He looks haggard when her eyes find him. His hair, as usual, is mussed lopsided toward one side of his head, but even it looks dejected and tired. His shoulders are slumped. When she sits down in front of him at one of the many round tables that fill the room, she notices how pale he is in the fluorescent light, how the dark circles around his eyes are darker, the shadows in them deeper, bags under them puffier, the green of his irises dull. His jaw is tense, and it has a bruise. On the table, his hands are clenched into tight fists. She can see that the knuckles on his right hand are split and that there are bruises on his wrists. His gray shirt has the buttons in the wrong holes, making him look even more lopsided and tired. She wishes she could touch him, but the guard will kick her out. If she could, she would hug him and tell him that everything is going to be okay, that it's almost over, that he can get out of here soon. Who cares if their parents hate him? She is his sister, and she will not let him rot in here alone.

"Hey Bee," he mumbles.

"Caleb—what happened to you?"

"Rough night," he says shortly, and she knows the discussion is over.

"Hang in there," she begs, tears clogging her voice. "Please, hang in there. It's three more months, okay? And then the parole hearing will be up, and then you can get out of here."

He snorts. "They won't let me out of here."

"Caleb..."

"Don't. Even mom and dad gave up on me... I don't know why you haven't yet."

"Because you're my brother, Caleb. I can't say I'm not angry, but I love you. I know you can make it through this."

His entire body sags. "I... can't anymore," he whispers. "I let everyone down. I let you down. This place is... hell. I'm not going to make it here."

"Caleb—"

"I'm done," he says, and the words are so loaded with defeat that the weight of them feels like a hundred tons of cement on her chest.

"Don't say that," she mumbles, tears spilling on to her left cheek.

Caleb reaches out as if to catch them, but then remembers that he isn't supposed to have contact. His hand drops between them, heavy and defeated like the rest of him. He sighs. "I don't know if I have anything left to fight with," he tells her.

"Dammit, Caleb!" she slams her hand down on the table, causing half the room to jump. "Listen to me," she growls. "If there's anything I know about you, and how you ended up in here to begin with, its that you don't quit. So don't do it now, do you here me? I need you, and you will walk out of here, or so help me, I'll kill you myself, and it will hurt the entire time you're dying!"

Across the room, a small smirk plays at the corner of a man's lips. He is wearing a dark gray prison uniform as well, but she can see that his left arm is covered in tattoos. His eyebrow is quirked as he watches her outburst. He isn't sitting at a table with a visitor, though. He is standing near the door... his visitor must have left already. The thing that strikes her the most is his eyes. They are haunted and dark, a strange color of blue that she has never seen before. He makes her tremble, but she isn't sure why.

Caleb follows her blank stare across the room and visibly shudders. "Why are you staring at him?!" he hisses. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Who is that?" she mumbles back, tearing her gaze away from the man by the door and focusing on her brother.

"They call him Four—that's like, his gang name or something. He's in for some pretty heavy charges, but nobody messes with him. He practically runs this place—even the guards stay out of his way."

"Well, he is sort of scary," she says, still shaken by the surge of things that coursed through her body that she couldn't name.

"And you don't even live here," Caleb says with a snort. "Just do me a favor and quit staring at him so I don't die tonight."

"Right," she mutters. "Sorry." She sighs. "Caleb... what can I do?"

"What can you do?" He scoffs. "There's nothing you can do."

"I can call Christina—maybe she can get you help somehow."

"I don't need her help," he snaps. "Christina is a lawyer, she'll make money whether or not I'm in here, what does she care?"

"Christina is your lawyer, and I'm paying her to care. Besides, she is a friend to us, and she will do the best she can."

"Fine," he mumbles.

"Okay. I will do that then."

"Thank you, Bee. I love you."

"I love you too," she says. "I wish I could hug you."

He just stands, making his way back to the prisoner entrance where the man, Four, stands. Four doesn't look at him or even acknowledge him, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She stands and goes back to the guard to collect her things.


That kid, Prior, never speaks at all. He just sits, trying to be invisible, but all he achieves is being visible to all the wrong people. He'd wondered if he should put his foot down, but ended up not interfering. But that girl that went to see him today, that girl made things happen inside him that he didn't want to think about. All he knows is that if her... somebody... died in prison, it would destroy her. So now, he is putting his foot down.

Prior sits alone with his tray, picking at the disgusting food with little interest, at a table in the corner of the cafeteria. He stands and takes his tray. Immediately, Gabe, Cruz, and Rock stand with him. "Where we headed, Four?"

"Over there," he says flatly, with authority. He doesn't want them always questioning him. He can sit wherever the fuck he wants, and they can come, or they can stay. He sets his tray down next to Prior and sits, resuming the conversation he was having with Cruz as if nothing had happened. The tables around them are quiet, and Prior stares in disbelief.

"W-what...?"

"Shut up, kid," Four mumbles. "When something good happens to you, you don't ask questions. Just go with it."

Prior's eyes are still wide, but he is silent after that. A fast learner.

"I'm Four," he says, louder. "This is Cruz, Rock, and Gabe."

"Uh—hi. Caleb," he mumbles, pointing at himself. He isn't really processing that he's with these people, and they aren't trying to beat him or stab him... or worse.

"You're sorta quiet, ain'tcha?" Rock says, sort of amused. "We don't bite, you know... most of the time, anyway." At this, Cruz snorts and three pairs of eyes turn to Gabe, who glares at his tray. "That fucker asked for it," he mutters, stabbing at the slop with his fork.

They all laugh, and Caleb watches them curiously. It's almost as if they were trying to be his friends. He never had those, except for Bee, who always stayed close to his side, even when they were little.

When they were little, he was sort of bossy and insufferable, he knew that. In kindergarten, the teacher told his parents that he was mean to the other kids, calling them stupid because they didn't know things he felt were obvious. He skipped two grades after that, and was found to have very high IQ. That was when he started messing with computers. He loved to see what makes them work, to watch videos about writing new programs with this technology or that one. They captured his imagination like nothing else in the world. By the time he was nineteen, he was hacking into government mainframes blindfolded and with one hand. Bee begged him to stop, but he didn't. Why would he? It was his favorite thing, the one thing that made him feel alive.

His parents took his computer away once, the first time they caught him hacking into porn sites—they gave it back after a couple of months, but he was unfazed by the display of parental authority. His parents were never home, anyway. His mother, Natalie, was a social worker—dealing with vocational rehabilitation for homeless people—and always away at conferences and meetings. His father worked for some politician that was definitely going to get elected this year, he just knew it, so he had to travel and make sure they were on that gravy train when it arrived. Nobody cared about him and Bee. They were left to fend for themselves. He wanted them to see that he was going to make their life better with his new talents. He was determined for everyone to see. But especially her, because she mattered more to him than anybody.

He started hacking into financial institutions, and even regular businesses, and doing some creative accounting. With the new found flow of cash, he bought her everything she wanted: a spring break trip with her friends to Cancun (and not some shitty part where the Mexicans would kidnap American girls for kicks either, but a legitimately secure resort), a dress for her first party at college, new jewelry, and all her books for her classes. When she graduated, he bought her a new car—a Mustang with a glass roof and customized blue-gray paint that matched the color in her eyes. She'd stared at him with tears in her eyes, and he hugged her so hard she coughed a little bit. He was so proud of her.

Now she worked as a graphic design artist in some huge marketing firm, their name buying a lot of her prestige there. Beatrice Allison Prior. Daughter of Andrew Prior, the local rising star in politics.

Caleb Anthony Prior. The grand larceny and fraud convict, sentenced to twenty years in prison. If they knew everything that came with her name, she would lose everything she worked so hard for.

Bee. He wanted to cry with the ache that grew in him. God, he missed his sister.

"Hey man, look alive," Four snaps, right in his ear. "You've got a target on your back this big, and I don't like looking out for people that can't look out for themselves. They slow me down."

"Is that what you're doing? Looking out for me?"

"I am now."

"Why?" he asks, bewildered.

"Because I feel like it," he snaps. "What did I say about asking so many fucking questions?"

"I... sorry."

Four shrugs, then gives him a contemplative look. "You thinking about that girl that came to see you today?"

He stiffens. "If you think you can buddy up with me so you can get at my sister, you have another think coming," he snaps. "I don't care what you or any of your loser friends do to me, or anybody else."

"Relax, man," Rock says. "If Four wants to get at your sister or any other girl, he wouldn't be asking you about it."

"Fair enough," Caleb mumbles. "You still can't get at my sister."

Four raises an eyebrow. "Can't I?"

He gulps. "No," he says, his breath shaking.

"Fair enough," Four says, and to his relief, changes the topic.

Dinner ends, and they are all escorted to their cells.


"I'm telling you, Chris. He's not okay. Something happened to him in there. Oh God, do you think they..."

"They what?"

"You watch enough TV to know what I'm asking," she snaps.

"It's a possibility. I honestly don't know. I will get in to see him this week, I promise, okay? Let me get some things cleared out of my schedule—how about lunch Thursday? After that I will go visit him. I have court in the morning, but not the afternoon. I can cancel some meetings and shift some things around."

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Hey, don't worry, okay? If something is going on, I will get to the bottom of it. Hang in there, Tris."

"Thanks again," she whispers, hanging up. She puts her head in her hands, her fingers sinking into her hair. She grips it, tugging at it sharply as a harsh groan escapes her lips. She doesn't register how much time passes with her crying at her desk, but someone squats in front of her eventually, a cup in her hands.

"Tea," she says gently, pressing the paper cup into her hands. "Why don't you go home?"

It's her friend and boss, Tori Wu. She's a brilliant businesswoman and artist, and didn't judge her or her family when she finally broke down and told about her brother, the first class jerk that she loves so damn much. "Thanks," she sniffs.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head, sipping her tea. She wants to take a deep breath, but it escapes in a sob instead. "He's dying in there," she says. "I can feel it. I saw him yesterday and he looked... I don't want to lose my brother," she whimpers.

"Oh honey," Tori says, rubbing her back. "Look... go home, draw yourself a bath, read a book, uncork some wine, and clear your mind. I need your head in the game for this project, okay?"

She nods. "You're right. I'm not getting much done here, am I?"

"You've never been this upset after seeing him."

"He's never been so... defeated."

"Take a break, okay? Come back when you're ready to hit the ground running."

She nods and gathers her things. Tori reaches into her incredibly large bag and hands her a facial wipe and a mirror, and she cringes when she sees her reflection. She cleans the makeup from her face, and then Tori hand her one of those de-puffing wipes. It feels good on her face, and she sighs.

"That sounds like you need a spa day, too."

"Maybe Christina will want to come," she says dejectedly. She won't argue her way out of this, so there is no point in trying.

"Good idea. You can talk to her about it, and she'll handle it, and then you won't have to worry about it. Now scram."

"Okay, okay," she says, a small smile on her face. "Thank you."

"Hang in there, sweetie."


She named the damned thing after him. They only let her keep it because she promised to give back everything else—all the jewelry, money spent on trips... and because she promised to pay back the full value of the car. Her mother helped pay most of it, of course, but she still had a fair amount of debt to pay off. Hopefully, she would be done paying it this year.

"The things I do for you, Caleb," she mutters, but she smiles when she sees the lights of the blue car flicker in response to the remote in her hand. It is the only thing she has of him that still makes her smile, and she takes it for maintainance almost obsessively. She had his name airbrushed on the side of it in dark blue letters, right near the back where the fuel door would be, if it were on that side. The letters themselves look like they are made of blue flames, dark but burning at the same time. It looks sort of sassy, and that suits her well, because she feels really badass driving this car. It's her baby, and she loves it.

The engine purrs, almost seductively, and she grins with anticipation, the way she always does. She's positive nobody has ever loved a vehicle as much as she loves hers. She parks it in the garage of her apartment building—in the corner, where it isn't surrounded, so there's less chance of it getting banged up—and makes sure it is locked. Tomorrow, she'll go to Uriah's and wash it by hand. That always makes her feel better after seeing him.

Saturday rolls around, and she showers and dresses quickly, making sure to wear a bikini top underneath the colored tank top—these car washes usually end in water fights, and she usually loses those. She wears shorts and flip-flops, and then she carefully inspects her prized Mustang, checking it for scratches, flat tires, or other problems.

Uriah Pedrad went to college with her for a year or two before he dropped out, choosing to go to a tech school instead. He kept in touch, though, inviting her out to parties and emailing or calling every so often. He calls her Short Stuff and she always hits him when he does, but they've turned out to be very good friends. He owns a repair shop across town, and she gets to drive right past the Sears Tower on her way to see him. The sunshine through the roof of her car makes her feel alive, and she sings along with the radio as she drives. Caleb knew she would be happy with this.

When she parks in front of his shop, he is already waiting for her outside with two buckets of soap water and two buckets of regular water. "I was expecting to see you today," he says with a grin as she steps out of the car. He comes forward and wraps her carefully in a warm, safe embrace. He has olive skin and dark hair that is a mess of curls. His eyes are warm brown and his grin is like daylight. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and she has to smile as he kisses her head. "How's my favorite Short Stuff?"

"Hey, screw you," she says, but she's laughing.

"I'm open to the idea," he says with waggling eyebrows. Then he turns serious. "I mean it. How are you? Christina called me, she said you were upset."

Her smile leaves her, as does her good mood. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbles.

He sighs, hugging her hard again. "You'll be alright. I swear you will. He'll be fine, he'll be out before you know it, and then it'll be over."

She shrugs.

He grabs a sponge out of a bucket and hands it to her. "Let's give this baby a bath, shall we?"

They carefully soap up the car, the bubbles making her laugh as the pop on her skin, tickling the hairs there.

"Will you tell me about when he gave it to you?"

She scrubs at a spot in the paint and smiles. "It was at my graduation party," she says happily, a relaxed smile on her face. "My dad, naturally, invited all his boring higher-up friends so that he could show me off to them and shuffle me into some political career, you know? Follow in his footsteps, or whatever? My friends were there—you were there too—but you guys were all out by the pool while I was stuck talking to my dad's friends. Caleb pulled me aside and handed me a flute of champagne. 'Congratulations, baby sister,' he said to me, and he kissed my head. He... likes being the bigger, smarter one of the two. He's sort of an asshole, you know? But he loves me, and he was being nice that day, even though he still calls me 'baby sister' or 'Bee' like he did when we were little—to let me know that I'm still little to him. He asked me if we could go for a ride, but I had no idea how he planned on doing that."

"He cares about you. You don't know how many times he destroyed people in school on account of you. You know, once he found out that some guy was planning to drug you at a party, so he gave an anonymous tip about where to find drugs to the campus police, and then he hacked the guy's computer and planted a virus that wiped all of his assignments and framed the guy for cheating. He got expelled and banned from campus."

Tris stares at him in disbelief. "He... did that?"

"His assholishness comes in handy most times. I would have just kicked his ass, but Caleb ruined him. I wasn't supposed to tell you that happened... he didn't want you freaking out. But now you know. You have a guardian angel in the form of your douchebag older brother."

She snorts, spraying down the car to rinse the soap off. When she looks up, Uriah is grinning, his brown eyes sparkling mischief. She shrieks as he squirts water all over her. She sprays him back, right in the face. "Hey!" he yelps, ducking down behind the car.

She ducks too, and they spray at each other, laughing, until a rush of wind blows, chilling them both to the bone. Summer though it might be, Chicago breezes always have the power to chill the atmosphere with one gust.

Uriah hands her a sweater, and they get to work drying the car and waxing it. When it shines to her satisfaction, she goes into the garage with him. He reaches into car parts and tools immediately. "You never finished telling me the story."

"Oh. Where was I?"

"He pulled you aside, congratulated you, and then asked you to go on a ride."

She nods, smiling. "I really didn't know how he planned to get Dad's car or Mom's, but he just said not to worry about it. I followed him outside, you know? And there it was, with a big bow in the school colors on top. 'What is this?' I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew. He grinned at me, the kind where you know he's getting away with something, and he said, 'It's your car. I thought you might want to take it for a test drive.'"

Uriah smiles as he reaches for a towel on the workbench behind him. "How did this guy not have a girlfriend again?"

"He did... Susan Black, they were on again and off again since high school... mostly off, but he would get really jealous if she tried to date anybody else. When he went to prison, she ended it for good."

"Did they make her give back all his gifts too?"

"Yeah. But... it wasn't much. Some jewelry and a really expensive leather journal that she ended up just paying for."

Uriah raises an eyebrow at that, but says nothing.

"What?" she snaps.

"It's just interesting that he got you more stuff than his own girlfriend. Most guys normally blow off the siblings to be with their girl, but he didn't."

Her shoulders slump. "He loves me," she says quietly. "More than anybody. He said that, once."

"And I'm sure it's still true. Hey, look. I know this is hard, but try to keep your mind off it, okay? He's ruined enough, don't you think? You don't need him ruining your moods, and your career, and your life. I mean, he's done enough, and he's been through enough, and neither of you need that shit right now."

"You're right."

"I know I am," he says with a grin and a nod. "So. You are coming out with us tonight, we're going paintballing. And then tomorrow, Chris is going to take you some place nice on Michigan to get plucked and waxed and whatever else, and then the three of us are going to hit a party at the Parallax."

"Do I not have a choice in this?" she grumbles.

"No way," he says with a grin. "Your douchebag angel isn't around to watch you, so that job has fallen on me. And let me tell you, I'm glad it's me and not some shady boyfriend whose ass I'd have to lay out."

She chuckles. "I don't have shady boyfriends."

"Example A, Peter Hayes. That guy was... creepy."

She frowns at the mention of his name. "He was a jerk."

"You're always so sour about him. What'd he do to earn your hate, of all people? You never hate anybody."

"Well, he's an ass," she snaps.

"What'd he do, Short Stuff?" Uriah asks, only half joking.

She sighs, and it's a frustrated sound. "Fine, alright? Fine. I caught him with some whore, and when I started yelling at him, he had the nerve to slap me. I kicked his ass out the next day. Okay?!"

"Jesus," Uriah mutters. "Shady boyfriend," he sings, and she smacks his arm, hard. "Example B, that scrawny guy, Robert."

"He wasn't that bad."

"He was a lousy boyfriend, and I know I saw him making out with chicks at least twice while he was in love with you."

"Well, to be fair, we'd drifted apart a lot."

"What about that guy you were dating when I met you? Err—Al-something. That guy was a certified stalker, and you and I both know it. He was obsessed with you."

She stiffens. She doesn't want to talk about him.

He frowns. "What?"

"You didn't... you didn't know."

"Know what?"

"After I finally got rid of him, he..."

"He did what?"

She shudders. "He hung himself in his closet."

"Jesus," he mutters again. "Are you serious?"

"He wrote me a letter about how much he loved me, and how he was sorry he'd never be good enough for me, and all this other stuff. It was... awful."

"I'm sorry, Short Stuff."

"Yeah, me too," she says flatly.

"Girl, all your boyfriends from now on have to pass the big brother Uri test. And if they don't, I'm going to run 'em off, no its, ands, or buts."

"Right... the flirty big brother type that can hurt people with crowbars, I'm definitely going to introduce aaaaaaaall my dates to you, first thing," she says sarcastically.

He grins. "You better."

"Whatever."

"Okay, lighter topic! All this doom and gloom is depressing as fuck. Let's talk paintball. Are you gonna be green tonight again?"

"Duh."

"Why green? Yellow is better."

"So you be yellow today."

"Maybe I will," he says.

"You know I will kick all of your asses tonight."

"Oh please," he says in a sassy voice, waving his hand dramatically as he snaps his fingers. "Girlfriend, I'm about to paint you yellow, like, uh-huh."

She giggles at his horrible impression. "We'll see about that."

They talk and laugh for a couple more hours, and then she stands, stretching. "I'm going to head home. See you tonight."

"I'll pick you up," he smiles.

She takes her keys and leaves, smiling. Uriah always knows how to make her feel better.


So the girl was Prior's sister, was she?

He hasn't slept all night, thinking about that girl slamming her hand on the table, and growling at Prior with such authority that the only thing he could do was nod dumbly. He told Prior to talk about her, to tell him good shit about when they were little or whatever, to hopefully lift the poor kid's dismal mood, but instead, all it had done was sour his own mood.

When he was eight and she was seven, someone dared to call him some name, and she punched the kid in the face, breaking his nose. When she got suspended from school, her parents were gone, so he made the nanny keep them both home, and he taught her how to play Chess until the week ended.

When they were fourteen and fifteen, the power had gone out over some blizzard, taking out the heat with it. They simply left home and went to Florida for the week, enjoying the resorts. He talked her ear off about the physics and engineering behind the rollercoasters until she turned around and told him to shut up and either ride the damn things with her or wait outside. They'd argued the rest of the day, but at the end, he bought her ice cream and funnel cake, and they apologized to each other.

Prior has always been a smarty pants, then. The kid even irked his own sister with his superior intelligence complex. Too bad he doesn't have the brains to see when he's talking too much. Or maybe he just likes to hear himself talk. But in any case, now, at the breakfast table, all he can do is run his mouth, and he can see why Prior's sister was so damn annoyed with him. But the way he'd talked about her yesterday, defending her even though he was scared to death told him that he was right to look after this guy.

It also told him that there was something about that girl, something he wanted to know.

Thad damn girl had plagued his thoughts and his dreams when he finally fell asleep at like four in the morning. He dreamt about her hands, and her lips, and other things that, according to Caleb, he wasn't supposed to dream about. He'd liked her lips. She bit them a lot, when he'd watched her, but they were still soft-looking and sexy. Her hair was dark blonde and straight, always falling out of the messy bun she'd tied it in and into her face. She was tiny, barely five feet, two inches tall maybe, but she had an ass you could bounce a quarter off, and that shit was just awesome. She was thin, but not unhealthy. In fact, everything about her was very natural, not like the sluts that Eric always hires for his parties and his... business transactions.

Eric. The name makes fury boil in his chest, and he forces his thoughts back to the Prior kid's sister. She is much more pleasant than that traitorous son of a bitch, anyway.

He touches the back of his neck, and he frowns again. What would she think if she knew he was Dauntless? The flame drawn there on the top of his spine burns his fingertips as if it were real. He wishes he'd never gotten involved with those assholes, but he can't say that now. All he can do is ignore the fact that he will waste away in here because of them.

He goes to the gym with Rock, and he goes to the yard with Caleb and Gabe. There's a fight, and the three of them stay out of it. As long as it isn't one of his people, Four isn't worried. On Sunday, the prison chaplain holds a service for the religious folk, but Four thinks all of that is bullshit. What could God do for somebody on the inside? What did God ever do for him?

Monday, he is sitting in his cell waiting to be let out for lunch when the guard's voice makes him jerk to attention. "You got a visitor," he says flatly.

Who the fuck would be visiting him? He follows the guard curiously, wondering why he has a visitor for the first time in nine years, wracking his brain for anyone that might know him that would bother to show up.

This visiting room is not the weekly visit room, and it isn't the no contact rooms, where they have to talk through a phone. It is a private one, like the kind they use for lawyer visits—or conjugal ones. There is a girl standing at the bars her hands wrapped tightly around them. Her hair is loose today, probably because they won't let her bring anything for this type of visit—she doesn't even have pockets in the back of her jeans. They are dark skinny jeans that show off her legs, which she wore with a sleeveless blouse that hugs her just right when she turns around.

Her eyes are blueish-gray. He didn't see their color that well when she was visiting her brother, but now he can. Her breasts are just handfuls, but they are perky and would feel fucking awesome under his hands. He wants to touch her, but he sits down instead.

"I... noticed that you were in the room but you didn't have a visitor."

"Did you?" He says, frowning.

"I was curious why you were there if you didn't have any loved ones coming."

"And you came all the way here to ask me that?"

She glares at him, and he's amused. "Let me tell you something about me, Little Sparkler," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't like questions. So if all you came here to do was ask me questions, I'm going to go back to my cell."

She sets her jaw. "Let me tell you something about me," she hisses. "I don't like nicknames. My name is Tris, and you better call my by my name."

Now he's really amused. "Or what?"

"Or I won't come back," she says, her smirk a knowing one.

That just wouldn't do. He had to know the Sparkler. She didn't like the nickname, but that was just too bad. When anger sparked in her eyes like that, it reminded him of better days, when his mom would let him have sparklers on the fourth of July, their light bright and powerful, but fairly harmless. "You're lying," he says instead of all of that. "You will be back because you're curious about me. But you shouldn't be curious about me," he tells her. "You should be afraid."

She snorts. "Of what? That you'll send someone after me? Or after my brother? I've heard all the threats before and let me tell you, they stopped scaring me after like the third time."

"You were scared of me when you came to see your brother."

She swallows. "That... was different." She looks away.

He stands, moving toward her. "That's why you're here," he says to her, his fingers wrapping around the bars on either side of her. "Do I scare you, Little Sparkler?" he whispers, his face inches away from hers. She stares up at him, eyes wide, her lips parted as she tries to breathe. She wants to shake her head, but she can't.

He smirks. "You should stay away from me then," he says. Then he moves back toward the door so the guard can escort him back to his cell.


thanks for reading so far. i hope you've enjoyed this very AU story so far. let me know what you think.

~temporary insanity