don't say that as soon as I'm out there, I'll just close the door in his face. He growls, seeing through my deception. Well, then there's always Plan B. Rip 'em apart.

—————

I groan, squinting my eyes against the bright sunlight. My limbs ache and my head hurts. Something is moving beside me. I feel a fabric gliding on my arm. I move my head, lifting one hand to shield my eyes from the sun. Elias is beside me, pulling his pants on. I chuckle. "Who undressed you, big boy?" He chuckles back, and hits me with his shirt, before pulling it on. I roll over on my side, and, eyeing me, he says, laughing: "You're not much better, Midnight Princess." I groan, already knowing what I'll see when I look in the mirror later. My hair is a bird's nest, on my face there will be smears of makeup, my eyes bloodshot and dark circles under my eyes. I sit up, noticing the ragged clothes hanging on my body. My shirt is so torn up, it doesn't provide any coverage. By some miracle, my bra is still intact. My grey sweatpants are not as messed up as my shirt, but still irreparably torn. As I look up at Elias, he shoots me an apologetic smile, shrugs and throws me a bundle of clothes. "Sorry for the clothes." I sigh deeply, rubbing my face, and lying back down. "I can't stand up like this. Won't you lie down and sleep some more?" I hold my arms up and open, inviting him to cuddle with me. He doesn't say anything, just gets down and snuggles me close to his chest. We're lying on the cold and hard floor, but I don't mind. Suddenly being what I am, is not so hard anymore, because I'm not alone. One day, we'll get the hang of it, and we'll be able to live a peaceful live, but for now, this is enough for me. "See you next month, Wolfie.", I whisper him goodbye. "Next month, Shadow Girl.", he whispers back. Even though I know she'll come back, I close my eyes, which are still locked onto his, and smile.

Elias' POV coming soon!!