I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
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Chapter One: Kate
Kate McConnell stepped out of the elevator, right at Miho's heels. The other woman was talking quietly about the hunt that they had just completed, but Kate didn't hear much of it. She was feeling distracted, and... pleasantly elated. She always felt this way after a successful hunt, although she had long ago begun to suspect that it had more to do with the thrill of using her Craft than it did with the adrenaline rush that came during a dangerous hunt, or the satisfaction of a job well done.
The last member of their little group exited the elevator behind her, allowing for a good deal of distance between himself and the chattering women. Distance was something that Amon seemed to prize, and it was something that Kate was more that willing to give him.
She couldn't say that she disliked the other Hunter. Disliking him would imply a level of knowledge about Amon which she simply didn't possess. But there was certainly no great affection between them, and neither of them seemed particularly interested in remedying that. Ever since she had been transferred to the STN-J, they had avoided each other, interacting only as much as was required to accomplish the job at hand. Avoiding a person in a place the size of Raven's Flat was not an easy feat, but somehow they managed. She couldn't quite put her finger on why this was... Perhaps it was simply the fact that their personalities clashed. No one could claim that calm, aloof Amon and brash, passionate Kate were anything alike.
If she was honest with herself, there was another reason why she had never attempted to close the gap between herself and Amon.
He frightened her.
Now more than ever.
She brushed that last thought aside, along with the thrill of fear that accompanied it. There was no rational reason to be frightened of Amon. No one knew. No one had noticed how she was slowly having more and more trouble keeping her powers under control.
No one would ever find out, not if she had anything to say about it.
Kate smiled at Miho, then moved across to her room to her desk, which was covered in an avalanche of files, empty and half-empty cups of tea, and balled up papers. Compared to the clinical neatness of the rest of the STN-J, it looked distinctly out of place, and she felt a moment's nostalgia for the cheerful clutter of the STN-A, where the desks were made of wood and the office was never quiet. Now that Karasuma had stopped talking, the only noise was the sound of Michael tapping away on his keyboard; Haruto was out with a head-injury from a hunt the previous week, and Doujima was off doing... whatever it was that Doujima did while she was supposed to be in the office, working. The administrative staff was also conspicuously absent, although there was a light glowing from above, so Zaizen at least was present. She wondered if he ever left. If he, like Michael, spent the precious few hours when the rest of them went home to sleep and eat cooped up inside Raven's Flat, albeit for a completely different reason than the hacker.
It was an unnerving thought, about an unnerving man. Then again, 'unnerving' was a word which could be applied to more than one member of the Japan branch.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn't hear it when someone came quietly up behind her.
"Kate."
A startled shriek escaped her lips.
Two of the teacups on her desk shattered.
Slowly, she turned to face Miho, who was still standing a few inches behind her, whatever she had intended to say frozen on her lips. The other woman's eyes were dark and uncomprehending, as if she couldn't quite grasp the implications of what had just happened.
She glanced at Kate's desk, where the tepid remains of that morning's tea were soaking into what was undoubtedly an important file.
"I'll get a paper towel," the psychic said, and although her voice was even, Kate couldn't help but notice that her cheeks were paler than usual.
Michael hadn't even paused in his rhythmic typing; whatever music he was playing on his headphones seemed to be turned up loudly enough that he hadn't heard the commotion. Almost against her will, Kate's gaze drifted past him, to where Amon had been lounging behind his own desk, preparing to fill out a report on the afternoon's hunt.
Pale blue eyes met with shadowy gray, and once again she felt that little curl of terror in the pit of her stomach. Only now, the fear seemed completely rational. For just a moment, she had caught a glimpse of what lay beyond the careful mask that Amon used to hide what he was thinking and feeling, had looked past those tinted eyes into the mind of the man. She did not see the same confusion that Miho had displayed, nor had she found the kind of dawning realization that she had expected. Instead, there was a sort of resigned knowing, like he had confirmed some long-held suspicion of his, and a growing resolve, as though some sort of decision had been reached in the brief seconds that had passed since the incident.
She had a feeling that she knew exactly what that decision was.
Amon would hunt her. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. A time would come when SOLOMON would not hesitate to offer its approval, and Amon would hunt her, and he would kill her, and she would be unable to do anything stop him.
Fear crystallized, twisted, and turned into something else entirely.
For the first time in her young life, Kate McConnell hated.
On the other side of the room, a crack appeared in one of the windows, spreading outwards slowly and silently as though someone had slammed an invisible fist into the thick glass. This time, no one noticed.