Disclaimer: Neither Now You See Me, the characters, or the lyrics that appear at the beginning of each chapter belong to me.

One Week

When everything you do don't seem to matter.
You try, but it's no use your world is getting blacker.
When every time you fail has no answer.
Every empty promise made is a reminder.
No one can make this better.
Take control it's now or never!
~Sick of It by Skillet

As the Eye had promised, a plane had been waiting just outside of the city. For a moment, Dylan had panicked that he might have to fly the plane himself. He knew how to do a lot of things, but flying a plane was not one of them, so he was relieved when he climbed into the small plane and saw a screen between the cockpit and the back. Just like in the car, the pilot's voice was disguised as he asked where too. Dylan had already sent Jack the address and quickly gave the pilot the same destination. Exhaustion took hold shortly after they were in the air, and he didn't wake until they were thirty minutes out.

The place he had chosen was a small farm in the northern part of California close to the Oregon border. He had bought the place under a false name when he first joined the FBI. He had known his revenge would be years in the making and he had needed somewhere private to keep in practice; it wouldn't do for the notorious skeptic to be seen performing magic, after all. It wasn't a big place—only a barn, house, and the airstrip he'd put in—but it was more than enough for him. His eyes scanned the ground in search for Jack as the plane landed, but the farm was deserted. Stretching, Dylan climbed out of the plane and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight.

He was only a few yards away when the plane took off once more. Dylan had wondered whether the pilot would stay or leave, but it looked like they couldn't count on the Eye anymore. They were well and truly on their own.

"He sure left in a hurry."

Dylan somehow managed to hide his startled jump at the voice. He turned and saw Jack leaning against the corner of the barn. Some of the tension left Dylan. He had been worried that Jack had been caught or gotten lost, but he'd worried over nothing. Jack left his post by the barn and moved to join Dylan who led the way to the house.

"When did you get here?"

"About an hour ago." Jack answered. "Nice place you got here."

"I like to think so." Dylan sighed "Did you walk here?"

"I, uh, borrowed a car on the way over. I left it about three miles back." Jack attempted a grin. "Didn't think you would like a borrowed car on your property when the FBI show up."

"What are they going to do? Arrest me?" Dylan tried to joke, but it fell flat.

They lapsed into silence as Dylan retrieved a key from under a loose board on the porch and unlocked the front door. It was a decent sized house, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and bathroom, but the sheer amount of furniture made it seem far smaller. Books were stacked in every available place with loose sheets of paper and blueprints spread out in the leftover space. A thin layer of dust covered everything and the furniture looked as if it had seen better days. Posters for a wide range of magicians decorated the walls, with an entire corner devoted to Lionel Shrike. Jack was surprised to see a couple of Horsemen posters up, but he supposed it made sense what with who Dylan was and all.

Dylan all but collapsed onto the couch which creaked as if it could break at any second. Jack slowly sat in the armchair, wincing as a spring stabbed him in the side. He pushed the spring back inside the chair and pulled the fabric back over it, though he knew the spring would be back in his side in a matter of minutes. Sinking into the chair, he studied the man across from him. Dylan looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks and the exhaustion was evident by the circles under his eyes. Usually the man had a nearly impossible to read poker face, but Jack could clearly see the uncertainty and worry that played across his face.

"What happened, Dylan?" he asked quietly.

Dylan sighed and ran his hands across his face. Leaning forward, he explained.

"The evidence against Bradley wasn't enough. His lawyers got him off and the first thing he did was expose me."

"How?" Jack interrupted. "I mean, Bradley's good, but you're better. We didn't even know about your involvement until you revealed yourself."

Dylan looked at the floor and fiddled with his hands. Jack just stared.

"You didn't."

"Yeah, not the best decision I've made." Dylan raised his head and Jack was startled at how vulnerable the man looked. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't had to gloat about finally getting revenge then none of this would have happened."

Jack didn't know what to say, so he changed the subject.

"So what's the plan?"

"We need to figure out where Bradley has the other Horsemen." Dylan was grateful for the change of subject. "Until we know that there's nothing we can do."

"How do we know Bradley hasn't just turned them over to the FBI?"

"As of seven hours ago he hadn't even mentioned that he knew where they were." At Jack's confused look, he quickly filled the man in on what all had happened since Bradley was released. "If he was planning on turning them in he would have already done it."

"If he's still holding the others," Jack said slowly, "and doesn't plan to hand them over, then why did he have you arrested? I mean, if he wants to get his revenge on us, then he must really want revenge on you."

Dylan's eyes widened. "Unless he knew I was going to escape."

The words were barely out of his mouth when his phone began to ring. Dylan glanced at Jack as he reached for his phone and looked at the caller ID. His breath caught in his throat and he frantically hit the answer button.

"Merritt?!"

Jack's head shot up and he watched Dylan closely, mouthing for him to put the phone on speaker. Dylan shook his head and quickly hit the speaker button. The two leaned forward eagerly just as the caller began speaking.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Shrike."

Dylan felt his blood freeze.

"Bradley."

"It's been seven hours since we last spoke, Mr. Shrike. I hope that gave you plenty of time to reach Mr. Wilder in California." Bradley was clearly amused.

"Jack's dead, Bradley. Remember the car crash on the bridge?"

"I'm sure my man will appreciate knowing he was blinded by a ghost," Bradley didn't even hesitate. "Your boy is full of surprises it seems."

Jack glanced at Dylan, but the older man shook his head for him to remain silent. Just because Bradley knew Jack was alive and that he had escaped didn't mean he knew they had met up. The man could simply be fishing for information, and the less information Bradley had the better off they would be.

"Where are the Horsemen?"

"Your precious magicians are fine." There was a pause. "But I can't guarantee how long that will remain the case."

"Cut the crap, Bradley." Dylan snapped, letting his anger out. "Just tell me what you want."

"You, Mr. Shrike." Bradley answered calmly. "Your little stunts cost me half of my life savings and eighteen months in a prison cell. That is not something I can simply forget. But, I'm feeling generous. You turn yourself over to me by this time next week and I'll let your little pets go."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then they die. One by one. Slowly and very painfully."

Jack sucked a deep breath in and met Dylan's eyes worriedly. Dylan made no response, his face going blank and hiding the anger and fear he felt as he responded with only one word.

"Where?"

"I have a place outside of New Orleans. I'll text you the address. Until then, Mr. Shrike."

The phone beeped as the call ended and Dylan suddenly broke. For a moment, the two men remained still, staring at the silent phone. Dylan's hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles whitening, and for a moment Jack thought the man was going to throw the phone across the room. But Dylan had spent years mastering his emotions and quickly regained control, his grip loosening as he tucked the phone into his pocket. He got up and began to pace the room, focusing on the floor and ignoring everything around him. Neither spoke for several moments, each lost in their own worried thoughts. It was Jack who broke the silence.

"When do we leave?"

"I leave as soon as possible."

Dylan didn't look up or stop his pacing. Jack didn't miss a beat.

"You're not going alone."

"It's the only chance we've got!" Dylan's voice was quiet, but Jack could hear the frustration behind the words. The man stopping his pacing and stared at the wall of Lionel Shrike posters. "It's me he wants. If turning myself in will save the others, then there's not really a choice."

"That's bull and you know it." Jack stated, not believing what he was hearing. "He wants us just as bad as you he wants you. If he didn't he wouldn't have sent men after us. You may have been the mastermind, Dylan, but we're the ones who actually pulled it off and planted the evidence that landed him in that cell. If you turn yourself in then he'll just kill all of you."

"Then what do we do?" Dylan turned to face the younger man, looking far more vulnerable then Jack had ever seen.

"We got to New Orleans like he wants," Jack got to his feet and moved around the couches. "But that's all we give him. You're smart, Dylan. A little bit of time and planning and between the two of us we can rescue the others."

"Your confidence in me is touching, Jack," Dylan sighed. "I only hope it's not misplaced."

Jack's answer was instant.

"It's not."

Dylan smiled tiredly and put his hand on Jack's shoulder in gratitude before removing it. He took one last look at his father's posters before turning and walking to the bedroom. Jack waited, not sure what Dylan was planning. The mastermind returned quickly with five fully packed backpacks. Handing two of them to Jack, he led the way out of the house and to the barn. Removing the padlock he had placed on his last visit, he swung the doors open to reveal a good sized black Mazda. Like the house, it was covered in a thin layer of dust, but neither paid attention to that.

"Grab that duffle bag over in the horse stall." Dylan ordered as he went to the back and threw the backpacks in the trunk.

Jack did as he was told, grunting slightly under the weight of the duffle. He moved to the back of the car and placed the bag inside and shut the trunk door before climbing into the passenger seat.

"What is all that stuff?" Jack asked as Dylan started the car and pulled out of the barn.

"Provisions." Dylan responded, as he pulled onto the gravel road. "The backpacks have extra clothing for all of us—don't give me that look. I chose you all, after all, it's not that hard to figure out your clothing size—and first aid equipment. The duffle has some equipment we might find useful when we reach New Orleans."

"Like what?"

"You'll see." Dylan paused as he turned onto the paved road at the end of the drive. "There's a GPS in the glove box. Best plug in the coordinates. It's a long way to New Orleans."