The dark filtered in from outside, seeping through the windows in an inky black mess. Veronica's hands tightened around the paper coffee cup as she squinted out the windscreen—dashes of light falling from the streetlight casting everything in orange.

She sighed. Three months since the New Year started, three days since Logan was cleared of murder (again), three days of relative peace and now three hours until her history exam. Her book lay open on the passenger seat, mostly unread and obscured by darkness. The Kane scholarship was looking to be increasingly elusive—and not just because the family hated her.

A flicked of movement startled her to action, nearly dropping the long-cold coffee to reach for her camera. Some leaves rustled and a small bird flew past her car—Veronica sank back into her seat, frustration painted clearly across her face.

Stakeouts used to be a piece of cake. Grab a coffee, don something warm and lay in wait for whatever creep-of-the-week was violating pre-nup. Easy money, lots of time to study, perhaps the perfect job if you were willing to overlook the late hours and imminent danger.

Now things were beginning to seem trivial to Veronica. She knew it wasn't a good thing to get caught up in the excitement of murder and mystery—that other things shouldn't bore her quite so quickly, but she was programmed for the rush. She fed off the adrenaline like a junkie.

It was a hazard of the job. Her dad has always managed to avoid it, preferring his home life and his daughter to the seedy underbelly of Neptune at night. Veronica has thought she liked that too. To a certain extent she did, she loved her dad, her boyfriend, her friends, just not enough to keep her from the job.

For her to be perfectly honest Veronica would have to admit that Duncan was more interesting when he was suffering from mystery diseases or fathering illegitimate children by other girls.

Veronica didn't even want normal, she wanted perfect—and that only exists in retrospect.

She set the camera down on top of her unused school books, checking the rear view mirror carefully before she threw the LeBaron into gear. Thick black still clung to the road and buildings, filling out the air and making it hard to navigate. Full beams cut across the tarmac as she pulled out toward the main road—safe now from being seen.

Her cell phone chirped on the seat beside her, an unassigned tone accompanying the 'caller unknown' message displayed onscreen. Reaching over she flipped to 'call', bringing the phone up to her right ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, uh, Logan."

"Why aren't you on your phone?"

"I think I lost it somewhere between blackjack and the slot machines…"

She paused in apprehension of the answer to her next question. "Where are you?"

"Vegas, baby!"

"Are you drunk?"

"It's Vegas," was the only response he seemed willing to offer.

"You just got cleared, Logan!"

"So, I'm celebrating."

She was losing patience. "And you called because?"

"I may have also lost my wallet and/or my keys."

"What the hell, Logan?" she fumed, exasperated. "Have you cancelled your cards?"

"Also, the number to call may have been burned down inside my house."

"I'm almost home; I'll do it for you. Just don't complain when you can't access your accounts, okay?"

"I'm still in Vegas," he prompted.

"Stay there, I'll pick you up tomorrow after history."

"That's like third period!" he protested.

"Fourth and I have a test so it's that or nothing."

"I'll take it. But you'd better at least talk to me on the ride home."

"I'm talking to you now."

"On the phone, doesn't count."

"I'll talk. I'll also be driving though since you're not on my insurance."

"Fine."

"Call me tomorrow with the details."

"Hey, Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Veronica shook her head, a ghost of a smile passing over her lips as she turned another sharp corner and snapped the phone shut. Throwing it back to the seat beside her she looked out at the road once more. The darkness was beginning to shrink and melt away as she headed into a more residential area, driving through the community gates of her apartment complex.

Fumbling with her keys, Veronica was startled as the door pulled away from her.

"Evening, sweetheart." Keith stood in the doorway, arm stretched across the back of the door.

"Dad. Nice lurking, you want to give me a heart attack? You know we can't afford those medical bills."

"Just making sure my favorite daughter got home safe and well."

"Well, that's sweet… and nosy of you."

She moved through to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and running it under the sink. She looked up as icy water steadily filled the glass. "I'm going to Vegas tomorrow. Logan's stranded himself."

"You know, Veronica, you're eighteen and I can't stop you. But remember this—I have a lot of friends in Vegas."

"Yeah, yeah, friends who'll be more than happy to hunt down Logan for you if I so much as step inside his hotel room. I told you before, dad, we're not dating."

"Secretly?"

"As far as I'm aware I'm not dating him in any capacity."

"Okay, but if you are—"

"Then I would tell you. Eventually. After I'd disposed of the guns."

"Veronica—"

"'Night, dad."

"Don't skip any school for that boy," he called after her as Veronica headed down the corridor toward her room.

"' Night, dad."

"Goodnight, honey."

Veronica padded into the familiar quiet of her room, slipping into pajamas quickly before she let herself fall into bed.

On silent her cell phone blinked with another call from Logan. A letter from Duncan sat opened and read on her desk, a picture of his daughter inside. Her inbox was full of saved messages from Wallace.

Veronica, like any girl, wanted perfect—but she was coming to terms with normal.

"Veronica, I just wanted to—I just—I don't—"

"Dear, Veronica, hope everything is going well, me and the family—"

"Hey, Superfly, I know it's been awhile—"