I own nothing, just the feels...

She never saw it coming, looking as closely as she was at whether or not she was followed. It was stupid, and she should have heeded Daniel's constant warnings. Look further, at the entirety, not the details.

Henley Reeves was on her way back to her hotel room after the second performance, weaving her way though the foot traffic in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans. It was very easy to blend in, but with so many practiced eyes now following the Horsemen's work, she had to further the camouflage. With a bright teal scarf covering most of her trademark red locks, she hurried down Bourbon Street to the Royal Sonesta Hotel, where the Horsemen had booked rooms, heels clicking on the worn pavement, slick from some evening rainfall.

That may have been why she didn't hear any approach, loud as her own steps were on the wet sidewalk; or perhaps it was the bubble trick's finale clouding her thoughts; or the fumbling in her small clutch for her room key that distracted her sufficiently.

When Henley's gaze rose from fumbling in the cramped evening accessory, key trapped in a triumphant grip, she was startled to be face to face with Thaddeus Bradley. She smoothed her expression instantly, adopting an air of cool disdain. "Can I help you, Mr. Bradley? Maybe I could show you where on my person I've stashed the stick I'd like to shove up your-"

Her words were cut off as a large hand slapped across her mouth, and a burly arm bodily lifted her from behind, clamping across her slim waist so tightly she could barely breathe.

"No, Miss Reeves, the only conjuring trick I'd like to see from you right now is your employer's name, appearing written nice and clearly on this notepad," Bradley intoned quietly, raising the aforementioned tool and an expensive-looking pen. Henley struggled in the grip of the behemoth who had her still off the ground, apparently without much effort; her weight loss had apparently had a few unfortunate effects too, it seemed. Her captor didn't so much as twitch, instead tightening his already-crushing grip, eliciting a muffled squeal from her.

She could vanish from a fish tank wherein she was chained thoroughly, float across a performance hall in a bubble, but Henley Reeves couldn't escape these confines.

Thaddeus Bradley's brow quirked up in annoyance. "If you're quite finished with your futile attempts to escape my friend's friendly embrace, I'd like a name, Miss Reeves. This need go no further." At her glare and silence, he sighed, putting away the notebook and pen, and retrieving something Henley couldn't make out in the dark alleyway. Why was there never any passerby in proximity when you needed one?

Bradley handed the object to her captor, who released the vice grip around her waist, only to bring the thing, which turned out to be a chloroform-soaked rag, to her face. She held her breath as long as she could, straining away from the cloth that would render her helpless, praying Daniel would notice her lateness and come trace her steps.

It didn't happen, and as she tearfully inhaled the sickly-sweet chemical, darkness took her, ending her struggles. The man holding Henley tossed the rag to the ground, and pulled the scarf from her hair, doing the same, so interested parties would know that she was definitely compromised. With a muted grunt, Bradley motioned to the man to follow him, and so he easily hefted the diminutive girl's frame, accompanying Thaddeus to the back of a dark SUV, swinging her into the back seat.

"That was easy," he ground out, and Bradley nodded, smiling. "We'll see how they like vanishing tricks after this."

Daniel glanced at the wall clock for the fourth time in ten minutes, blinking with vision clouded by at least three iced portions of whiskey. He wasn't much of a liquor fan, but the Horsemen's devoted audience liked to send them gifts, and what better gift to partake of than the namesake of the street they were on?

He tossed back the rest of his current glass, frowning as he glanced out the window again. Henley had promised to meet him to talk tonight, in his room which neighbored hers. She hadn't even come back to her own all evening, and it was uncharacteristic. Maybe he was just on edge, with the limelight focused squarely on their small group as it was these days. But what if something had happened? They had some psycho fans, after all, and Henley was so small…

The ringing of Daniel's phone distracted him from his anxious thoughts, and he stumbled to the device at once, disappointed at the name Merritt on the screen instead of Henley. Swiping a clumsy finger across the screen, he raised it to his ear. "What?"

"Hey, you seen the little girl yet? Room service is banging on my door over here, saying she called ahead an hour ago saying that she'd be here within five minutes, but she hasn't answered her door or her phone…I'd kinda like to get some sleep, you know, being an amazing mentalist is ninety percent beauty sleep…" His teammate's news had Daniel even more anxious.

"Just hand them a fifty and pull whatever it is into your room," he muttered distractedly, "I'll try and find her." He hung up before Merritt's indignant tone had formed more than one syllable, running a hand through his hair and shoving the phone to his ear again as he crossed to the door. Pressing another key, he waited impatiently as the other end of the line rang and rang, finally ceasing as Henley's chipper tones greeted the caller. "Sorry I can't get to the phone right now, I'll get back to you!"

He shoved the device back in his pocket in frustration, flinging the door to his room open and slamming it with as much fervor. Summoning mental clarity with all the might he could muster, Danny rushed to the elevator, pushing the lobby button over and over until it protested with a loud beep.

Once in the lobby, he rushed outside, trying to think where she could have gone. They were all to answer their phones at any cost, at any time, as it was so critical they stay in touch and keep astride of any developments. All he was met with was a dark, damp road, peppered with drunk tourists and pimps brandishing business cards. He started down the sidewalk in the direction of the Savoy, hoping to run into her. Maybe her phone had just died.

Still trying to shake off the effects of the whiskey, Daniel lowered his gaze to the pavement as he walked, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to concentrate. Suddenly, he caught sight of a bright strip of material, standing stark against the murk of an alleyway looming out of the darkness on his right.

It was a scarf he'd bought Henley, joking that her hair was a dead giveaway and a liability when they had a getaway in progress, and she'd laughed, pulling it out of its bag and wrapping it around her shiny red locks straightaway to see how it looked.

He'd seen her shove it in a pocket of her trenchcoat this evening, in preparation for the post-show scatter they always employed. But as he raised it to his eyes now, he caught a strange scent on it, and quickly whipped it away from his face. It was a scent he recognized from the days where he had used more animal participants; sometimes they needed to be tranquilized to stay quiet enough during the execution of a trick, and so he had adopted chloroform in low doses as a tool.

"Henley?" His voice was far too high and frantic-sounding for his own liking, and he swallowed thickly, turning in a circle in the alleyway. His foot hit something else, and he looked down, pulling his phone out and hitting a button to illuminate the area dimly. It was a rag, apparently wet with some substance…

Danny gingerly leaned close enough to ascertain with dismay that it was the same chemical, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself before putting a three-way call on the line, to Merritt and Jack. "Guys? Henley's…been taken, I think." He tried to hide the shaking in his voice, tried to act as though it were any of his other partners who was missing, not the one he was most emotionally invested in. "We're down to three horsemen."

Here's to keeping up momentum! Cheers! ~Bon