Author's Note: Long update this week. Read and review and all that jazz.

Blah. Depression.

Webby fell into a troubled sleep on the plane ride over. It hadn't helped that she'd barely slept in the last few days or that she'd barely managed to convince Steelbeak to let her bring Lena along. Poisoning her grandmother and her suspicions that her grandmother had perished, along with Steelbeak's threats, hadn't led to comfortable dreams. Webby whimpered in her sleep, curling in on herself.

Lena remained awake, staring at this young girl that Dewey was so enamored with, that Mrs. Beakley had been desperate to find. She felt protective over her; Webby hadn't told her what her conversation with Steelbeak had entailed, but she'd looked sick to her stomach afterward. Something told Lena that Webby would have refused the mission if it were safe to do so.

At least they were escaping HQ, although Webby had shuffled along like she'd been given a death sentence. Lena knew that hollow-eyed expression. Tentatively, because touch always startled her and she knew it would do the same to Webby, she brushed the younger girl's hair back and smoothed it. Webby's eyes flew open and she grabbed her wrist.

"I'm impressed," Lena said. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"You didn't think I'd notice someone touching me?" Webby growled. "I've been trained since age five to detect when someone's near me when I'm asleep. I'm always on guard."

"Sounds familiar," Lena said, thinking of her dear Aunt Magica, who had fortunately remained back at HQ.

"Why were you touching me?" Webby hissed. Lena had somehow forgotten that Webby was tetchy, perhaps even more so because she was on edge and had it cranked up to eleven.

"You ever heard of an innocent touch?" Lena scoffed. "Man, you're gonna get along so well with the boys when we get back to Duckburg."

Webby's gaze turned distant and she released Lena's wrist. She turned away to look out the window, though there was nothing to see. It was something that would prevent her from needing to look at Lena. Suspicion prickled along Lena's arms and raised goosebumps.

"You've been walking around like a condemned criminal," Lena said. "What's going on?"

If she thought Webby would confide in her, she was sadly mistaken. Webby turned back to look at her and her eyes flashed. Whatever vulnerability the younger girl had let her glimpse before was gone now. Moreover, whatever Steelbeak had told her had hardened her heart, at least temporarily. She wasn't sure why Webby was so mercurial, but she was willing to bet that having two supervillains help raise her hadn't helped her sanity.

"I have a new mission," Webby said, the words sounding like they were being dragged out of her.

"Which is…?" Lena pried.

"I'll tell you when I have to."

"That sounds ominous."

Webby's eyes flashed at her. She pulled out her phone, stared at it, and then threw it hard against the side of the plane. Knowing that Dewey had left Webby no fewer than five voicemails, possibly more now that Webby couldn't access, Lena raised her eyebrows. The phone didn't break-rather, it skidded off the wall and bounced down the carpet toward the bathroom. It almost looked like the phone had dented the wall.

Lena touched her phone self-consciously. She didn't know what Webby was getting at, but she seemed to be agitated now. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Webby jumped to her feet, grabbed the phone, and headed for the small area where a stewardess would stand if this were a commercial flight. She looked like she was about to throw the phone out. Lena leaned in her seat; Webby pressed her beak against the wall and then threw the phone violently into the trash can so hard it shook.

Lena guessed she hadn't done that for shits and giggles. But when FOWL tried to contact her later and discovered her phone was out of order, wouldn't she be in jeopardy?

The same thought appeared to have occurred to Webby too because, with a groan, she dug the phone out and marched back to her seat. Since the trash can had been empty, nothing else had befallen the phone. Maybe the trash can, but not the cell.

They were six hours into their twelve-hour flight and Webby's eyes were red from fatigue, yet Lena doubted she'd fall asleep again any time soon. With Webby wound up, it made Lena not want to rest either. As much as she might eventually grow to care for Webby, she didn't trust her, not when she acted like this.

"So, what did the phone do to offend you?" Lena asked in a would-be casual voice. She was trying to act as though Webby's behavior wasn't unusual, although, then again, how would she know? She'd barely known Webby for a full day, all told.

"I should've known," Webby muttered, curling up in her seat and staring balefully out at nothing in particular.

"Okay, any chance you're going to stop being cryptic in the next few minutes and actually explain yourself?" Lena said, fighting to keep irritation out of her voice. FOWL agents, man. Then again, Webby didn't technically qualify as one. She still didn't know what it was that Steelbeak had asked Webby to do, but it must've been worse than attacking Mrs. Beakley. Lena wasn't convinced that Webby's grandmother was dead. It took a lot to hurt the old bird, as she'd said, and she knew that Webby's heart hadn't been in it. Plus, she didn't think Webby was emotionally capable of killing someone. Physically, yes.

"It doesn't matter," Webby said, sounding like a sulky teenager. She stared at the floor and then sighed, seeming to realize that if it didn't matter, she might as well tell her.

"He wants me to kill Dewey and bring back tangible proof that I've followed his orders," Webby said after a long pause. She stared at the floor; since this was one of FOWL's personal planes, it was plush with specialized carpeting and comfy seats. It only had about six seats on it, total, and a partition in case someone wanted privacy in a "home" office. That was probably where Black Heron had vanished off to. Black Heron's presence wasn't helping Webby's nerves either.

It took a few seconds for what Webby had said to fully hit Lena. Once it had, she jumped to her feet in outrage.

"You're not going to do it, are you?" she exclaimed, staring at the younger girl.

"No," Webby said and the world was contained within that soft sigh. She didn't look at Lena. "I can't. I couldn't kill my granny and I can't kill Dewey. Steelbeak and Black Heron know that."

"Then, why are you here? On this plane?" Lena objected.

"Because if I don't at least make the attempt, I'll be dead that much sooner."

Lena frowned. "This is why you need SHUSH. They can protect you. I'm pretty sure your grandmother mentioned them."

"They didn't protect my mother from Steelbeak. They didn't protect Granny from me. What good are they?"

To that, Lena had no response. She didn't know what had befallen her mother; there were too many sensitive topics right now for Lena to be able to broach any with any expectation of success. Still, she was shocked. From the little Lena knew of Webby's relationship with Dewey, Dewey was besotted and Webby...she must've cherished him in some fashion because she hadn't deleted those five voicemails. She'd called him before, too. And the way she'd acted after receiving the assignment was of a prisoner walking to the gallows.

"The way I see it, they owe you big time. They let you get kidnapped. They didn't defend your mother against Steelbeak. They're the reason you've been stuck in FOWL custody almost your entire life. It's about time they started paying up."

Webby looked up at her. Her beak twitched; the look in her eyes was distraught and hopeless. She wasn't counting on anyone to help her.

"When...when FOWL discovers what I've done," Webby continued in a lower voice, in case Heron was listening in, "pretend you didn't know what was happening. It's your only chance."

Lena grabbed Webby's hand and held it tightly. "You're being melodramatic."

"You know what they do with hostile agents? They kill them. I won't do their bidding, which makes me a hostile agent. They'll kill me and Black Heron will throw a party because she'll have finished off the family. Maybe Steelbeak will mourn me because he wasted all of his time and effort on me."

Lena heard the words behind her comment. "But no one else will care."

That wasn't true. To her surprise, she discovered she would. She knew Dewey would. And damn it, she was willing to bet that Mrs. Beakley wasn't dead and would also mourn her loss, as she had been for the last ten years. Webby couldn't do this to her, not again. She opened her mouth to say this when the plane took a sudden and sharp jerk. Had they hit turbulence?

An Egghead walked out of the pilot's cabin. Lena's heart stuttered. If the pilot had just walked out, then who was flying the plane?

The plane took another unexpected and unwanted dip and Lena suppressed a scream.

"What's going on?" Webby demanded. Clearly, private one on one time was over. The mask had fallen over her features again and Lena sighed.

"Someone put a tracker on me," he growled.

"Don't look at me," she said, haughty. "I took the tracker Dewey put on me off."

Dewey had put a tracker on her? Clever boy. Lena knew it hadn't been Dewey's idea, but she was impressed all the same. That Webby had let Dewey touch her without flipping a shit was likewise impressive. Webby had to have feelings for him.

"I'll look at you if I want to," he growled.

"Who the hell is flying the plane?" Lena demanded and Black Heron sighed, stepping through the curtain that divided the two sections and strolling toward the pilot's cabin while the plane continued to lose altitude at an alarming rate. Maybe it was Lena's imagination, but it felt like the air was getting thinner. Webby was cool and collected, but for how long? Lena knew the veneer was as thin as newly formed ice.

"I'll fly it since you're an idiot," Heron informed the Egghead and, within seconds, the plane had righted itself and Lena could breathe again. Sulking, the Egghead stormed off toward the bathroom to remove the tracker. Lena didn't see what the big deal was. Surely at their current location, the tracker shouldn't be able to function. She didn't know what the distance range was on those things, but even with SHUSH technology, she doubted it extended to cruising altitude.

"SHUSH is tracking us…" Webby said. She balled her fists and said in a tremulous voice, "I won't let them get in my way."

For some reason, that frightened Lena more than the plane dipping or Webby's previous outbursts. Dewey was off-limits and so was her granny. But was anyone else fair game?

Lena studied Webby and Webby huffed, holding her chin high. It almost masked the fear Lena glimpsed in her eyes. Almost.

Contrary to what Webby thought, Mrs. Beakley had not died. In fact, other than lingering weakness and palsy, she was all right. Physically, anyway. Mentally was another story. She had her doubts about Webby now, although she'd seen the tears in her granddaughter's eyes and noticed how much she'd been trembling. FOWL would've welcomed her with open arms after that. Was that the validation Webby really needed? Not from her family, but from the thugs that masqueraded as her family?

She wanted another conversation with her, this one not in the thick of battle. She tried calling her cell phone, but, like Scrooge, had no luck. Dewey sat near her; he seemed to feel like he should wait on her, but that might not last too long. He'd probably grow bored and drift off.

Beside her on the other side was Scrooge McDuck, who was reviewing the security footage as if he could ascertain more about Webby than they'd already done through viewing it the last three times. Try as she might, she couldn't look away. Webby's distraught features pierced her heart. She didn't think her granddaughter had been acting. But...the doubts crept in.

She hadn't wanted to poison her, yet she'd done so. She hadn't wanted to flee back to FOWL, yet she had. She acted as though she had no choice, yet she should have chosen differently. Bentina stared at her phone. Thus far, half a day had passed since the battle and her regaining consciousness.

Vexed with herself, she tried calling Webby again on Dewey's phone. Since she didn't have Webby's number, she needed to *69 Webby through his. It was another level of frustrating, but this whole situation was aggravating, so it was a minor annoyance by comparison.

"Dewey?" Webby whispered, answering on the second ring. Her voice was hoarse and she was whispering. "Now is really not a good time."

"I gathered that much," Mrs. Beakley said and Dewey sat upright. He'd been slouching beside her bed and he gestured for the phone, which she refused to give to him. Scrooge plucked the phone from her grasp before she had a chance to talk further. She glowered at her boss.

"I want to talk to Webbigail," she growled. He'd covered the microphone with his hand. "She's my granddaughter, for God's sake."

"Granny?" Webby's voice issued from the speaker. "Granny, is that you?"

That was progress of a sort. She wasn't calling her Agent 22 anymore. Of course, she could probably switch back. Mrs. Beakley's throat was tight and her chest felt heavy. She wanted to pull her granddaughter in her arms and hold her tightly. That hadn't worked before; she hadn't even had a chance before Webby poisoned her.

"Webbigail, where are you?" Scrooge demanded, uncovering the microphone. He prevented anyone from eavesdropping on the conversation by keeping the phone close to his head. Mrs. Beakley fumed; in her current state, she couldn't rise up and smack him, but she really wanted to. He moved out of the room and Dewey followed. Feeble as she was right now, she was powerless to pursue him. She screamed in frustration.

The door closed behind Scrooge and his grand-nephew. Webby was again off-limits and out of her reach. She flopped back against the pillows and groaned. Her eyelids were heavy too, but sleep had better not dare think it would intrude now. She wished sleep was a physical entity she could throttle. Hell, she wished she could throttle Steelbeak and Black Heron. She knew they'd hurt her granddaughter and more than just psychologically. She knew they'd abused her physically too. Who knew what else had happened in FOWL's HQ? Who knew what evils they had wrought upon her?

Mrs. Beakley could imagine only too well. She glanced at the closed door and sighed, helpless and impotent. Webby…

Oh, her poor granddaughter. She closed her eyes, just for a minute, and fell back asleep.

"Was that my grandmother or not?" Webby asked, testy. She sounded like she wanted to kick his ass, which Dewey found both amusing and worrying. He knew she was more than capable of it, although Scrooge could be formidable himself when he wanted to be.

"That is beside the point," Scrooge said.

"It's the entire point!" she snarled. "Is my grandmother alive? Tell me!"

"I don't want to give you false hope," he answered in a solemn voice and Dewey winced in sympathy. He put Webby on speaker, this time for Dewey's benefit, and Dewey couldn't help but feel he'd wronged Mrs. Beakley in the process. How long did he intend to continue with this charade? How much was it wrecking Webby to think her only decent relative had perished by her hand?

"Is she alive or not?" Webby demanded.

"She's dying," he said quietly and Dewey squawked, objecting immediately. He lunged for the phone and Scrooge took off the speaker. He then disappeared into his office and locked Dewey out. Dewey banged on the door and screamed through it.

"He's lying! She's recovering! I don't know what he's playing at, but your grandmother's going to be okay, Webby!"

Dewey rammed his shoulder into the door and all he got for his troubles was a sore shoulder. Grimacing, he stepped back. That wood was probably harder than his head. Of course, Scrooge probably had the only key to this room.

Why would he lie to her? What could he hope to gain by it? Was he trying to turn Webby into a desperate assassin with nothing left to lose? People like that were dangerous. He could be making a bad situation even worse.

"Webby!" Dewey cried once more through the door to no avail. He doubted either of the two could hear him now.

Scrooge wasn't sure how much Webby had heard through the phone, though Dewey's words had come out muffled from here. She probably hadn't caught the individual words, which was good because if he wanted to play this right, he had to keep her off balance. He had to know who she really was and to do that, he had to test her mettle.

"She's dying?" Webby repeated and then said, "Wait. Is that Dewey screaming outside the room?"

"Just ignore him, lass," he said softly.

Webby said nothing for a minute. Dewey was pounding on the door; he was desperate to get in and talk to her. Scrooge felt vaguely guilty about the duplicity, but he didn't know how else to play this. If she knew Mrs. Beakley wasn't dead and was, in fact, recovering from her poisoning, she might strike again. He didn't have the faith in her that Dewey and Mrs. Beakley did. FOWL had corrupted many good people and Webby had been at an impressionable age when she'd been abducted.

"So, you're saying I killed her," Webby said flatly and he thought he detected pain in her voice, but it was hard to tell. After all, he knew her even less well than Dewey. When she'd been in the manor, he'd ignored her. He was aware of her in the same way that you are vaguely aware of a mildly interesting inanimate object. It was there, it might draw your attention on occasion, but otherwise, it could be ignored. Webby hadn't made an impression on him until after she'd vanished.

"Aye, I am," he said. It was a good thing business had embellished his ability to lie, because he wouldn't have been able to pull it off otherwise. Dewey snarled and Scrooge opened the door.

"Give it up, lad," he said. "There's a reason I'm telling her this."

"But you're not telling her the truth-" he started and he slapped his free hand over Dewey's mouth. If this had been one of his brothers, he probably would've licked it. However, with Scrooge, who was an adult, he wasn't going to. Instead, he would glower.

"Let me talk to Dewey," Webby hissed. She could tell something was going on, but not what it was.

"No. You lost that privilege when you attacked your grandmother," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near my family."

"...oh…" Webby said, more an exhalation of anguish than speech. "I see."

"Damn it, let me talk to her!" Dewey snapped, thrusting Scrooge's hand aside. "You're not telling her the truth, Uncle Scrooge! You have to let her talk to me!"

"I don't have to do anything of the sort," Scrooge snarled. "You are forgetting who the adult is in this situation!"

"And you're forgetting that she needs to talk to someone who actually cares about her," Dewey shot back. "I know that when she lived here, you didn't care. You treated her like a piece of furniture. You didn't even notice she was gone, did you? Not until Mrs. Beakley came back without her and tried to quit."

Scrooge didn't know how he knew that, but it was possible Mrs. Beakley had told him. Either that or he'd made a very shrewd guess. Whatever the case, Scrooge glowered at the middle triplet. Where were his brothers, anyway? He hadn't seen them all day. That couldn't be good.

"Let me talk to him," Webby murmured, but there was no conviction in her voice. She sounded like he'd struck her a mortal blow.

"No," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near my family, not even over the phone, ever again. You've done enough damage, Webbigail Vanderquack."

"I'm sorry…" Webby whispered and then hung up. As Scrooge took the phone away from his ear, Dewey glowered at him like he'd killed his first pet. That oddly reminded him of his own first pet, which hadn't been a pet at all but a bunch of hair. That wasn't the point right now, but damn did the mind wander when you were older.

"She'll never call me back now," Dewey snapped. "She'll never talk to any of us ever again. Is that what you wanted? To drive her off?"

"No," he said. "You're too young to understand."

"I'm fifteen!" he snapped back. At Scrooge's upraised eyebrows, he amended his statement. "Almost. I'm almost fifteen. And she's just a kid too. How could you do that to her?"

"I need to know who she is when she has nothing left to lose," he said quietly. "I need to know what she's like when the chips are down and everything is out of reach for her. Who is she when everything is against her?"

"This isn't some sort of business deal or game!" he objected. "You're really hurting her."

"Aye, perhaps I am," he admitted, looking Dewey in the eyes. "But I want her to come home too, or hadn't that occurred to you, laddie? I owe her for how I mistreated her when she was here. And I need to know whether she can be trusted to return to the manor after attacking her grandmother."

"Of course she can be trusted!" Dewey exploded. "How can you say that?"

"How can you say she can when you barely know her?" he countered.

"Because I have a feeling about her," he said and Scrooge narrowed his gaze.

"And with which part of the body is that feeling coming from?" he asked.

"My heart…" he said and then grimaced. "Ew, gross. I didn't mean what you think I meant. I'm not looking at her like that. How could you look at her and not feel bad for her?"

"He's Scrooge McDuck," Louie said, entering the room. "And he sees all the angles too. She could be playing you, Dewey."

"She isn't," he protested. "She wasn't. I know what being lied to looks like."

"No, you don't," Louie said. "I've lied to you and manipulated you for years and you've never caught on. I love you, bro, but you're pretty naive."

"And FOWL would have taught her how to lie and manipulate with the best of them," Scrooge said.

"That's not-she's not!" Dewey protested. He was losing ground and he knew it. How much longer did he think he could defend Webby when he barely even knew her? In a way, Scrooge was proud of his grand-nephew for being so persistent. On the other hand, if he contacted Webby again after this and told her the truth before she had a chance to meet her grandmother again, he could blow the whole plan.

Hmm, come to think of it, why had FOWL permitted her phone to work again? Where was she? She couldn't be in Siberia. FOWL's HQ had, according to SHUSH, been located in one of the most remote parts of Russia. Cell phone service there had to be non-existent. That meant she had to have moved to a more populated region. But where?

Damn, maybe he shouldn't have hung up on her when he had. Maybe he shouldn't have upset her so much that she had no intention of calling back. He couldn't trace the phone call if she refused to speak with him. And after the conversation they'd just had, he saw no reason for her to speak to him again.

"She totally is," Louie said. "It's one of the oldest con jobs in the book. Pretend to be helpless just so someone can take advantage of you. I've even done it myself a few times."

"Not like this," Dewey objected.

"So you admit that Webby's running a con game?" Louie countered and Dewey groaned.

"Don't confuse your brother, lad," Scrooge reprimanded. He stared at the phone and then tossed it back to Dewey, who caught it and then immediately redialed Webby's number. The phone rang five times and she didn't answer. It was as he'd suspected.

Dewey looked crushed. He shouldered his way past his brother and great-uncle and stormed off somewhere. Scrooge turned to Louie.

"Do you really think she's trying to connive us?" he inquired quietly.

"I don't know," he answered honestly and then shrugged. "I mean, I guess it's possible, but a lot of the stuff that I've seen her do is hard to fake. I don't trust her."

"Nor do I, laddie," he said and then frowned. "We'll see if this gambit works. If it doesn't, then we'll have to think of something else."

He wasn't sure what, however.

Webby let the phone ring unimpeded, no matter how many times Dewey tried to call her. Scrooge had made it clear he didn't want her around. She didn't tell Lena this and she kept her poker face up, but inside, she was devastated. Dewey was the last person who would care if-when-something happened to her and Scrooge was depriving her of him.

Maybe Dewey didn't want anything to do with her. Maybe Scrooge was doing this for Dewey's benefit. But Webby didn't think so. Why else would he have been so desperate to speak with her, if not because he wanted her around?

Damn, Webby was so tired of adults interfering in her life. She had arrived in LAX and was walking with Lena. FOWL used public airports but didn't land at any of the usual gates. They used private gates that were only unlocked for them.

Within LAX, people were chatting happily about whatever. Lena was examining her phone and then texted something to someone. She frowned, stopping Webby in her tracks. They were on a moving walkway, which Webby found vexing because people on it literally stood still. Shouldn't they be moving? Wasn't that the point of moving walkways, to get people to where they were going faster?

It was a text from Dewey and it was addressed to her, not Lena. Dewey must have figured she was in contact with Lena; either that or he'd been hoping. It was a sad face emoji and then a picture of his face. Webby pushed the phone aside. It was distracting. He was distracting. If FOWL was right, then if she eliminated him, she'd stop being a subpar wannabe agent.

But she couldn't kill him. She knew she couldn't. To think anything else was a pipe dream. She could probably count her life in days, if not hours.

Black Heron had gotten off the plane with them, but gone in a different direction. Webby didn't know where she was going, because all traffic headed one way after exiting the plane-toward the airport's main exit. The fact she didn't know what Heron was up to upset her stomach further; she hadn't eaten anything on the plane ride here. Of course, the food service had been excellent, but she couldn't keep anything down. At the end of this trip, she'd be dead. What was the point in enjoying food? It'd probably turn to ash in her mouth anyway.

"Okay, I've never seen Dewey this pathetic," Lena said. "Just talk to him. Please. He's blowing up my phone and it's annoying."

As Webby watched, multiple messages materialized, one after another.

"I don't want to talk to him," she said quietly. "Mr. McDuck made it quite clear I'm not welcome in the manor or with the Duck family. So I'm respecting his wishes and staying away."

"And how do you plan on doing that if your mission is to attack Dewey?" Lena pointed out. "Black Heron's going to get suspicious if you don't at least attempt to make contact."

"She knows I don't…" Webby looked down and sighed. "She knows I can't."

She stepped off the walkway with Lena at her side. Her chest ached again and her throat was tight. She hadn't had anything to drink lately, nothing more than the bare minimum, in the hopes that not drinking might prevent her from crying. Oh, she was so sick of weeping. It made her weak; then again, she wasn't going to get much stronger anyway. There was no point in it. She'd met FOWL's worst assignment and she'd failed. Even if she'd killed Agent 22, she wasn't FOWL material.

Lena texted something back to Dewey and Webby glanced over.

"I thought you weren't interested?" Lena said with a catty look in her eyes.

"I'm not," Webby said and looked away. She silenced and decided whatever Lena and Dewey were talking about didn't concern her. Besides, if he was talking to Lena, then he couldn't possibly be aiming any of the conversation at her. That was all to the good. Better for Dewey to forget she existed, anyway. She'd end up hurting him otherwise, one way or another.

"You seem like you are," Lena said, who had the masterful skill of walking and texting at the same time. She must've had a lot of experience with it. Webby knew she'd have probably walked into something by now. Then again, she didn't know how to text. No one had ever taught her. She'd stick out like a sore thumb in today's society...if she weren't about to perish anyway.

Lena sighed, exasperated, and held the phone out to her. It'd vibrated, but Webby couldn't distinguish between vibrations meaning a new text and vibrations equaling a phone call. It appeared this was the latter and she shook the phone at her.

"I don't want to talk to him," she said dully. "Can't we just please focus on getting back to Duckburg?"

Lena put him on speaker. What part of "I don't want to talk to him" was she not getting? Why was she being so interfering?

"Webby, your grandmother's alive," Dewey said.

"I know," she said quietly, breaking her own promise not to speak with him. "Scrooge told me. She's dying."

"She's not," he said. "She's recovering. I swear it, Webs."

"I don't believe you," she said. She didn't want to believe him. After all, she didn't need any more false hope. Plus, if her grandmother was alive, that didn't change the situation. In fact, it might expedite her death. Black Heron would have her on the chopping block that much faster if Webby had failed to actually kill her intended kill.

"It's true," Dewey said, oblivious to Webby's turmoil. "Lena said you're in LAX and you're headed to Duckburg."

Webby glowered at her. "You did what?"

"You really don't have the first clue about how cell phones work, do you, pink?" Lena said with a smirk. "Yes, I told him. I know the Duck family can help."

"Scrooge made it clear he doesn't want to help. That it's my fault that my grandmother is dying and that I need to stay away from them," Webby said flatly. "That's what's going on. I don't want to talk to Dewey. I don't want to think about him. Just hang up already. Or I'm leaving you here."

"You don't know your way around Calisto," Lena pointed out. "I lived on the streets for years as a kid. You spent your entire childhood in FOWL HQ. How would you know where to go? Plus, you don't have GPS or a map on that cell phone. It's, like, the only non-smartphone in existence right now. No one uses a phone that primitive. No wonder FOWL gave it to you."

"I was taught survival skills," Webby bit off. "I can find my own way. I don't need your help."

Lena held up her hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, hey. I'm trying to help."

"Don't," Webby said. "I told you what you can do. You can disavow any knowledge of my plan and that's it."

Throughout the conversation, she'd somehow forgotten that Dewey was still on speaker. Therefore, when he spoke again, she startled, looking around guiltily as if forgetting too how phones worked. It wasn't really her fault she didn't have a ton of experience with telecommunication.

"What plan? Why are you here?" Dewey asked.

"It doesn't matter," she said and, unlike her response to Lena earlier, she didn't intend to expound on that to him. The fewer people who knew, the better. Dewey might try to do something stupid like protect her and that'd be fatal to him. Then she would die and brought him down with her. It wasn't worth it.

They weren't star-crossed lovers, were they? Like Romeo and Juliet? She'd discovered Shakespeare one day when she'd been wandering through FOWL's library. It was considered a cautionary tale about how much emotions can destroy you and how you should only use emotions against someone else as a weapon.

"It does matter," he snapped. "Webby, what's going on?"

Webby spied the "end call" icon on Lena's phone and hit it. Then, with her head held high but her heart heavy, she headed for the exit with Lena following behind. She pretended that Lena just happened to be going the same way as her. Otherwise, she didn't know her at all.

"Come on, damn it!" Lena snapped. "You're just as stubborn as the boys."

"I told you I didn't want to talk to him and you put me on speaker," Webby growled, whirling on her. "I don't want him involved in this."

"You don't want him involved even though your mission explicitly involves him?" Lena repeated in a deadpan voice. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"I already know what I intend to do," she said curtly. "And I don't need your help."