"Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."
— J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)

She wanted nothing less than to watch. Wanted to cover her eyes and her ears and curl up into a little ball and never look up, never move again. But when it was her fault that this was happening, when it was her that could make it stop any time and yet she chose not to, to look away would be the worst she could do.

That would be abandonment.

So she watched, watched, fists clenched in the handcuffs, the handcuffs holding her back from attack, the only think keeping her from taking a flying leap at Lars Kunhyi, from bashing his head against the—

"Still not doing anything?" He looked almost amused, as though… as though what? Eden shook her head once, ignoring him, because he didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Willow, Willow who was tied down, tied down with the knives pressing into her back—

Willow—

Willow—

And somehow, Eden couldn't meet her eyes—because as Lars had told her, told her over and over, it was in her power. Hers or Willows. And neither of them was speaking— at least, not saying what he wanted them too—

Willow screamed. She could see her trying to keep it in, but there was only so long. Lars's face split into a smile, a smile of—relief?

Eden didn't know. The world had cracked, fallen to pieces—she didn't know anything—

The time when she thought that she knew everything was long gone, a shadow in the corner of her memory, even though it was barely two weeks past—

Willow looked at her, the desperation clear in her eyes. And Eden opened her mouth— (it's only one question, just one, it can't hurt that much) (but if she told him he would know how to get her to talk in the future) (and it would never end) (they were going to die anyways) (why put it off even longer)

She watches, watches as Lars presses something hot to Willow's shoulder—she's so little, you're sick, you're sick—and adds another dot next to it. a curve underneath completes the smiley face—sick sick sick leave her alone—

She tugged at her wrists. If there was ever a time for escape, ever a time where a building, needed to be blown over, it was now. If there was ever a time when she needed to be able to blast something, it was now, but she had the abilities of a toddler—

Eden flung herself forward as though the chains might break as Lars studies the blisters rising, adds a touch-up to the nose—

"Oh. I guess I just ruined it," he frowns. "Here, I'll erase it and start again." (He's taunting her, she knows it, as he rubs the spot over and over with the stick, scribble lines covering the sick doodle— and Willow screams again, rolling away from him, but she's just as mobile as Eden is—)

"Let go of her," Eden managed. "Fuck, just let—"

"Your job," he smiled, turning to her. "Don't cry, Willow. I'll give you another smiley face. How about on your other arm? Oh wait… that one's all bloody…" from one of his stupid knives, don't play stupid, it doesn't look good on you, "Knee then? Ankle?"

Adri—Twelve trembled next to her, and Eden turned. Wanted to ask—for help? No. No, she couldn't, couldn't' expect anyone to help her because it would mean death for all of them…

Another scream. (And Eden couldn't look, because her whole body was covered in bruises and cuts. Because of the knives abd the whips and the burns and the crushed hand and she was Willow, and she hadn't caved in yet but god, she was eleven, eleven, give or take fifty years but—)

"We could always try the Iron Maiden," Lars mused. "Fitting, isn't it? For a maiden Hunter?"

Iron Maiden. Her mind spun. Iron Maiden. Spanish Inquisition invention. Knives. Shut victim inside. Small cuts to non-vital organs. Takes days to die. Information she had gotten from—Lydia, Lydia who had been full of such random facts—

Lydia who was dead in a mass grave somewhere—body missing—

"No," she whispered, and leaned harder. Her broken wrist complained, loudly, and her knee almost gave out as she made the mistake of putting pressure on it.

Not to mention her back, her back that hurt like hell whenever she moved—

Fuck—

"No." She said a little louder.

Eden, now would be an amazing time to blow something up.

But ever since the executions, since she'd killed that man just by touching him—it had hidden. As though it had retreated in horror at what she had done. As though her subconciousness had finally managed to kill it—

She'd touched a man and he burned—

And there was no one, no one she wanted to burn more than Lars right now (if only he had touched him at that moment instead)—and she couldn't do it.

Willow screamed louder, kicking as she was forced towards the closet—

And Eden looked at Twelve once more, but the slave wasn't watching them, she had her eyes closed—

"The power lines!" Willow screamed. Lars stopped.

"Come again?"

Willow, no.

But the smaller Hunter was crying now, crying harder—"We can code a message and send it through he power lines, and then the bases have this reader thing and they intercept the signal and—and it goes into Morse code and then they read it and that's how we coordinate everything, all the attacks, all of everything and… and… and you can get to it if you intercept it at he right spots and…"

"Interesting." But Lars was staring at Eden now, and she worked hard to keep her face blank but didn't know how well she succeeded—and his eyes were glinting as he pushed Willow away from death and with one might shove towards her lieutenant—

She stumbled, one, two steps, crashing against Eden when another shove knocked her legs out from under her. But the lieutenant's hands were tied. She couldn't reach out to her, could only lean back a little to support her weight and wonder what Lars would do to them once he realized that Willow had lied.

O-o

"Don't you have anything else?"

"Of course not. He wants to keep her alive, not make her better."

"But— there's got to be something else in there."

Twelve's thin fingers pressed the adhesive bandage against Willow's arm. "See if you can magic something else in there, then."

Why had they left Willow and Eden in the same cell? To rub in her condition? To remind Eden of what she'd be losing—as though she had to be reminded? Eden shook the white box in desperation, ignoring the strain on her back, half hoping that something would fall out. But the only bandage provided was in Twelve's hands, and—

Willow twitched once, and Eden pulled her a little closer, trying to use her good knee to keep the open wounds off the grimy floor. And for once she was feeling alive again—because she had a mission, which didn't make sense—but if she could save Willow—even though it might be worse for her to stay alive but—but—if what Twelve said was true—

If there was any hope, even though they shouldn't be there—

Even though Greg and Dawn and Peter shouldn't be risking their lives, and it was wrong to hope—

So wrong to hope—

She wouldn't trust Twelve except for the note. The note that had been pressed into her hand the previous morning, carefully printed on a scrap of paper:

Veritas.

Her response, also carefully printed, went back with Twelve. To prove that they were there and weren't acting under duress, a precaution she had sort of laughed at when Greg suggested it, back when she thought herself invincible—"If you're writing because you're forced use cursive, if not, print."

And that's when the plans had started, plans that she was horrible for being grateful for.

"That's all of them," Twelve said hollowly. A few wounds were still left open.

"I'd offer the bottoms of my pants," Eden muttered, "but they're already so filthy."

"Don't. It'll make it worse."

But she couldn't let Willow die. It was her job, her job as lieutenant. Her job to take care of the Hunt, and she had failed. Rio, stabbed. And now Willow, slowly bleeding to death, not even conscious—

Don't die.

It was all she could think. Even though she had been able to calmly calculate the benefits of dying by hanging for Rueben and the others, why now, why couldn't she just let Willow go?

O-o

So I know there was supposed to me more gore in here. I had it all mapped out, and then I found myself unable to write it. Lame? Yeah, probably. Damn those morals!

In other (somewhat) exciting news:

I started a blog to be updated every Friday (if all goes to plan.) *poke* writing-ish. Blogspot. Com.

And in very, very exciting news… you know how I was doing NaNoWriMo? Well, I won. I wrote 66,666 words (stopping in mid-sentence to achieve the desired number.) Then at 9:30 last night (Nov 30) my friend called to tell me that my word count had dropped down to 1.

Hi, Zoe Nightshade.

She even sent me an email this time. Something about "I promise this is the last time you'll hear from me." (She does like being dramatic.) Isn't that sweet of her. I now can't get into my NaNo account, and the word count has closed, listing me as writing one word. I went on at the last minute on a new account and validated, so at least I got my certificate… I wonder of Zoe knows that a teenager is going to jail for doing basically the same thing?

Now, rambling over, on to review replies:

DC Thunder: I love your username, first of all. And yeah, I suppose they sometimes do. I hate emotionless characters.

Morganic: yeah, it is sad. Luckily, Eden and Lars don't have ego problems so there's a bit of a balance.

Lovetoread: next chapter is rather violent, no worries. And Zeus.

AHumanRobot: crap. Ok.

Firecracker: Thanks! Ok. yeah if you let me know that would be amazing. : ) next chapter is more action-y.

HAHA I KNOW WHO: smile sideways? :D that's a funny mental image. No, not time travel. In the beginning, it was 2012, but that was five years ago. (I do remind you of the date every now and then. Remember 2013 and New Years?) Yeah it was the Masterpiece Mysteries. And YESSS! YOU WATCHED! THAT MEANS THAT SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET MY REFERENCES. Oh that looks cool. *goes to put hold at the library* DH was awesome, did you see it?

Nien: *shrug* maybe. You always did have an uncanny knack for guesses, but we'll see. And how are you reading this in school?

Hayley: Lars is… *counts on fingers* I think he's 23 now. And still living with his dad. Pathetic, I know.

Biblio: Because he saw her at the trials on TV. I said that in there.

HP: k. guess I won't then. Heh. And anyone can guess as in? He's just drawing pwetty pictwes.