- Chapter Thirty -

Survival of the Fittest

Fresh air never tasting sweeter than after a jaunt through the sewers, Drake was glad to see the end of the road.

Jubilation short-lived, as the ex-con gingerly hoisted the grimy grating to gain access to his in, something equal parts damp and dark splashed down his cheek. Blasted by a hose from the smell of all the moisture weighing the air, the initial compound had been watered down considerably, but not enough to completely ebb away all trace of color. Droplets far and few enough between to hazard that the drain had been in use recently, experience and the tension coiling in his gut told him that it wasn't paint. Would that he were naive enough to believe otherwise...

Doused in worse in his day, there hadn't been much point in wiping whatever it was away, although there was mild concern as to what it was he was opting to ignore. Well not concern per say, but it was in fact a mystery as to what exactly the substance had been. Not just a guy thing, it seemed harmless enough, and again, treasure hunting was't the exactly cleanest of gigs, so there was no real need to dwell on it. Especially not when he'd just been drudging through the underground and smelled like it.

Her royal highness might disagree on the other hand; recalling a question about the tools that had been used to remove the shrapnel from the pool incident, Sam could just about hear her in his ear, commenting on how unsanitary his grand entrance had been. Following her insinuation, the scenario playing out in his head saw him shrug it off further, telling the little snip that everything that wasn't sewage had been watered down too much to be sure one way or another. She'd probably turn green at that.

Bringing his hands to the rear of his jeans after closing the manhole back up, the adventurer made a mental note that something familiar and sickeningly sweet cloyed the senses. Room most likely sealed at every other angle, the air was stale and damp enough to permeate the layers beneath the skin, sending a chill up his spine. Enough to make his eyes swim, the atmosphere alone would have been enough to gag the girl; for everyone's sake, they had better find another way out of the prison.

Dialing the hyperbole down a notch, the hunter of fortunes and those that would inherit them found himself in what appeared at first to be a wine cellar. If indeed it had only been wine that had gotten him, no harm done, but after those photographs... Sam couldn't quite shake the feeling that Angel and Ashley had been busy; but was it his girl that they were working on? He sincerely hoped not - Dells didn't look as if she had much of a constitution for pain. Ironic, given who, or rather what, what her parents were.

Mind a little too quick to forget how relatively few tears had been shed from the stitches, the brunette was faster still at recalling every time the young thing had given over to weakness. And there had been so many tears spilled. Distracting himself from considering the possibilities as to why or what it could led into, his brain simply refused to give the heiress more credit for whatever reason. Maybe if he allowed her room to form an identity outside of her parents' shadows, she might surprise him.

He didn't want that, so instead he let the dark and morbid side of his imagination roam free as he gazed around the unlit cellar to get a better grasp on his bearings.

Part ingrained know-how and part reruns of his sister-in-law's old show, Sam noted that three of the four walls were newer, the farthest of them discolored with age. Natural material down to the mortar, there was a noticeable weakness where something on the opposite side appeared to have been rammed too ferociously or one too many times. Crumbling and gathering a certain kind of mold already, the hasty additions of the original building were almost painfully obvious to his trained eye. Three of four walls contrasting the old artistry with crude synthetic patches, the stark differences left behind none of the same tells.

Narrow search radius of his light indicating that he had yet to breech the surface, simple process of elimination ruled out his flashlight as being faulty, backing up the theory that he was still underground, if not outright proving it. While there hadn't been too many uses for the mechanical light-bringer in recent days, the batteries had been freshly changed out within the past year. Effectiveness (or lack thereof) nothing new in his line of work, Samuel wondered how many more things had been added or altered from the blueprints.

Amber beam acting as his guide more than the blueprints at this juncture, as he explored the area further the brunette stumbled from a city of casks to the last thing he wanted to see: Angel's twisted workshop. Or at the very least a version of it.

Instruments gleaming in the focused ray of buttery light, from what he could see in the metal clusters not everything in the disinfecting jars were scalpels or surgical needle-threaders. Jesus. Turning away from the freshly-used knives drying on a mobile gurney littered with grudgingly cared-for bandages (some of which were partially trampled and still dirty) the explorer's eyes fell on the floor.

Crimson where it was still wet and browning at the edges and in between the thin lines between the rough tiles, clearly not everything washing the cold cement had come from the drums. Well that solved that mystery.

Easily the most unsettling part of the display, a chair very much like a throne had been built into the center of the room. Intricately carved once upon a time, the only part of the wood that hadn't been worn (or scratched, clawed, etc) away was the back. Depicting Perseus decapitating Medusa, the handsomely bordered image had been smeared with dark stains. Some of which were fresher than others. Dells. Sam felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten.

Picturing the absolute worst that could be done to a human by another human, it was impossible to not envision the countless victims that had been brought to slaughter. Running rampant in the death-scented darkness, how long had Angel and Ashley been at this, and how much longer would they be allowed to take their twisted pleasures? Gloom just frail enough to give way to the beam of light he shone over the scene as he passed, the faint scarlet gleam left the experienced explorer with honest fear of what the fresh gore meant for the heiress. He was a big boy and could take care of anything that came his way, but the girl?

Sam made short work of putting the torture chamber to his back.

[Tigeress In A Police Station]

Victory a sure thing in her mind, the mercenary-turned-treasure hunter kept on the big guy until the bitter end. It was to the death, and Nadine Ross wasn't about to budge! Why would she, when she never had before? To question herself for even an instant would have been tantamount to surrender, so in order to keep her edge and avoid yielding to doubt, she learned to take every encounter as a win before the first blow landed.

Not completely without fight, her foe had scrambled to rip the wild feline off of her perch. When it inevitably dawned on the brute that that wasn't happening, he repeatedly rammed her back into the building and used the walls like his own personal scratching post. Dealt worse blows in her life, the former mercenary knew that that would hurt like hell in the morning, however she wasn't about to let go.

Rafe had been a long time ago - long enough to know with absolute certainty that almost none of this was for him. Rescuing his daughter was for the sake of keeping one more girl out of trouble, so the only Adler benefiting was her. In fact, this was all for the living, including her allies. Drake was obviously the most desperate to get the Adler girl back, however it was clear that Chloe and the little surfer also wanted to see the heiress recovered. Meenu was probably a factor in why Frazer was so adamant about this job, although this had all happened on her watch, so that probably figured in as well. With Chloe there could have been a myriad of other reasons as well, one never fully knew. Point was, none of this was without a reason.

Mind reaffirming her purpose as she was crushed between the armor-class foe and the wall, the former mercenary snapped to attention when she realized that her enemy was short of breath. In terms of will-power, there weren't many that could outmatch Nadine.

Were it not so difficult to show recourse for her actions, if it hadn't been a matter of life and death the woman might have felt more remorse for all the lives that had ended at her hands. For all she knew he could have had dreams beyond all this, even someone that depended on him. Granted the notion might not have always occurred after a kill, it was frequent enough to not come as a shock when the deed had been done. Forged from the fires of necessity and survival, the thought was usually gone as quick as it came. No matter who her opponent was or the person they reminded her of, it came down to her or them, and she wasn't about to be an easy target.

Her father would have been proud.

Every cord and tendon contracted to bear down upon the enemy, her nails digging into unwilling flesh and drawing blood. Fingertips aching and soaked with sweat, the woman grunted with effort; everything was screaming inside to overcome the unexpected obstacle. On the verge of tapping out himself, the brute got one final surge to attempt to turn the tides, but it wasn't enough. Call it strength, will, luck, skill, divine intervention, the element of surprise, or even a fluke, but the end result was unmistakable: victory. Body crumpling into her embrace after succumbing to the struggle, Nadine made sure and so snapped the goon's neck for good measure.

Despite what others may have thought of her, Nadine wasn't without a heart. But that didn't mean she was about to lie and say that this brute had put up an honest fight. How could he have when he'd been too caught off guard to truly have a chance to react?

Considerably more cautious than her son had been, the woman took the shotgun slung across the corpse and stowed her prize on her back before entering the building. So as to prevent any other surprises, she was sure to nudge the prop out of the picture before closing the door at her back. There would be more than enough trouble ahead of them, they didn't need to concern themselves with watching their backs any more than they already had to.

Eyes adjusting to the artificial white light buzzing overhead for a moment, she counted six doors before the interrogation hallway cut the corridor short, three on each side. Gliding along like a watchful wraith, ears perked for the slightest drop of a pin, she ghosted against each portal before moving forward. Listening for signs of life, her biggest audio priorities were the sounds of sobbing, struggle, or anything violent and/or traumatically intrusive that a captor could be doing to their hostage.

For the girl's sake, she hoped it wasn't the latter.

Were this not such a delicate operation requiring finesse, the former mercenary would have heavily considered just kicking every single door open until they either found the girl or there were no more doors to be kicked. But as it stood, that wasn't really much of an option. Pity.

Rafe had once compared Shoreline's excavation technique to "a couple hundred well-armed bulls in a china shop". He wasn't much wrong she supposed, but more than bring that old wound to light, she had to wonder what he would have done in this situation. In any universe Rafe mounting a rescue effort was the last thing she could ever see the billionaire doing, although this was his own flesh and blood at stake. So far as Nadine had seen he'd down well enough by the girl, however it was still Rafe...

Much as she hated to use a Drake as a positive example, the former merc knew that Nathan and his wife would have ripped through this place with all haste and furry until their little girl was returned. One way or another. A more calculating creature by trade, the mother of Rafe's offspring likely would have proceeded with caution so that the child might be returned with the maximum amount of parts intact. Probably. Bai was cold enough to leave some room for uncertainty, although all things considered Ross knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would ultimately get her daughter back and pay back the offending parties in kind... with interest. Try as she might, Nadine couldn't say with confidence which seemed a more likely reaction for her old partner.

Poor kid.

Undoubtedly there would be those that would have killed for the advantages afforded Drake's little heiress, however Nadine had been granted a rare glimpse behind the velvet curtain. Born to a smarmy psychopath and a dangerously greened-eyed she-devil, the infant had been swaddled in possession and drip-fed indifference. Being raised in a house of lies built on a foundation of blood was only the start. And it didn't seem like it was going to get much better in the foreseeable future.

One to give credit where it was due, Nadine could admit that Rafe had displayed every semblance of caring for his daughter. Asking herself how much had been for show, the woman couldn't say for sure how much he had actually been there. Certain staff had been on hand to observe the daily as a proxy for the billionaire, and the baby's mother made certain that he checked in periodically, but had it been enough? Present only in a limited capacity as the current partner, Ross couldn't speak for the child, however it was plain as day that the mother was less than satisfied. In fact she could even recall Bai storming through the penthouse Rafe had rented out for the weekend, the woman screaming and shouting in at least two different languages as she dropped off the child for "quality time". Rafe had not been thrilled.

An advocate of Rafe spending quality time with his little one, Nadine hadn't objected to the disruption in their plans. Although like the reluctant father, she knew Bai. Extreme one way to describe it, the shrewed businesswoman was far too attached to her baby to just leave young Daniella with her father while he was with another woman.

Obviously Rafe was the type that was just going to do as he pleased, however there was one point they could agree upon as parents and elitists: Daniella must be protected from the foul scum of the earth that were below her. Problem was was that while they concurred that not just anyone could interact with the girl, the exact parameters of what was acceptable was called into question. At a malleable age, Rafe's vetting processes seemed to have been fairly extensive but it at least allowed for anyone that might have taught skills worth learning, whereas Bai's had been downright impossible.

Hindsight as cruel a master as fate, since Daniella had grown up to be a jewel protected as much as (if not more than) any other treasure on the green earth, surely that implied that she must have meant something to her parents as well. Right? Nadine never had once envied the heiress her position - nor would she at this rate - however the girl didn't seem to hold a grudge against her father. Quite the contrary; from the very beginning Daniella thought the world of her father. Maybe she was a poor judge of character, but if there was ever anyone that could give you a reason to dislike them, it was Rafe.

Daniella certainly would have given her father credit for doing everything in his power to save her, so maybe he would have. The young woman couldn't have been that blind.

Figurative thinking aside, for whatever reason they might have had for it, every single one of their rag-tag unit was game for bringing the heiress back. Including Wyatt, although that didn't come as much of a surprise, all things considered. The problem with that was that with so many probes out on the field at once, it was highly likely that things would go awry. Not even blaming Drake this time, it was just simple math. Someone would be seen, or might stumble into the wrong room, make a racket, or even get tagged from behind. Not even invoking the adage of Murphy's Law, it went without saying that anything could have gone wrong. Although linguistically that might have been a redundant contradiction... Regardless, once it was factored in that they were almost certainly using outdated information as well...

Honestly the odds were stacked against them.

Brain running drills through every scenario that she could think of, the woman paused when she caught sight of Wyatt's mark. Clever boy, letting her know which way he went so that they didn't have to risk being in the open any longer than was absolutely necessary. Not without some training in the art of tracking, the indicator wasn't nearly subtle enough to prevent unwanted parties from attempting to get the jump on him, however she understood the reasons for his haste.

Opting for the road not taken, the fact that she hadn't seen anyone else in the hallway was setting off red flags left and right. If they had to go through three people just to get inside the building, how was it that the rest of the floor seemed to be void of all other life? Nadine had even poked her head into all six doors on the off chance that they had stored the Adler girl inside, however there hadn't been a single person. Unconscious or otherwise. Not a single hired hand slacking on the job, hiding an office romance from the boss, not even convening in secret for whatever misdeeds. There wasn't anything...

Unnerved one word for it, it just felt wrong. Where the hell was everyone?!

[Thief In The Thick]

Intention being to regroup with the others at some point, the lanky brunette put the catacomb-like chambers behind him without a second glance. Making his way past the holding cells, all he discovered was an underground shooting range and a small office in which the inmates could be monitored without having to risk direct interaction. Two pairs of night vision goggles were in the underground torture chamber, confirming his theory of the room's purpose. But beyond that, there really hadn't much of interest or in the way of clues.

Unless you counted the skeletal and twisted caricatures that resided in the horrible holding cells, the living and dead indistinguishable at a glance. Space overflowing with remains and rags in various states of decay, it was a miracle that the stench of death hadn't choked Sam to more than a few tears. Reek alone more than enough to scar a lesser man, the sight of what appeared to be a woman protecting her child would stick with him for some time. If the starvation that had left the bone-white flesh thiner than paper didn't leave a mark on the hunter, it was going to be the stringy flesh hanging out of blood-stained teeth, the carnivorous marks that had broken part of the smaller skull.

On a less grim note, for just a moment he thought he might have caught a whiff to indicate a young woman's presence, however there were too many other smells in the air to be sure. Sweat and blood the most identifiable, there were other things as well, none of which were particularly pleasant.

Splitting from that scene post-haste, Sam made for the first floor. If the old intelligence was to be believed, the stairs he took were one of two sets, the second of which were on the opposite end of the building and intended for emergency use. Apparently the not-quite-historical landmark wasn't as old as the foundations wanted to pretend it was, as the structure had been built with a pair of electric elevators. Risky as using the more convenient form of transport would have been, it sounded like a good idea - or at least it had, until he remembered that only one of the metal cages went down to the basement-level. Assuming of course that the details still held true, going for the lift meant circling back around and heading west through the workshop and passed even more holding cells.

Obviously sticking around this cheerful place was tempting, but he had plans for dinner so it was best not to linger.

Already on the fence about their odds of successfully retrieving her royal highness, Drake was even less certain that they could slip back out without a peep. Stealth and cunning were important tools in any good treasure hunter's arsenal - really those skills were universal if one thought about it - but to be perfectly frank getting in and getting out were two entirely different things. In all his adventures, Sam couldn't readily recall a single instance where he'd gotten away cleanly. Not to say that it hadn't happened, he just couldn't think of any examples off the top of his head.

Not particularly comforted by the workings of his memory, the brunette resumed his journey to the surface. Speaking generally and honestly, the upward trek wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the descent, or at least he didn't think so. On the bright side, all the movement was a good workout; not blaming anyone by name, since the heiress had been dropped on his doorstep there hadn't been much room for breaking a sweat. The thief thought to himself that he should really rectify that.

Heedless of what was waiting for him, Sam stepped into the lion's den. Or rather, the Tiger's den.

Main lobby converted into an open think-tank, a quick peek around the corner revealed that just about every visible screen was plastered with old data files. The hope clearly being that going through literally everything with a fine-toothed comb might reveal some over-looked lead, what wasn't personal records appeared to be maps and other odds and ends. In an applause-worthy move wise as it was invasive, all of Daniella's currently known cohorts were also under observation, however they were only a minor fraction of the investigation.

Chloe returning from her latest trip abroad, Logan's private social media conversations, Sam himself crawling back to his hotel in the early light of dawn. Nothing was off limits to the Orange Tiger, yet from all the head-scratching and multi-lingual swearing going on, Sam found it safe to say that they were still missing valuable pieces of the puzzle. Good thing these morons were a bunch of idiots.

Brunt of the operation consumed by images of Daniella in uniform, it seemed as if the public had only ever seen the girl getting in or out of either a sleek black company-issued vehicle or a classic blue Oldsmobile. Recalling mention of her work to the peanut gallery one night, Drake would wager that point "A" was school, the destination being that building from the news. If not there, it was a safe bet that the teen had been transported to some other equally boring extracurricular activity.

Actual images of the young woman almost suspiciously rare, it was apparent that Bai's security hadn't left many windows for spies. Although that was only assuming that the young woman lived her life on her mother's schedule. Teens had a way of rebelling, so the thief had the feeling that if he watched the monitors long enough he'd see the lost time that mother dearest couldn't account for. While it might be a devastating blow to Bai to learn that her daughter was in fact a human and needed time to herself, Sam sincerely doubted that the girl he met under such dire circumstances would get up to anything too bad. Maybe a petty theft here and a skipped curfew there, but in the end nothing he hadn't done as an underage detainee of the state.

Street clothes as vanilla as the heiress, the only remotely dangerous thing in the stills appeared to be a repeat photobomber. Easily mistakable for security, Sam supposed that Dells might have found the man handsome enough, despite the fact that a neatly-trimmed goatee was the only outlandish thing about the guy that stood out. Well, apart from how many times he could be seen floating through the background of events hacked from the cameras of the audience.

About to shrug it off as a random coincidence, the brunette paused when he caught it clear as day; they said that a picture was worth a thousand words, but frankly Sam could really only think of a handful.

Preparing to run track against a dozen or so others with a sense of pomp and rivalry, the heiress was in position at the starting line and clearly concentrating on the goal ahead. Normal enough. No, what caught his eye wasn't the athletes but the crowd; more specifically, the mystery man. Head tilted back at an angle no one enjoying the sport would find practical, if there was any doubt about the dubious way the man was caught biting his lips, everything was cleared up by following his line of sight.

Did miss Adler have a stalker?

Guilty himself of entertaining thoughts about gandering at the young woman when he was sure that she wasn't looking, the hired muscle didn't much care to see Daniella being gawked at so openly. Concerned very suddenly with how naive the heiress was to the ways of the world, between her mother's methods and growing up without a stable father-like figure in the picture, it was almost a guarantee that self-esteem was in short supply. Searching for acceptance and companionship, her upbringing had to have created the perfect storm of fear and doubt that robbed her of the good sense to say 'no'. The ideal mark.

Not stopping to consider if Dells knew about her fan (let alone ponder if it was something that she allowed), Sam found the next target for Bai to turn her attention to once all this had been settled. If it ever got settled that is... At this rate, it was beginning to feel that Mother Dearest had staged this whole production as a means of pawning her kid off on the first available sucker that would take her. Convoluted as that would have been, there surely had to have been a million and one better saps to con, so why involve him of all people? Honestly he still was having a hard time reconciling Bai's motives with all of the facts, but hell if that woman had ever made sense to him.

A means to an end, she'd called him. Admittedly that had stung at the time, but in the end he had had the last laugh. And he just might again.

Whistling too faint to make out at first, as the unmistakable clomp-clomp of heels on concrete closed in Sam was certain that someone was coming his way. Actually half-decent in terms of musical skill, he recognized the tune of an eighties show that had been resurrected in the on-going nostalgia wave. Ears always perked for trouble, even if the Tiger hadn't announced themselves so carelessly the thief was fairly certain that he would have caught on that he'd had company sooner than later. All the same, Sam realized he was lucky that he'd be the one to get the jump on the grunt, and not the other way around.

Pressing himself into the shadows against the dank walls amongst crates and cobwebs, the historian melded seamlessly into the corner. Arms laden with archived files from the lost days of paper receipts, the figure coming up from the bowels of the heart of darkness was completely ignorant of their surroundings. Using the lack of vigilance against the unfortunate goon, Sam sprung on the unsuspecting sap just as they came within arms length. Like a true professional, Drake had the toady in a headlock before so much as a peep was made and had tucked the body to the side in no less than three heartbeats.

Slow work, but he still had it.

Area clear, the brunette poked his head around the corner once more to scope out the scene. Two women debating heavily over the photograph of the goateed stalker, another almost falling asleep as she read through lists of time stamps and coordinates. Dull as the work was, it wasn't too hard to guess what her job was. As for the two bickering back and forth, it sounded as if there was a schism that ran deeper than just the pair, but for the life of him he couldn't quite grasp what the fight was technically about.

Something about purity? Being Rafe's daughter Sam could see how a few feathers might be ruffled about Daniella's heritage, but he didn't see how the lingerer fit into the picture. Obviously of some Middle Eastern descent Mr. tall, dark, and handsome wasn't old enough to be thought of as a potential secret father, and anyways the one thing that he could give Bai was that outside a few isolated incidents, she was fiercely loyal. Besides, the way he was eying the young woman at the race was anything but paternal.

Unless they were insinuating that the girl not only knew about her number fan but was... no. No. Not in a million years! Not that frightened girl that had so shyly tried to cover herself at every available opportunity. Not Dells.

She might have been her parent's daughter, but that at least was one area it was impossible confuse her with what came before.

Refusing to see it, the thief turned his head away to gaze at a collection of strategists flocked around the drawing board. Numbers, patterns, probabilities, and other variables the common jargon being thrown around the desks amassed at the heart of the operation, even a handful of the right kills there would have been a huge blow to the opposition. Sam's faith in his own skill was such that it was safe to bet that he could probably take out a decent chunk of them, especially since he had the element of surprise on his side. Hell, that alone could probably come close to doubling the kill count. However, while being alone was enough to give him pause on a good day (a good day being where the odds were stacked more in his favor), there was also the fact that this was supposed to be a stealth mission to consider as well.

Math not on his side either, his eyes tallied more than twelve at the crowded workstation alone. Between those milling around just looking busy and the others that were assigned to different tasks, the final numbers would likely be about twice that many. Of the employees the thief could clearly mark, most of them were equipped with sidearms, but there were a few that were strictly civilian and non-combatants. Knowing his little brother, Nathan probably would have made it harder on himself by monkishly making a solemn vow to leave them be, but Sam wasn't nearly so saintly.

With the direct approach vetoed, that didn't leave the historian with many alternatives; where there was a will, there was a way, and by God he was going to find that path, even if it took longer than a single five-second glance into the room. Taking close note of the layout of the map and the way the little worker bees droned about their missions, the brunette saw that there was a row of filing cabinets a few feet away that could provide sufficient cover, assuming that the person at the coffee pot didn't turn around. Technically he'd timed riskier moves in his past, and with far worse than the likes of an over-caffeinated stooge, so he wasn't too worried about his next move. It was what came after.

Sucking it up and taking the last free breath he'd be able to breathe until it was over, Sam abandoned the "safe zone" and went for it. More accustomed to ducking amongst rubble that could take only a limited number of hits in forgotten jungles and lost cities, the ex-con had almost forgotten what it was like to skirt administration. It felt strange thinking back to a time when it felt like that was all he had ever done (and might ever do).

Back screaming in protest as it was assaulted by sharp metal handholds, the brunette bit the inside of his lip to keep from making a peep and chanced a peek back over his shoulder to be sure that no one had witnessed his entry into the point of no return. Indeed the twitching sentry that might have seen him still was self-medicating in ignorant bliss. Well, that was one obstacle down. Now all that was left was migrating the maze office supplies, remaining unseen by living alarms that had no discernible patterns, and doing it faster than anyone else.

Urgency of finding the heiress aside, there was one major oversight in their plan that kept this from being as simple as a race: Daniella hadn't been acquainted with the rest of the rescue party. If the young woman wasn't bright enough to learn from whatever hells she'd had to endure in this place, it might have been as simple as them just dropping the right name. But if by chance she had been smart enough to suss out a potential ploy to win her trust that way, Nadine was going to be little more than a name to her. And if that was what the former mercenary was, what could that Wyatt boy hope to say to the heiress if he were the one to find the prize first? Would he say anything to her? If Nadine was wise, she would incapacitate the girl and just bring her back so they could have that conversation later. But Wyatt? Sam didn't have a good read on that one yet, and frankly he didn't like that.

Author's Note:

As anyone reading this can tell, I don't leave notes often on this particular story, however with everything that's been happening I just wanted to say that this is still going! Maybe not quite at the same pace as before, no, but it's still swimming along :)

I've had the outline for this chapter in the works for a few months now (yes, even before the previous chapter), so that just goes to show how much I hate/suck at bridging. While there hasn't always been a plan for this story, I tend to have a shell of what I'd like to have happen in the future. Aside from not always knowing which route I like better, sometimes it's rather difficult for me to know how to get from point "A" to point "B". But I have been trying!

To throw another wrench into the equation, a request fic has crossed my desk. Busy, busy, busy! Well, that's life (along with indecision and illness), so all we can do is keep at it! And keep at it I will!

Also, if I still have your attention, I'd sincerely like to thank you for sticking with me through this journey so far!