Moonlight streamed down from the night-sky, and illuminated the porch like streams of white ribbons. Tate was sitting down at the porch looking up to the sky. His right hand fingers twitched as if they were instinctively holding a cigarette, but Tate quickly grabbed that hand with his left hand.

Although the substance wasn't too addictive, Tate had decided to quit before it became a habit. He had to focus on Cinder and what he was about to do next, and he needed every part of his brain to be active and focused.

Cinder was sitting on the steps with the chessboard laid out on the floor under the roof, obscured from the moonlight. There were no pieces on the board, but Cinder kept staring at the board as if she were making imaginary moves. Tate sighed, and slid closer to her.

"Hey."

"Hey." She murmured, without looking up at him.

Tate snapped his fingers. "Alright, alright." He gently slid the board aside. "Real talk, Cinder."

Cinder took her eyes off the board and slid next to him. As her face revealed itself in the moonlight, Tate realized for the first time just how much she had changed since he first met her. Her eyes were a lot more sharp and alert, instead of the usual downcast, shy way. Her shoulders were more squared up, her back was straight, and she held an air of confidence around her. She was a far cry to the innocent poor, village girl she once was.

She was going to conquer the world.

Tate paused, before turning to her.

"Cinder. How badly do you want to become a Mistral Council Member?"

Cinder cocked her head to the side curiously, but then quickly replied, "That's a strange question to ask."

"It's important." Tate said vaguely.

"Important for what?" Cinder leaned closer to Tate.

"Who is the one asking questions here? Me or you?" Tate teased.

Cinder leaned backward and looked as if she was lost in thought. Then, she looked at Tate with a grim expression. "I can't imagine myself not being one."

"Why not?"

Cinder stood up and gestured to the gray dust all around her and the dilapidated wooden shed. "Because what else is in store for me? This? There's no future here, Tate. The people who stay here only have two options. That is, go into crime or die of starvation. I'm getting out of here as soon as I can."

"You can always become a huntress. That path doesn't mean you'll have to come back here."

Cinder shook her head. "Yes. I used to want to be a huntress. But now I can see that they have no real power other than through their blades. When they fight for a cause, they ultimately bow down to old men with crowns."

"So do you fear being powerless?"

"I do not fear being powerless. I resent being powerless and disrespected."

"What do you want to change, Cinder?" Tate asked. "Do you want to lift the people around you out of poverty? Make a better living for the people of Mistral?"

Cinder turned around and looked down at him with a slight smile on her face. She didn't answer him as she crossed her arms and looked back towards the shattered moon. "Perhaps. What I want is almost unexplainable. I presume that is what Council Members will do, helping people. On the other hand, I wouldn't necessarily say that is a primary motive."

"So. Do you mean you want power, for the sake of having power?"

There was silence for a full minute. Than, Cinder looked down at Tate and her smile faded. Instead, her face showed hell-bent determination that made even Tate shiver.

"Yes."

"Okay." Tate grunted, as he stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. Although Cinder's answer was unexpected, it was along the lines of what he was looking for. History textbooks warned about the plague of tyrants and dictators on the Earth, and Tate had a healthy respect in regards to straying away towards that path.

On the other hand, Tate could sympathize. Once when CELL's naval forces had unleashed a devastating naval bombardment upon London, from onboard the HMS Robin Hood, Tate had felt both a feeling of shock…but also reverent awe. Once Tate had seen Cinder as a mere village girl, but now Tate could see the utter raw talent and potential behind her. It was a flame that could not be extinguished.

"Now this is what I want you to do. I'm ready. I want you to activate my aura for me."

Cinder was taken aback, although she stepped forward and laid a hand over his shoulder. "Wait, why now?"

"I'll explain to you later. It'll be an important lesson from me."

"Alright. But before, I do, I want to ask you, Tate. What do you want?"

Tate had to admit. He didn't want to live like this anymore than Cinder did. He found himself identifying a lot with Cinder's position. He never enjoyed his time being a mere debt slave to CELL. Being a psychologist wasn't any better with the amount of scorn his work got.

"You know. Honestly, I just want to move up in the world myself, Cinder."

Tate closed his eyes, and Cinder's flaming aura manifested itself again.

Everyone is a pawn to something: an organization, a person, or a country. But never forget that when a pawn reaches the other side of the board, it can become any piece it wants.

Tate opened his eyes, and was shocked to see blood-red energy surrounding him. He looked at his hands and arms and turned them over, surprised to see that the light was not disappearing. However, he felt a sense of comfort and protection.

But even more importantly, he felt strength. Cinder had stepped back and was panting hard, looking incredibly drained.

As Tate walked over, the color disappeared until his skin was back to its normal color. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It takes a lot of energy to activate another's aura, as I have to use my own aura to do so. But I'm glad you made this choice."

Since meeting the detective, for the past couple weeks Tate had used the scroll to send the detective messages. Mainly, Tate had been constructing a narrative to lead the detective on. He had been lying about how Mr. Fall had a strange habit at night, where he would go to a certain place in the house and pull up the floorboards. Tate had described the habit in such intricate detail and over a long enough time period that he felt that the investigation could be concluded.

I believe that the habit had enough grounds for an investigation. When I went to the floorboards myself, I found what looked to be sensitive financial evidence that can be used in court and for future indictments.

Meet me in your usual place. I. Have. The. Files. Meet ASAP.

The usual place was an alleyway deep in the urban area far away from both the prying eyes of curious villagers and criminals. Although Tate had initially been reluctant to check up with the detective in person regularly, the detective insisted to make sure that Tate was alive and that the scroll hadn't been merely hijacked by someone else.

Nevertheless, the meets had given Tate lots of information to act on. For one, the detective revealed that she was working alone after Tate lied and said he wasn't feeling safe and wanted protection. She laughed at him. Mistral's big money/big time law enforcement didn't have enough resources to go after so-called "petty criminals" as there were too many to go after. Independent detectives, however, had the opportunity to go around to parts of Mistral and attempt to bring criminals to justice. Some succeeded and others failed.

Unfortunately, for this detective, she would just be another tick in the failed list.

Now, Tate was standing on the street nervously tapping his foot on the ground as he held a folder in both hands. The street was wet and he could hear water droplets dripping onto puddles as rain lightly drizzled from above. An abandoned crop field and a line of abandoned homes walled the block in. The windows were either boarded up, or covered with a garbage bag. Not only that, but the entire block had no lights. Lawns were overgrown, and they covered the picket signs that once said "For Sale."

It was the perfect place if you didn't want anyone listening to you.

Tate could hear the crop field rustling, and then a figure pushing their way through the stalks and walking up to the street.

"You have the files, Arnold?" The detective's voice was hushed.

"I have it." Tate unfolded the folder from under his arm, and handed it over. By now, the drizzle had turned into a shower. Torrents of rain poured down from above, drenching the two of them. Water dripped from Tate's cap rim, and onto the floor.

The detective pulled her cloak tighter over her head, as she took the folder and tried to shield it from the rain. "There's nothing inside." She growled. That's when she looked up and saw a barrel pointing at her face. There was a flash.

The magnum slug slammed right into her face and knocked her flat on her back on the street. The detective gasped for breath, as the impact had knocked the breath out of her body. She spit out water, as she rolled over onto her side and shakily got to her feet.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"I'm sorry. I can't have you talking about Cinder to anyone else. This investigation ends now."

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you're doing here, Arnold?"

"I'm Tate. And I know exactly what I'm doing."

"You're just a teacher, Tate." She spit out the name. "Stay out of this and let me take care of this. I get you're scared of her family, but we can get through this, I promise. Have they suspected you? Is that why you're lashing out?"

"No. You been using Cinder to jumpstart your career, I get it. Unfortunately, I can't let you do that."

"Fine." The detective growled, as she drew a sword from her belt. "Then let you be my first case to close." She braced herself and was about to leap forward when Tate just turned on his heels and fled.

"What's wrong? Scared?" She yelled in surprise, as she watched Tate flee into one of the homes. The detective vaulted over the white-picket fence and ran up to the steps of the house.

Quietly, she took the grip in both hands and began walking slowly through the abandoned home. Her boots made the floorboards beneath her creak.

"Come out, Tate. I'll make this quick, I swear. I'm not the one to practice police brutality." In the darkness, she smacked her head on something hanging from the ceiling. She grunted as a hand instinctively went to her head. When she looked in front of her, she saw what looked to be cylindrical objects suspended in a wire net from the ground.

Behind her in the corner of the room a healthy distance away, Tate braced his hand on his left arm as he aimed the Majestic at the net. He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet shot out of the barrel. When it reached the net and slammed into the cylindrical objects, the 40 mm grenades detonated and exploded violently. The explosion tore out the entire front section of the house, shooting out a deadly wave of splinters and the detective onto the lawn.

Some kind of light shimmered around the detective, as she slammed into the lawn. Tate stepped out of the house in surprise. She wasn't dead. She was merely stunned. Tate had hoped that the package of 40 mm grenades that originated from his SCAR attachment would take her out in one clean blow. Clearly, that hadn't worked.

The detective stumbled to her feet and then swung her sword at Tate. Tate had to step back as the detective swung wildly. A blow landed on Tate's arm, but much to his surprise, the blade didn't chop his arm off. It still hurt, but the impact made him go flying back and he dropped the gun. Tate fell over onto his back, but he quickly rolled to the side as a blade buried itself from where he once was seconds later. Her speed was astonishing.

Looking up, he saw the detective's face was bleeding from multiple splinter wounds. Her eyes were covered in blood and water. Her aura must have taken a beating.

She slashed at Tate several times, her blade neatly cutting the stalks of grass beside him but not hitting. Tate took advantage of her apparent blindness, and scrambled to his feet. He ran forward and then dove to the floor to grab his gun. Rolling over onto his back, he saw that she was airborne and her blade was held high over her head. Tate fired, and the bullet punched a hole through her heart.

She gasped, but then fell forward onto Tate heavily. Her blade fell down tip first onto the grass millimeters from Tate's ear. When Tate opened his eyes, he saw her eyes were rolled up to her head and she was slightly slack-jawed.

"Disgusting." Tate shoved her body off him, and then brushed himself off. Sitting up, he panted with the adrenaline that was still flowing through his veins. He heard a low growl and saw a pair of red eyes showing from the crop-field.

"Shit." He was just about to get up and run, when the red-eyes slowly withdrew back into the cornfield. "Damn. Must be seeing things." Tate rubbed his eyes as he now surveyed the body of the detective.

Her death was a necessary sacrifice. Tate grabbed a shovel that he had leaned against the fence and began digging.

Tate was washing his face with a white rag. When he wrung out the liquid into the sink, blood intermixed with water as it drained down the sink. He groaned slightly, as he massaged the arm that the detective hit. It was sore, but his aura was doing its work to heal the part.

When he looked up, he saw Cinder behind him. He had forgotten to lock the door.

"What happened to you?" She said, taking in the blood and the fact that Tate was shaking with both fear and post-adrenaline.

Tate shut off the sink and turned around. "I did you a huge favor."

"What? Did you-" She looked at the blood, and Tate knew what she was thinking. As ambitious as Cinder was, maybe she wasn't ready for this kind of work yet.

"Listen, Cinder." Tate waved a hand. "I'm a teacher, but your father may have told you this also. I'm a soldier of fortune. This is what we do."

"B-"

"You want to go to jail, Cinder, for something you didn't do? You tell me all the time that this place is like prison, but you haven't seen the real thing, have you?"

Cinder wrung her hands a bit. "How many people were after me?"

"Zero, at least after tonight. I didn't like doing it, but I put all my chips on you. You'll understand when you're older or when you have more real-world experience."

"I do understand!" Cinder suddenly said with sudden ferocity. Her fists were clenched and there was a little flame in her pupils. Tate stepped back, almost afraid that she going to take a swing at him.

"Good then. I see we have no disagreement then." He pushed past her despite being afraid to touch her. Cinder grabbed his arm with an iron grip, and stopped him from walking any further. Then, her grip softened.

"You taught me a lot and I'm thankful. This lesson may just be…a harder one to grasp."

Tate licked his dry lips. "Like I said, you don't have to understand now. But you will soon. Hopefully." He regretted saying those words, but saying those words helped to cover up the guilt he was feeling.

Cinder let go of his arm, and watched Tate go. Tate looked at his hands as he walked into the room.

It's been while since I killed…like for CELL. Like those times, though, the feeling will just go away with enough trigger pulls.