District Two; Esterwick Government Complex, northern quadrant.


Nadir Kuenzli, 17 years, District Twelve Female.


I wish Kane had let me just run back up the ladder to escape what was below it.

That's not how it goes, though. It takes me a while to understand the rationale, of actually clearing out the jet to see what's inside it. Better than leaving it here for any random person to stumble on, where they could pick up a gun they definitely don't need to have and shoot us down before we get a chance to stop them.

It still took an awful lot of convincing, for Kane to make me stay on the ground and wait for him to descend. At that point Tanis was still out there, running from one of them. This entire time Rooke's been getting his ass handed to him and then getting dragged around by the others. God only knows what other sorts of things are going to happen.

I pull a gun out of the jet that's double the width and weight of my arm, nearly stumbling under it's weight, and eventually leave it on the ground resting up against the broken wreckage of the jet.

The pilot is still lying not far away, too. Jenzen, so I've come learn. Should be twenty-two years of age. Originally from District Nine. By all rights and associations a completely normal human being, before the Sentinels dragged him off and turned him into this, someone who wasn't even afraid to die. He was seventeen when the Sentinels fell in the first place and he got pulled into the Capitol's schemes with the rest of the group.

He didn't really deserve it. At least not everything that happened to him before the moment that I shot him in the chest.

It's just really hard to put any justification behind it, looking at him on the ground now.

"Think we're empty," Kane says, and he clambers back out of the front windshield, patches of blood creeping up against the knees of his pants as he slides back out onto the ground next to it, arms full of guns and knives.

"He didn't even try to shoot me."

"He knew he was dead. Guarantee he saw me, too. There was no way out of it. It makes it a lot easier to decide not to fight, when you know that."

Kane somehow sounds like he's speaking from experience; funny for someone who's still standing in front of me, living and breathing. But I see how his gaze flicks around, how he's watching for Meritt even though we both know he's long gone. I heard him ask Audrel once - only once. But she hasn't seen any sign of them. I don't think she will, either, unless Meritt wants to be seen.

He flinches a bit as someone opens the door to the courtyard, but still has his gun raised before I even fully turn around.

I can't help but let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Tanis, completely intact.

"Hey," she calls, jogging over. Her gaze lingers on the body still lying not far away from my feet. No matter how hard anyone tries to ignore it, it keeps coming back.

"Cutting it close, are we?" I ask, but lean forward to hug her regardless. She shouldn't be encouraged for running off on her own in the first place, but like hell if I'm not going to hug her. Blair told her to run. She just listened. I did the same thing, not long after, when he went to look for Seren. At least he found her, in the end. I'm not sure if it really would have been worth it, if he hadn't.

"A little," she replies, and squeezes me back. "Got my ass saved, though. All good."

Is it, though? I'm not so convinced.

"Deverin's watching the hall," she continues. "She should see anyone trying to creep up on us. But I think they're all occupied by now."

"Should be," Kane agrees. "They're going after Lucien, and Ronan and Rory are looking for Sabille, right?"

"They said they were. Haven't said anything in a bit, though."

"Rory?" I ask. Nothing but silence. I just have to think of it as a moment in which he's occupied, probably with remaining undetected. That's for the best; he doesn't need to be replying to us right now, if they're figuring something out.

Kane looks around again. He said nothing about Meritt.

"You should go look for him," I offer. "I know you want to. We're together - Deverin's not far. We'll be fine."

Kane's wanted to leave and look for Meritt since the second he took off on us. It's not a secret. Or at least if it is, it's a poorly disguised one. Kane takes a deep breath, and then nods. Meritt's probably going to need the help, if he really does find his sister. He's bad, and she's worse. How do you fight back against that, when you're nearly as bad as it can really get?

I don't expect him to fight me, and he doesn't. He picks up a few of the extra guns and knives and then takes off on the two of us, back out of the courtyard. Let's just hope Deverin doesn't shoot him.

"Rory?" Tanis asks again. I keep expecting a reply. I can hear Celia getting frustrated, even though she's not speaking much. She probably hoped she would find Sabille, before Rory did.

At least she wouldn't hesitate.

"Let's just hope this is all almost over," I murmur, and Tanis nods. Too many close calls already today. It would be nice if we could just get this over with, the sun would set, we could fix everything up and go up. Fix everyone, I remind myself. God knows certain people are going to need fixing, after what they've been through. I think I'm going to need fixing.

I hear a gunshot, closer than the rest that are still echoing occasionally outfront from the Peacekeepers, but it's hard to be concerned. It's hard to really think that it's something bad. Gunfire is gunfire. Like music, at this point. The noise of an every day crowd. Something I keep just expecting to hear, no matter where I go. It's easier that way. Less surprising.

What is surprising is the explosion, so big that it rocks the ground underneath my feet. Tanis grabs my arm. The whole building shakes, big as it is. Up on the eastern side I don't so much as see it happen as the dust comes into the air, windows blowing out from the force of the blast. Even the fire, before it's extinguished as it hits the outside air. It's huge. Bigger than anything I've ever seen. Bigger than even the ones out front, right when half the world got blown to hell.

"Rory?" Celia asks.

"Oh, shit," Tanis says.


Celia Bradshaw, 18 years, District Four Female.


I'm not sure how I know, but some sort of awful feeling settles over me regardless.

It's like how animals take off first, when there are signs of a storm. How you can hear the birds before the thunderstorm comes crashing in. They always know, even if they can't possibly. They know it's coming.

The whole building quakes with the explosion. I stop dead in my tracks in the middle of the hallway, completely exposed and completely uncaring.

I ask after Rory. He doesn't answer.

"Audrel, where were they?"

"Up near the main side entrance, last I saw them."

"Is that where that came from?"

She doesn't answer, and it feels like my heart falls onto the floor. Someone distantly sucks in a breath, but it feels so loud, for what it really should be. Maybe that's because my own breath stops so quickly everything else becomes amplified, in the few seconds after she blatantly refuses to answer me.

Turning back towards where the explosion came from is not an idea.

It's a certainty.

"Celia, be careful," someone snaps. It could be any of them, all thinking and knowing the same thing, without even being told. They already know I'm turning around and headed that way, dreading what I'm going to find. It doesn't matter how much I don't really want to. Theo and Costa are far outside. Too far away to really hope. Someone else could be close enough to come and find me, help me if I need them too, but I'm not going to wait here for that happen.

I don't think I have any time to lose.

I see the site of the explosion from quite far away, off down one of the walls. There's smoke and dust everywhere in the air, spilling out into the hallways. The far wall is collapsed in on itself, the rubble piled up right where the doors connect to the main room.

I didn't plan on stopping, but my body just does, when I see the sight of it. The main foyer is completely trashed, what had to have been the second floor balcony above it completely gone, collapsed into pieces onto the floor below it. The rubble has to be several feet deep. Most of the floor underneath it is hardly visible, save for small sections of it. Even the stairs are completely gone - I can see where they were, though, some of the marble slabs still connected but fallen to the ground regardless.

And this is where they were. Where Ronan was leading them, to find the bomber.

Where Rory was.

"I saw them go under the stairs," Audrel explains. "Couldn't see them after that. She must've disabled the cameras on the balcony, because I didn't see her go down after them. I only had a view from the hall, when it—"

When it collapsed. When it collapsed on top of them.

This isn't happening. There's no way this is really happening right now. But they're gone. There's no sign of Rory or Ronan, no sign of Sabille. Audrel didn't see any of them run off. If they didn't have time to run off, then there was nowhere else to go. They're underneath it all. They're trapped, buried alive.

Possibly dead, I can't help but think, as I go scrambling for where the stairs must have started. It's impossible not to trip. All the rubble is shifting underneath my feet, the plaster threatening to give away, and then I'll be next, stuck underneath waiting for someone to rescue me, if I was even conscious enough to do so. For all I know it's already too late, and unless I was here in the first place, I couldn't have stopped it.

I can feel the hysteria rising, as I start to move away some of the rubble. Pieces of marble and chunks of metal go sliding down the pile onto what little of the ground is left exposed. It's not that big of a space. I'll find them.

Or I'll find something. What I find might not be entirely a person, after this.

It's not long before I expose something, in the middle of the rubble. The edge of a boot, just poking out from underneath a slab of concrete, twisted awkwardly. I'm forcing myself not to lose it. I can't even focus on what someone's saying in the earpiece, no doubt trying to get some sort of update out of me. But it feels like I can't. All I can do is push the rubble out of the way, shoving and nearly collapsing under it's weight as it finally comes free.

It comes free, nearly coming back my way, and reveals Ronan's bloodied and broken face, unmoving.

There's no cause for any sort of alarm to overtake, because I know before I even crouch down, before I even reach a hand down, searching for his pulse, that he's already dead.

It still cripples me for an alarmingly long moment, where I can't seem to move at all. Just my fingers against the edge of his neck, waiting for a flutter that won't ever come. Staring down and waiting for him to get up, despite all the contradicting evidence. And if he's like this, right now, then there's no avoiding the other thought. The thought that the same thing's already happened to Rory.

That's when the urgency finally breaks through, and I turn around, quicker than I thought was possible on such unstable ground. Rory's here, somewhere, and he's not dead, he can't be dead, because if he's dead I'm not sure what I'll do.

I'm not sure if I'll get out of here. If I'll be capable of getting back to the others.

There's a renewed energy in me as I go back through the path I had walked, shoving things out of the way. Digging through, sometimes all the way to the floor. My hands are covered in dust, white up to my wrists. My skin snags and pulls against the broken edges of the collapsed ground, scratches opening up all along my palms, but I don't even feel the sting.

I don't feel much of anything, until I finally push aside a twisted off piece of metal, and a hand comes rolling free of the debris.

It doesn't take me longer than a second to realize that it's not a girl's hand. The skin is ripped open and still dripping blood rhythmically onto the floor below it. I want nothing more than to scream, because it feels like that's the only thing that will help. I push away even more of the broken ground, hardly letting myself believe it's him. But it has to be. There's no other person.

The second I see his face, I think nothing else, besides the fact that he must be dead.

He doesn't move. I suck in a breath that hurts and shakes.

"Rory," I try, pleading. I can hardly even reach him. I dig in deeper, trying to push away what's left of the rubble that's still surrounding him. I almost can't move it. I don't even know where the strength comes from, but it feels like it's more than I should be capable of.

My arms are shaking. My hands too. It might as well be all of me.

"Rory," I repeat, but I already know I'm not getting an answer. A minute later I have his shoulders and head free, including most of his torso, and that has to be good enough. His legs aren't crushed under anything. Part of his left hand was, and some of the fingers are jerked back at an awkward angle. I grab him under the arms and start to pull backwards, praying that my legs keep me up.

They do. At least until I back off the last of the rubble, still pulling him after me. Apparently after that my body just gives up, even though it's intact. I hit the ground with my legs folded underneath me, Rory completely limp up against my chest. I just need to breathe. I can handle this. I can, so long as I keep telling myself that.

It just doesn't feel like I can.

"I'm gonna need some help over here," I manage. Okay, that's not great. It sounds like I'm about to burst into tears at any given second. I'm not about to deny it, either. I'm not a good liar, to myself or to others.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't— I don't fucking know what's wrong, I just need help."

I really don't know what's wrong. I try to turn him, as gently as possible, so that he's half-draped over my lap, but nothing happens. His head is bleeding an alarming amount, but nothing I could do is going to stop it. If some of his fingers are broken, then I'm not counting some of his toes out either. His nose could be too, for all I know. There's too much blood to tell. His clothes seemed to have protected him from some of it, but that didn't do anything for his face.

Even when I fit a hand against the side of his neck I can hardly feel a pulse. It feels like I'm imagining it. It's so light, the weakest little flutter against the tips of my fingers. It could just be how bad I'm shaking. I could be holding a dead body right now, and I don't even know it. I don't think I'm going to be able to figure it out on my own.

"Okay, we're okay," I insist, even though I'm not convinced. I'm okay. He's not. I shift a little bit, trying to get my legs out from underneath me, and I can't tell if I'm seeing it, when he moves. Maybe it was just me moving, that small tilt of his head, the slightest exhale of breath from his lips.

"We're just figuring out who's closest," Audrel says. "Someone's coming soon."

Not soon enough. I shouldn't have been the first one here. This isn't good for me. I'm going to lose it.

The rubble shifts behind me, the small pattering of broken bits of rubble hitting the ground, and I turn my head.

Definitely going to lose it.

It's her. Sabille. She pushes herself free from a piece of concrete and then ends up on her hands and knees. She looks just as bad as Rory and Ronan both. Her eyes are dazed and unfocused, seeing right through me. But she knows I'm here, and she's trying, desperately. I don't know if she can stand up. I almost want her to. That would make it a lot more satisfying, when I get up and go over there.

She swallows a few times, before any words come out, mixed with blood. "Wasn't my fault. He pressed the wrong button."

It's going to be satisfying either way, I decide.

I let go of Rory, gently, trying to lower him back to the ground as carefully as I can. Sabille doesn't move when I rise to my feet, not when I get just to the edge of the pile and yank a piece of broken rebar out, the first one I see. It would be unlike them, to see that coming and run. They're more likely to stay when they see it coming. They may be wild animals but they don't have the same preservation instincts that come with fleeing.

So she doesn't try to get up, doesn't move at all, in the second before the rebar comes swooping down towards her head.

It connects at the edge of her the cheek, the sickening sound of metal pushing in against flesh, and she collapses backwards. I don't care if that was enough to kill her or not. The next hit connects over her cheekbone, the harsh sound of a bone fracturing apart and veins rupturing underneath, a spurt of blood. It's not enough. She should be dealt worse than this, for acting like this wasn't on her, for acting like she didn't just almost rip my life halfway apart.

I hit her again. Something breaks apart and juts outward in her jaw. Her eyes are closed now, mouth filled with blood. When it next hits her in the temple her head lolls completely sideways and the blood spills out onto the floor, staining the marble.

I bring the bar back. I should keep going. There's something in me that wants to ruin her, until every single part of her is unrecognizable.

Because that's what she deserves. For doing this, for getting back up in the first place when they can't.

"Celia."

My hand swings to a halt, nearly back at her head again. The bar goes limp. A voice. Quiet, broken, struggling to stay even and whole.

I look back, and Rory's somehow nearly on his side, eyes barely open, looking right at me. He lets his arm flop off his side and onto the ground in front of him, a sick sound of pain escaping him the second it hits the floor. But he's stretching, trying to reach out. He can't. He can hardly move, but he's trying, with his hand edging out for me, as much as he can.

"Rory," I choke out, and the cuts on his lips open up and bleed again when he tries to speak. I'm back on him almost instantly, tripping and fumbling over myself to get across the rubble and onto the ground next to him, and I watch him close his eyes the second I do.

"Don't," I snap. "Don't pass out, don't you dare."

"'m not," he slurs, but he sure sounds like he's about to any second now.

"Don't," I repeat, hoping it gets through. Something has to. "I'm just gonna - I'm gonna lift you back up, hold on."

I don't even know if that's a good idea. He's injured, and same as Rooke we shouldn't be moving them. But I can't just leave him bleeding on the ground until someone decides it's convenient for them to show up. I force an arm under him, trying to ignore the sound of pain he makes, and then cradle his head with the other hand until I can slide him up and over again, resting over my legs. He presses his face up against the front of my shirt, one of his arms trying to come up around my back, but I don't think he can manage it.

"You're okay," I insist, but it sounds no better than when he was unconscious. "Just tell me what's wrong."

I'm trying to figure it out. He's not moving the arm that he has rested over his torso, his shoulder tensed awkwardly. At least supporting his head I can try and press my fingers over the gash that's still bleeding right at the base of his skull.

He shakes his head. I don't know what that's really supposed to mean, but everything hurts. I don't think he can focus on any one thing, and I don't blame him.

"Ronan," he whispers, and only just manages to lift his head up to look at me when I find I can't figure out what to say. His face twists, head slumping back against my arm, eyes squeezed shut. I can feel the tears burning my own eyes, because this is too much and I just need someone else here to deal with it, to pick up where I'm leaving off because I can't handle this on my own.

And I thought I could. That's the worst part. I always thought I could handle everything.

"We're gonna be okay," I console, but it's hard, when I can feel tears dripping down my own face, when it's all I can do to just keep him clutched against my chest, because if I do that at least I know he's here. At least I know I'm doing something.

He knows I'm crying, but I don't think he can lift his head up anymore. I rest my head against his temple and his hand clutches at my back.

Just trying to hold on.

That's all we've ever been trying to do.


Kelsea Faraday, 13 years, District Ten Female.


Neither of them are answering.

There's nothing in me that's surprised.

Celia sounded terrified and I don't even think she realized it. It was only two sentences, but they were the most hysterical I've ever heard her, and probably the most I ever will hear her. It sounded like her whole world has just fallen apart with her standing in the middle of what was left, and I can't imagine it's very far off. That doesn't help. Something's wrong. Really wrong. Probably worse what Rooke is, right now, and he's pretty bad off.

Which is really easy to remember, with how often I'm reminded of it.

Dimara's gone up ahead, as she's been doing every few minutes, just in case. Scoping out what's around the next few corners before she dares to take us that way. It's for the best. The last thing we need is to be surprised when we really can't afford to drop Rooke where we're standing and fight back.

This time, though, Vance goes with her. There are several hallways jutting out from where this one ends up ahead, and I don't think Vance is particularly keen on getting separated from us any time soon, but he's still more than willing to check things out.

And that leaves me with Rooke, and a wall. I don't know which is keeping him more upright.

He's trying to make it easy for us, but if I let go of him right now he's probably slide right down the hall and onto the floor. He's leaning against it so much that there's no chance he'd be able to pull himself back up before he realized he was falling.

There's a lot to keep track of. I'm trying to make sure I'm not making anything else for Rooke, listening for any signs of what's happening with Celia, and attempting to keep one eye on Vance and one eye on Dimara, before one of them inevitably disappears.

It's not easy.

"What's wrong?" Rooke asks quietly.

"Nothing."

"You're making a face."

A bold statement for someone who I was so convinced hadn't opened their eyes in nearly five minutes. He's been relying on us to pull him in whatever direction works. I don't think he even cares where he ends up, as long as we've got him.

"I think something happened to Rory," I explain. "He was near the explosion. Celia's freaking out. It doesn't sound good."

Rooke lifts his head up from the wall for a second, and then leans his weight back onto me, trying to look down the hallway. I'm pretty sure he's not aware of just how many times Dimara has left. I don't think he remembers Vance going after her, this time.

"We should go look for them."

I can't deny that I want nothing more than go running in Celia's direction too, if that's really where something went wrong for Rory. But I don't have that option. Rooke needs us too, even if his turned to mush brain is really unwilling to admit it out-loud.

"Someone else will," I tell him. "Right now we're just worried about you."

"You can worry about more than one thing at a time."

"I'll have a breakdown if I try," I mutter. I'm sure I could manage to keep it together for now, at least, while I'm focused on Rooke, but not forever. If I start questioning every little thing it'll become too much for me to keep up with. For now I need to keep my head up, eyes forward. As long as everything's being dealt with then I can handle that.

"Celia?" I ask again, about to start pleading. I'm sure everyone is. That's probably the real reason why Vance went with Dimara - if he was doing something, if he was moving, that takes his attention off of this.

"We're gonna go, if no one else says they are," Nadir tells us, and I let out a sigh of relief. Having Nadir and Tanis both head that way will make me feel a lot better. All of us, probably. They're uninjured, and they can handle whatever they're walking into. I know they can.

"Better?" Rooke asks.

"Not yet. But Nadir and Tanis are gonna get over there as quick as they can."

"That's good," he says, and moves up against the wall. Even that little moment is enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut once again. Almost up to a minute, that time, without looking like he was in completely agony. That's almost progress, if I didn't feel terrible about it.

"What can I do?"

He shakes his head and forces himself still once again. I'm trying to keep him upright and also trying to hold onto him as lightly as I possibly can. No need to go at his ribs even more.

It's not like anyone can really do anything, for that. Some painkillers. But that still doesn't fix them. He'll be dealing with this for a while.

"You're okay," he forces out a few seconds later. "Just don't drop me, preferably."

"Wasn't going to."

I'd be dead if Vance hadn't spent several days carrying me around. There's no way I would've been there by the time day nine rolled around, if he hadn't decided on those few minutes of generosity. And Rooke would probably still be laying at the bottom of the stairwell, if we hadn't gone looking for him.

I'm more than used to this, by now.

I guess that's probably a good thing.


Dimara Vespoli, 18 years, District One Female.


I don't tell anyone when I see someone.

It's pretty far off. Not enough to raise the alarm and terrify Rooke into coughing up one of his lungs, but definitely someone. They're off down the corridor and out in the space between two buildings. Moving carefully, sticking to the shadows. Slow enough that I get a good enough look to know that it's none of us.

Besides, it would be pretty hard to think that. Even far away you can tell that they don't move the way a perfectly normal person would and does.

It takes years to hold yourself like that, to move like that. Careers only get a taste of what that feels like, before they either die or win, and after that there's little reason to keep it up.

"Hey," Vance says, and I shush him before he's really even that close. I'm not risking this guy hearing anything, not a single word. He creeps up behind me, clearly trying to lean around me to get a better look.

"We're good every other way," he whispers. "No sign of anyone. We should be good to keep moving."

I nod, but continue to squint down the hallway, trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. He opens one of the first floor windows but only peers in for a second. He leaves it open when he backs up, too, and then looks to his left and disappears. We won't be able to see him unless we risk getting closer.

"Go back and get them, just in case," I tell Vance, and he jogs back up to the last corner and heads right, back to Kelsea and Rooke. Just because I think he's headed a certain way doesn't mean he won't double back and head this way instead. I don't need them alone if that really does happen.

It won't. Hopefully.

"Blair?"

"What's up?"

"You still in the east building?"

"Sure are."

"Think we saw your guy. He was outside. He just opened a window, but he left and went deeper into the complex, I think. No way to tell unless I want to go outside and ask him."

"That's probably not very smart," he surmises, like he's the pinnacle of smart decision making himself. "We'll keep our eye out."

"For the love of god, be careful."

"Careful is my middle name."

"I'm serious. If I have to find you laying somewhere in need of another limb cut off, I'm never speaking to you again."

"Harsh," he points out. "Please don't do that."

"Then listen to me. Think of it as you might be needed for Rory pick-up in the inevitable future once we find out what's going on there."

That's enough to shut him up, because for every single shred of bravado we have in our bodies, Blair included, it fades away pretty quickly in the face of things like this. We don't know how bad it is, and we're already dragging Rooke around. Chances are we'll be adding Rory to that list, because I don't think Celia would be so silent otherwise. If you really think I want to be dealing with Blair all over again on top of that, you're dead wrong.

I never want to be dealing that again in my life. I have a feeling the first and hopefully only time is still going to be brought up when I'm ninety years old and probably still putting up with his antics.

"Have some faith in me, mom," he insists. "See you soon."

I sigh, and pull the earpiece out of my ear, a brief second of respite. "Hopefully."

Truthfully, I think Blair will be okay. Or at least alive, the next time I see him. I just really hope I don't drop dead before that moment, or anyone else. It certainly feels like that. Apparently stress really can kill a person.

At least my arm's stopped bleeding. It won't be that.

Vance comes back around the corner hauling Rooke with him not long after, and Kelsea rushes up to me before they even take a few steps. It's not that hard to out-pace them right now.

"He's gone?"

Thankfully. I still chance a last glance down the hallway just in case. One of them hit Rooke with a car; doubling back on us and shooting us all would be child's play compared to that. Clearly Kelsea thinks the same thing. She wouldn't be looking that way otherwise. Vance's attention is pretty much solely back on Rooke, and he already got his fill looking at something neither of us really want to deal with.

"Alright," I announce, and lift up Rooke's free arm to duck under it myself, draping it over my shoulders. I know stretching has to hurt his ribs more, but we also move faster than we would if it was only one person pulling him along.

"You good?" I ask him, and he manages to meet my eyes this time. Last time it took him what felt like an hour to even lift his head up.

I don't really think he's good. But right now I'll take him lying over the truth. There's no time for the truth to be dealt with.

"Awesome," he decides on after a moment.

"Awesome," I agree. Not the word I think any of us we're thinking of, but that's fine. Whatever someone's willing to say at this point is a word or sentence I'll accept.

"So where are we going?" Vance asks, adjusting Rooke's arm over his shoulder.

I look down the hall one last time. "Definitely not that way."


Meritt Trevall, 22 years, Formerly of District One.


He can't catch more than one, fleeting glimpse of his sister before she disappears once again.

He's not the only that's a ghost.

She's doing it on purpose. It feels like that's all they did for years; disappear in and out of each other's lives, never staying for long.

But she knows he's alive. She was in the Capitol too, when they brought him back. They never saw each other. If he had known then that she had survived, he would've wondered why they never saw each other. Maybe it was for the best. If he had saw her, he doesn't doubt that things would've gotten worse for him.

He pulled the earpiece out long ago. He doesn't want anyone screaming at him, trying to tell him where to go and when to do it.

He dealt with that for too long.

Kane's never going to forgive him for this, but he can't really bring himself to care. He can't even begin to imagine what kind of atrocities Carnelia would lay on someone else if they tried to get involved. With him it's a game - with anyone else it's shoot to kill, no questions asked.

And no one else deserves that. It's only him.

Meritt can hardly remember a time before his tenth birthday, a time before the Sentinels existed in his life. That's everything he remembers. Carnelia still probably has shreds of everything before, of what her life was like. She had friends that would come over on the weekends and her alarm always woke him up in the morning and almost every day she would meet him outside his class and they'd walk home together and that was the life they had.

That was the life they should've continued to had.

It's his fault. All of it. He really believes that. Even if the initial action wasn't him, Carnelia took every hit in those early days to protect him.

She lost herself long before he did. And the second she backed away, they started in on him.

She should've just let them kill him. It would've been easier. Maybe if they had she wouldn't have been so keen to fight back, wouldn't have bothered surviving. Then they'd both be dead, and that would be better.

He wasn't scared, when he saw that flame come to life, when he realized death was imminent.

He was more scared when he woke up.

There it is again. That barest flash of what could be a human being, or what could be his sister. A shadow on the wall, disappearing.

The walk into the next room isn't very long, but he forces himself to take it slow. She's not venturing up the staircase in the middle of the room. There's any number of ways she could have gone. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, and doesn't move.

It's been a very long time since either of them made a noise.

Too long.

He turns around, and there she is. No different than he remembered her, gun pointed at his head and all.

The gun's the least surprising thing of all.

It's a wonder people never called them twins. She still looks much younger than what she really is, and he probably looks about ten years older, after everything. He definitely feels like it.

"Long time no see," he says, and watches her cross those ten feet between them, and doesn't move.

He runs, she shoots him. Probably, anyway. Maybe she's changed her tactic.

The barrel of the gun is an inch away from his head now. All the things that have been done to him, and it's a possibility she thinks a gun to the head is still worrying. He can't help but wonder if she doesn't know the true extent of it, or just what she was told. The good parts. The safe ones.

"Couldn't have just stayed dead?"

"Couldn't have just died yourself?"

None of this would be happening if they were both dead. He's pretty convinced. But she tilts her head at that, the shade of a smile on her face.

"Should have just died with mom and dad," she reminds him. He feels like she's said that before. Probably.

That's the truth, if nothing else is.

"Where are your friends?" she asks.

"Where are yours?"

"Dead, probably."

There's only one reason he should've left the earpiece in. He would know every single one of them that had died by now, and jr could throw it back at her. Tell her what happened, push her right to the edge like she's trying to do to him. Lucien is a leader in name, Carnelia is the one that really made them what they are.

She may not care about him, but somewhere deep down these people mean something to her.

There's no denying it.

"It sounds like they've been falling pretty easy."

"You really think our goal here was to kill you?" she asks. "If we wanted to kill you, you'd all be dead. Your reckoning will come one day, little brother, and when it does you'll think back on this moment. We don't leave easily. Dead or alive you'll remember that."

"No one else around," he says, like it's an offer. "No one to stop you."

"No one to stop you either."

Like she cares. Like she'd really want him to go easy on her, when they both know she won't.

"Old times?" Carnelia asks, in the same second that he ducks, his arm swinging upward. His hand locks around the barrel and twists it away, pointed off above his head before he dares to rise back up. She practically moved with him, knew what he was going to do and allowed it. They still move the same.

"Old times," he agrees. She smiles.

Game on.


I didn't edit this chapter for a goddamn second. The laziness is real.

And happy one year to this story, while I'm at it. I'll admit I was tempted to get it all done and posted by this date but better to slow down the shitstorm, I think.

Until next time.