She worked in the kitchen frantically, trying to channel all of her nerves into the act of scrubbing the cookware. It was a pointless action really, and she would have felt much better throwing them against the wall, but still she worked diligently, hoping for a reprieve in thinking.

All of a sudden her plan didn't seem like such a great idea. She'd effectively burned the bridge with the Quagmires- no. She… had discontinued the relationship. In any case, she was unable to turn to them for help. He was the only one who had the ability to help her solve the mysteries plaguing her. And yet, she would once again have to buy them at the price of her freedom. She paused, looking out the window, feeling entirely trapped. Was it more important to keep her family together or to find out about the mysteries that had separated them in the first place? She had promised her parents to protect her siblings, but how could they expect her to protect them from their own legacy? She felt sick, dreadfully confused, and horribly lost. This was too much to have been put on her, and she wanted nothing more than to shrink away, to escape. And yet, she couldn't afford to- that was the only option that led nowhere. She braced her hands against the counter, staring out the window.

It felt strange to think about leaving the house. It had never been much of a home, but still, she had to admit a fondness for it. She knew it at least-it was perhaps the only constant she had. She ran her fingers across the wood of the nearby drawers. She could build a new house, a brand new one, never lived in, with an expansive library, and a large, sun-lit kitchen. She would have plenty of tabletops for stacks of books and piles of gears and contraptions and-

She stopped, opening her eyes, pulling herself from her daydream. All there was between her and her desires was a little fire, a little murder, a little treachery, she thought bitterly. And what of the Quagmires? They already had their beautiful life, beautiful home, beautiful library. And she was willing to sacrifice it all for her own gains. "Just as they did with me," she thought, staring out into the yard. She was settled, she couldn't go back now. She could do it. She would do it.

She lifted the knife, wiping the blade and beginning her work on the vegetables, cutting in slow, deliberate strokes. She was so close, she just needed to stay distant enough to finish the homestretch. She could do it. She would do it.

Perhaps he had been unfair. She hadn't the benefit of being taught the finer aspects of espionage and treachery from a young age. If all went well, maybe it wasn't too late. If she proved she could do this, that she was capable of seeing this out to the end, then she could be an invaluable asset. He caught himself feeling excitement at the notion-to have her as both wife and pupil. She was a smart girl, she would catch on easily. True, she was ineffably stubborn, but she wasn't immune to change, and once indoctrinated, she would become a formidable member. He stroked his jaw, thinking. Yes, she would make a phenomenal asset, but first she needed to prove her reliability. Not to him, of course, he knew she could go through with it, but to the others. They needed reason to trust her, and this was an incredible opportunity to prove her abilities. He smiled, taking a sip from his wine bottle.

She walked through the door, wiping her hands on the towel pinned to her waist. "Dinner's prepared, if you're interested." He walked through the door past her, pausing to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. She flushed, still surprised by his softness at times. "Where's the cabernet?"

"Third cabinet from the left." He found the bottle quickly, turning again to exit into the dining room without so much as a thank you. That was more comfortably typical of him.

She didn't want to eat with him, but would have no excuse not to, still trying not to arouse his suspicions. Quietly, she found her spot at the table, trying not to look at him too much. This was it, her last chance to dissuade him from his plan, her last chance to redeem herself by inaction. She said nothing, did nothing, feeling her decision ring within her as a crypt bell.

She wasn't eating, obviously too worried about her performance tonight. This first one would be the hardest-after this she would learn to think of it less and less, and then not at all. Unless, of course, she learned to like it, in which case arson might provide a wonderful couple's bonding activity. Just another way it would help him. He stretched his hand out, touching hers. She jumped, startled out of her thoughts.

"If you don't eat, you'll wither away altogether, making yourself even less helpful." She pulled her hand back sharply, scowling at his words. He laughed. "What a temper you have there. Learn to keep it in check, it'll make it a lot more effective."

"Is that what you do?" Her tone was biting.

He smiled, "You have no idea." She looked away, obviously uneasy at his words. For some reason he didn't seem able to resist tormenting her-no matter what he tried to say, it always came out venomous. No matter, no need for her to get too comfortable, he thought, and yet still his insides clenched anxiously. What was he supposed to do? Feign kindness? That would only leave her horribly disappointed in the long-run. She pushed at the food on her plate, once more preoccupied within her own head. What went on in there? He could never tell.

This was her last chance to have a conversation with him before she would initiate her plan to… well, her plan to escape. His cold silence made her more at ease with the idea, made it less difficult to dissociate herself from the play that was about to be acted out, and yet she felt like a jailer denying a dead man his last words. She tried to think of what she could possibly ask him-tried to imagine what words would be able to bring this all to a satisfying conclusion. There were none. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do that would make this right.

She looked so distressed. She was a terrible actress-always wearing her heart on her sleeve. While that was convenient for him, it may pose a problem in the future. For a glimmer of a second, he almost felt guilty; wanted to take her by the hands, tell her she didn't have to go through with it, that all would be forgiven, but it was much too late now. If she was unable to at least make the attempt, there'd be no way she'd ever find a place within the organization. True, she hadn't one now, but what else could he do? Cover for her? That would only last so long-he needed to keep her under his watch, under his protection, and the best way to do that was to let her experience all the stress and fear and relief firsthand. Still, he felt the urge to comfort her, and so began to reach for her hand again before hesitating, realizing he had nothing to say. What could he possibly tell her to make it any better?

She glanced over at him feeling his gaze. He smiled in a patronizing way.

"I'm sure you'll make a fine arsonist." Her heart plummeted, shattering about her feet.