The place was empty, a shell of a thing made to feel like someone lived in it. It was a temporary office, after all. Venable wasn't foolish enough to leave Langdon a single scrap of information. Em was hitting dead ends everywhere she looked… then again, she was a diversion.

She'd never had a good look at the office before. Venable never called anyone to it and Langdon was a viper you didn't want to take your eyes off of. It certainly had a unique design. Em imagined they had the numerous candles to thank for that, casting strange shadows around the room. It made it feel like there was always something moving out of the corner of your eye.

There was a partition that led to god knows where across from the main door made of a darker wood to serve as an accent wall of sorts. It probably led to a lounging area given the pattern of the other rooms in the outpost. In front of it was Langdon's desk, seen right as you entered the room. Two side tables had been rearranged to hold candles, wax hardening as it dripped over the sides.

To the right of the desk was a spiral staircase… again leading to some destination she couldn't even begin to guess. Beyond that was a wine cabinet. It was empty, more for decoration than storage. A good spot to place a pitcher of water and expensive Waterford crystal glasses.

The fireplace roared to the far left, surrounded by the two armchairs they had sat in before. Another sofa was on the wall near the door and she had a feeling Langdon arranged them however he needed.

Her mother used to watch those shows on interior design. The arrangement of furniture psychologically did something or other. Em had always been more interested in abnormal psychology than environmental. She imagined it was like a painting, the flow of it directing the viewer to what the artist wanted them to see.

That certainly sounded like something Langdon would do.

Em's focus, therefore, was on the desk. It was situated out of the flow, the farthest thing away from the fire save for the wine cabinet. She stood on the other side, looking for anything she could.

On the back of his chair was a red scarf that reminded her of one she had before the bombs. It was always her favorite and she always paired it with her favorite dress. God, she'd give anything to wear that dress instead of the constricting skirts that—

Focus — she reminded herself. Her anxiety was making her thoughts go haywire. Langdon was getting into her head. Memories weren't going to save her. Holding onto the past wasn't going to save her. Her rage wouldn't save her.

Manila folders were scattered on the desk. Her hands hovered over the one with her name on it, but she forced herself to look past them. As curious as she was, knowing if Langdon thought she was a good candidate or not wasn't going to get her any closer to the truth. Desk drawers were where he'd hide the things he didn't want to be seen.

Tying her hair up with a ribbon, Em crouched down. The doors weren't locked… the desk older and expensive. That only meant she didn't have to leave behind another hairpin.

There wasn't much. She wasn't expecting anything. If Langdon had secrets, they'd be in his room. She wondered if Timothy and Emily had found anything yet. They had told her to be a distraction, but they never told her how long she needed to be one.

"Are you sure you don't want backup?" Emily asked.

Em shook her head, voice coming out dull and tired, "Like I told you: I've already crossed myself off the list of survivors."

The night before she had hardly been able to sleep. Fever dreams plagued her every time she closed her eyes. She only remembered flashes. It gave her the feeling of being somewhere between a revelation and an acid trip. All she recalled was choking, gasping for air. Her stomach burned with something more than starvation and the world spun around her.

"It's probably one of his games," Emily noted, not bothering to hide the venom from her voice.

Her words pulled Em out of her reverie.

"Cat and mouse," the brunette noted with a sigh.

"He can still make your life worse," Timothy reminded. Sending a worried glance to Emily.

Em scoffed, "Only if I let him."

The top drawer was small, enough to fit the vial of pills Langdon had shown them. Glancing back at the door, Em plucked one out and put it in her pocket. Insurance — she told herself like she was a spy out of noir mystery.

Second drawer down was filled with random books from the library. Nothing more than an original Hawthorne and other similar authors. She flipped through them, looking for a note-card or even something written in the margins. A few coffee stains were the most she was able to find.

Reaching in for the last book, she was surprised when she pulled out a journal. It wasn't old and certainly wasn't Victorian, something you would have found in a Target or Staples. A quick flip through revealed handwriting. Langdon's? No. There was a message written inside the cover which read: 'Michael — May this be a symbol of—'

Em's head flicked to the door as she heard approaching footsteps. Quickly, she threw the books back in the order she had found them. Then closed the drawer as quietly as she could before she threw herself into the chair across from the desk.

The door opened a few moments later and she evened her breathing. Footsteps paused, the person behind her halting before continuing to move.

"I must say you never fail to surprise me," Langdon noted as he approached, footsteps slow and even behind her, "I don't recall calling you for an interview."

He paused at her shoulder, eyes glimmering with amusement. Langdon was eager to hear what excuses she would create. Em had imagination. It made everything she said all the more interesting.

"I came to see you," was all she gave him, looking over her shoulder as he smirked and broke from her gaze and rounded the desk.

"Come now," he said, voice light and amused. Blue eyes scanned over the files that weren't even a hair out of place and gesturing towards her as he sat. "I know you too well to believe that."

Em didn't respond, a slight raise of her brow and twitch of her lip the only reaction he could gauge.

He chuckled and shook his head, hands placed on the desk on either side of him.

"Venable would call this an offense worthy of execution," Langdon noted, attempting to sound intimidating. She showed no fear. He didn't expect her to.

"And you?" she prompted, her mouth moving before she could think. The adrenaline made her feel detached from her body like someone else was pulling the strings.

The blond leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and resting his head on top of his fists.

"I find it amusing," He noted, "what did you find?"

Em smirked, "nothing interesting."

She watched his brows raise, "Oh?"

"You knew someone was going to come in here," she noted, "or you were hoping someone might."

The man showed no emotion. Sometimes it felt like he knew exactly what she was going to say. Either he was reading her mind or entertaining her like the cops did when conspiracy theorists came around talking about aliens. She felt like the latter more than the former on most days.

"Did I?"

"A man so intent on secrecy wouldn't leave confidential files on his desk and his door unlocked."

"You're a fascinating candidate, for sure," Langdon noted, face brightening with a grin as he fell back into his seat.

Em shrugged, "I'd say the same, but I don't really know you."

The man cocked his head, "don't you?"

"You've made sure of it."

Whatever glee he had found in their exchange was quickly smothered. The tone of her voice made it clear that past incidents would not be forgotten. He knew she'd be a better friend than foe.

Lips pressing into a thin line, Langdon sighed. He rose and gestured to the fire. Em watched him as he round the desk and sauntered towards the armchairs before making a move to follow. His movements were slow and methodical, taking his time as he searched for the right words to say. His knuckles rested on his lips as he sat, reminding her of the statue The Thinker.

"I feel as though we've gotten off on the wrong foot," He finally said as she sat. She turned her chair to face him and he did the same. "I can appreciate someone who searches for truth above all else."

Em only laughed, "You're going to tell me the truth? We've danced this dance already."

A rueful look crossed his face as he chuckled only to mirror her own laughter. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him. If he was in her seat, he wouldn't believe a word that came out of his mouth. If he were to gain her trust his actions would have to speak louder than his words.

"Then I promise no more deception," he proposed, "As long as you do so in turn."

Her eyes burned him, searching his eyes for something. He met her gaze which showed no sign of turning away. This moment would change everything.

"A momentary truce?" she asked, fishing for specifics. When you made a deal with the devil you had to eliminate loopholes. A buzz filled her body… probably from anxiety and giving her a feeling that made the world feel like a dream.

"A promise." The blond assured, voice as earnest as he knew how to be. Their conversation had become hushed and intense as if the world would cave in on itself if they spoke too loudly.

"Promises are a dangerous thing," she noted, "I find many do not put as much weight into them as I do."

The man made no rebuttal. Any word would be hollow and without true meaning. He just stared at her and waited, hoping she would find the evidence of truth she was searching for in his eyes.

He had played her before, making her think she was important. This time she could predict his moves. It would require double and triple-checking over each piece of information he gave her. She'd have to work under the assumption he was always lying, but—

"Alright," She relented, "What are your terms?"

Langdon's shoulders fell, the tension in them finally dissipating.

"Simple," He assured, "Nothing I tell you leaves these walls; nothing is to be said to the others about our bargain, and nothing will be done to compromise my mission."

Em took in the information and nodded. She expected as much. She looked at her feet and considered her options for a moment before raising her head, a hand held out.

"Deal."

He took her hand and shook it, squeezing it to convince himself it was there. When he looked into her eyes, however, he found that nothing had changed. The pupils dilated and held the same amount of scrutiny as before. If he wanted her on his side, he'd have to work for it.

Em's heart leapt in her chest the second she took his hand. She was making a deal with a devil and she knew the weight in that. Only time would tell if she had sold her soul for nothing. Either way, better the devil you knew than the devil you didn't. Besides… she was good at working with loopholes.


Dinner was tense. Then again, it was always tense. More so with Langdon's presence. He never joined them, but it felt like he was lingering in every shadow. He was the bogeyman of Outpost Three.

Em had been quiet during dinner. Emily assumed her silence was from nerves. They had completed their investigation earlier in the day. The brunette was no doubt itching for answers and Emily was itching to provide them. The computer was their pot of gold, the ultimate weapon against Venable's rule.

After dinner, they retired to the salon for mandatory cocktails. Coco's complaining had once again turned to boasting about almost everything. She acted like she was already one of the survivors, Gallant joining in for good measure. Emily's mother always said the best thing to bring what you wanted into your life was to act like you already had it. It was probably some kind of psychological method Em no doubt had a definition for. Coco's behavior was something else entirely. It was pattern of behavior even Emily knew the definition for — overcompensation.

In the light of the fire, Em's eyes looked different. They looked colder…more calculated. It was as if staring into the fireplace would make it explode and put an end to the nonsense that surrounded them.

Em was reflecting on her deal and the darkness that had consumed her soon after. The whole thing felt like a dream, like she wasn't in full control of her body. Perhaps it was just her anxiety… that, mixed with starvation, would make her light-headed and give her a dream-like feeling across her body.

She didn't remember leaving his office, coming to in the middle of dinner. Another blackout. The feeling was like being put under during a medical operation, a blink of an eye and you were awake once again. It didn't help that her whole body felt like it was buzzing, her bones feeling like they were shaking in her skin. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Emily spared another glance at her friend who was now closing her eyes and pinching her nose. Another migraine, most likely. Coco's monologuing probably wasn't helping the fact.

She leaned back on Timothy with a sigh. Raising her glass to her lips, she waited for the required socialization to be over. Brown eyes flickered over her companions. Dinah and Andre were whispering amongst each other, no doubt mocking the blonde given the flickering smiles that came to their lips. Gallant seemed to be the only one actually giving Coco his full attention and even he had a distant look in his eye.

Her eyes raised to the balcony above them, Greys running here and there. They didn't even turn their heads at Coco's theatrics. There was one carrying laundry, another polishing the railing. Emily scanned over each one until her eyes rested upon an outlier.

There Langdon stood, golden hair catching the light and staring down at them. Following his gaze, she found his eyes rested upon her friend who was staring into the fire. When she looked back up at the man, she found his eyes on her and she quickly averted her gaze.

"Langdon's watching," she whispered to Timothy.

"What?" He asked, stiffening a bit and moving to turn until Emily whacked him on the arm.

"Don't!' she hissed.

"I'm just saying," Coco went on, patting at her hair like a model about to walk on a catwalk. She was loud enough to pull everyone out of their thoughts… probably intentional. "if anyone should be chosen it should be someone who knows how to empathize with others."

Andre scoffed, eying the girl up and down with disdain, "You have the empathy of a snake."

Em sighed as the buzzing became more intense. Why couldn't they have one quiet evening? Her vision swam for a moment before images flashed in front of her eyes — dead bodies on the floor, foam gathering at their mouths.

Then she was back in the salon, pain striking through her head like someone had stabbed her with an icepick. Pressing her head into her hands, she willed it to go away, but the abrasive voices of her companions ensured it didn't and her pain surged with every word.

"Look," Coco snapped, smirking at the man as her head bobbed, "people want to be me. They follow me because they see something they like — that's useful."

Evie laughed, light and mocking, "Exploitation is hardly a marketable trait."

"No one asked you!" Coco snipped, turning on the woman like a shark smelling blood in the water, "Maybe that's why your acting career tanked. People find someone younger more relatable."

"People follow you for the same reason they watch reality TV," Em finally spoke. Her voice was bored and distant. "to look at your life and thank god it's not theirs… to laugh at your ignorance and missteps."

Coco gaped before huffing, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. She sputtered out responses she couldn't hear.

A large smirk had crawled across Gallant's face, eyes crinkling with amusement. He lowered his glasses to stare at the pair with his own eyes. It was distasteful.

"Oh, shut up, Gallant," Em snapped as he let out a barking laugh, "you're hardly any better."

"Who pissed in your cheerios?" Coco finally snapped, glaring at the girl.

Em's voice was frighteningly calm, "You. For a year or so you've sounded like a Snapchat ad on loop. Your hypocrisy was annoying at first but—"

"I don't have to deal with this!"

Coco rose from her seat like a fire was on her ass. Her face red from either rage or embarrassment… or both.

"Up! Yours!" she shouted, stalking away and pausing at Gallant's shoulder. When he didn't move, she gave him a look and kicked at his foot. The man sighed and slowly followed after her. Turning on his heel, he raised a glass at the room before downing it and placing it in the hands of a nearby Grey. They could hear Coco's raving as she hurried down the halls — mostly Em's name and choice expletives.

The woman in question only sighed and took a sip of water. Her head thanked her for removing the object of its irritation. Emily looked at the rest of the room, on edge but none the less relieved.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," she muttered, earning a few chuckles in response. Timothy rose his own glass to hers.

"Cheers to that."

The rest of the room raised their glasses. Silently, they threw back their drinks and resumed their nightly ritual of staring off in the distance and wondering what their fate may be.


There was only one place in the outpost no one came to. The library was her sanctuary, but even it was prone to invasion by Timothy, Emily, or anyone else who knew her. Here, however, she was safe for as long as she wished.

It was the staple of a luxury private boys' school, a grand piano that sat front and center of a circular room with high ceilings. A tightly wound spiral staircase off to the side, framed by Greek marble columns. A door sat on every level but rarely did one walk through them. Bookcases framed the room, tall enough to warrant a finely crafted ladder. Every page on the shelf pertained to music — dedicated to either theory or song.

Gallant and Coco had found the room when they first arrived. Em would come to it only to turn around when the grating sound of bad notes echoed down the hall. They had soon grown bored of it, much to her relief.

Andre used to linger there with Stu, eyes filled with adoration as he watched him play. Sometimes they'd duet, one taking the low notes and the other the high. Em remembered the laugher. The memory of it was enough to make her cry. She didn't blame the man for never returning.

She was no Mozart... Certainly no Stu, but she knew enough to pluck chords to her favorite songs. Em had never truly learned to play. Her reading of bass cleft was painfully slow, but she had a good ear. After some practice and a few improvisations, the songs came to sound somewhat presentable.

The only good thing her father gave her was music. He had been in a band… 'had' being the keyword. Instruments littered their house, unused and untouched for years. Em would always wait for him to leave to play them.

Hands skimmed over the keys. Long and dainty fingers twitched as she searched for a note and settled into place. When she needed to quiet her mind, she'd try to remember the chords to her favorite songs. Music pushed anxious thoughts to the background and all that mattered was the melody. The intro to City of Stars echoed upwards, a piece she had mastered back in high-school.

Who knew four years later she'd be in high-school 2.0?

She missed her friends. The people here were cruel and callused, so rich that she couldn't relate to them if she tried. Emily and Timothy tried their best but fell short in the memory of those she'd left behind. Some she knew upwards of a decade. They were dead… all dead.

"I don't want to die, Em," they had begged, "please don't let me die."

Each one of them deserved so much more. They were more qualified than Coco, more qualified than Gallant, more qualified than any purple in this fucking hellhole.

City of Stars devolved into Moonlight Sonata. She only remembered the first page or so, some of the notes added in because she thought they sounded right. It was a peaceful, but she always played it with anger. Each note she hit with intensity, giving a feeling of doom more than serenity. It was the type of anger than accompanied grief, the gaping void it left where your heart once beat.

"How long have you played?"

Langdon thought he was being stealthy, but her reaction told him that she knew he was there the whole time. She only sighed, fingers running over a scale as he came to stand beside her.

"I was never formally trained... not for long, at least," she said, "I use to try and play songs on an out of tune piano before that."

"Classical or modern?"

Em smiled a bit, "If you count the first few stanzas of Moonlight Sonata as classical training."

"I fancy the violin myself." He noted, watching her pluck out another tune.

"I as well," she said, "that instrument I know far better."

He smiled and motioned to the seat beside her on the bench, brow raised in an unasked question. Em waved a hand and he sat, watching her fingers as she plucked out a small, quiet melody. It was her way of fidgeting.

"Who are we mourning?" He asked, leaning on his knees. He had turned opposite of her, facing the door as she faced the piano. It give her some semblance of space.

She didn't look at him, focus still on the notes, "Who says I was mourning?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he hummed, "your reaction to Coco says otherwise."

"What?" She said, stopping the music to give him her full attention, "You can read minds now?"

"Not yours," he admitted, looking into her eyes, "but I'd like to think I can make an educated guess."

The brunette pulled away from his gaze, hitting a note with her finger and letting it sit.

"You play?"

He dropped the subject.

"No," he admitted, turning around to face the piano, "never had the time."

With two fingers he tapped out to play basic chopsticks.

"It's all math, you know," she told him, watching him hit random notes, "or at least so they say."

Langdon grinned, unsurprised, "you say otherwise."

"I don't see math," Em explained, hands hovering over the keys once more, "I see patterns that turn into a larger story."

"A story?"

She placed her hands over the keys, her hand but a breath away from his own as she began to play.

Then she began to sing, "It goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor chord and the major lift. The baffled king composing hallelujah."

"I've never been one for religion," He told her once she trailed off, voice a quiet murmur. If he shifted over even an inch, her face would be a breath away from his own.

"It's not a song about religion," she corrected, turning to face him and finally realizing their proximity. Her eyes flickered to his lips, but she made no attempt to move away. "It's a song about faith. Judaism is much different than Christianity. It's based more in culture than our typical conventions of religion."

"Faith is fragile," Langdon noted, "it makes things seem stronger than they really are."

"It's the closest mortals can get to divinity," Em countered, "to look upon something and... completely believe in it without a single doubt."

A sad smile came to her lips, "I may not envy the religious, their rules and structures, but… I envy their faith."

Her eyes finally rested on his and Langdon felt like he was really and truly seeing her for the first time.

"Do you have faith in anything?" he asked after a beat of silence.

"No," She answered, her response needing little thought, "it's why I envy them."

Langdon smiled the same rueful smile she had moments before. They stared at each other. Em realized if she leaned in only a few inches she'd be close enough to kiss him. The question was if she wanted to kiss him or if he wanted to manipulate her into kissing him. She realized her hand had come to sit atop his own.

"We're being honest, yes?" Em finally asked after a moment of consideration.

Langdon simply hummed an affirmative, more focused on her hand than anything else.

"Why do you seek me out? Why do you call me to meetings more and find me when you don't?"

He chuckled a bit, so quiet Em could hardly hear it, "that is the question. One I've been asking myself over and over."

Em was afraid to ask the next question, but she knew it needed to come out to the open.

"Does this actually mean anything or—"

"Yes," he answered as her mouth opened to speak the next word, "it does."

Finally, she let out a breath, nodding as she took in the information.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Langdon's eyes looked almost pained, but he knew her pause was logical. It was the same logic that made him wonder if she was using him to survive.

"You don't," he said, more an observation than a response.

Her lips pressed into a line, eyes flickering away from his as she tried to find the words to say.

"In your first interview," he noted, "you said your sexuality was complicated. Why?"

"Asexuality," she explained. Her words came out slow as she weighed each one in her mouth before speaking them into the world. "means I don't feel sexual attraction. Aesthetic and emotional attraction, yes, but I can't look at a stranger and—"

She sighed, "In a relationship in which I fully and completely have trust in the other… maybe. But it would be more of an emotional connection than a sexual one to me."

"A relationship based in faith," he noted.

"Exactly," she said. Green eyes flickered away from his once more. "and that is something which is earned, not given."

"And you won't until you see your name on the list of survivors."

Her brows knitted and her eyes focused on their hands. It sounded so manipulative when he said it that way, but it was true. That was the only way for Langdon to prove he wasn't playing a game with her, using her emotions as a mean to an end and even then—

Langdon turned his head as he heard something down the hall, pulling away from her and raising from the seat. Em suddenly felt cold, her body growing accustomed to his presence. She watched as he buttoned his dinner jacket and straightened his sleeves.

"We'll speak again soon," he assured, voice back to the one he used in interviews when he was nothing more than a Cooperative representative.

"Goodnight," She said, voice quiet, "Mr. Langdon."

"Goodnight, Emily," He said, dipping his head in a final farewell. Then he was gone.

She waited back a good while, trying to clear her mind with music and failing miserably. What were her feelings towards him? What were her feelings towards her fellow residents? Could she really sit here while Emily and Timothy—

Her head began to buzz and she started the trek back to her room. Pace slow and steady, a million thoughts filled every step. Brows furrowed and showed no sign of relaxing. It wasn't until she caught movement out of the corner of her eyes that she was pulled out of her own head.

Down the hall stood a black figure in Latex with its back to her. Breath hitching in her throat, she watched it walk down the hall and pause outside Gallant's room. She stumbled backward towards her door, hand shaking as she tried to unlock it with her key.

It fell to the ground with a sharp metallic sound and her eyes flew wide as the figure turned to her. The lack of features terrified her and she rushed to grab the key, shoving it into the lock and rushing into the room.

Em slammed the door shut, pressing her back to it as she turned the lock. She stood there for a long moment, picturing each step the thing would take.

Covering her mouth, she quieted her breathing so she could hear footsteps. There were none. Not for one second… not for two… not for ten. A loud slamming of a door made her jump, the thing taking another path. Perhaps she wasn't much of a threat… or maybe it was trying to lure her out.

Taking quick strides across the room, she grabbed the chair from her desk and dragged it across the floor. With deft hands, she placed it under the knob and tested it a few times to make sure the chair wouldn't topple to the ground.

There was something about that thing… person… whatever it was. It made the air feel thick around her — more like tar than oxygen. It didn't feel like a person. It felt like a sentient shadow.


"Gallant!" Coco exclaimed as the hairstylist entered the salon. It was late, only a few Greys in the halls. The man in question looked disheveled. His shirt had become untucked and hair poking up in all directions as if he had just woken from a nap. He picked up a glass of water and eyed it before taking a sip. "Gallant! Gallant!"

He had barely a moment to turn towards the woman before she was hurrying up to him, biting her lip to keep whatever she was going to say from bursting forth. She patted at the air in front of her, aiming for his hand but missing terribly.

"I just saw the craziest thing."

He quirked his brow, thinking of his rendezvous a few minutes ago and playing dumb. "What?"

Coco either didn't notice or didn't care. She pulled the man to the couch like a child at Christmas and looked around to ensure they weren't overheard.

"I just saw Langdon and Emily kiss," she whispered, "Well… almost kiss. There was more talking than anything, really, but—"

Gallant gave the woman a look, brows scrunching in confusion, "I thought Emily had the hots for Timothy? Aren't they like… dating?"

"No!" Coco exclaimed with a roll of her eyes before quieting her voice once more, "Not that Emily!"

Gallant sighed, twirling the water in his hand, "this is why we gave them nicknames."

"That's not important!" Coco hissed, "What if she's like… seducing him to get into the sanctuary."

"Em? Seducing someone?" Gallant said with a scoff, "unless the person has a thing for random, unimportant facts—"

"It's not funny!" Coco hissed. She leaned forward even more for the sake of secrecy. "They seemed to be talking about something really serious! What if she takes my— our spot in the sanctuary?"

"Look," Gallant sighed, leaning forward. He had just had sex with the man… there was no way he'd make a move on a girl. Not with that kink. "This is between you and me, but I got a good read off Langdon and he definitely likes guys."

"How can you be sure? What if he's bi?"

The hairdresser gave his friend a look, "Has my gaydar ever led you astray?"

"I've had a boyfriend as long as we've known each other," Coco reminded.

"And who got a hit off that guy who tried to flirt with him at that Hollywood party?"

Gallant rose his brow for emphasis as Coco gaped like a fish, unable to find a response. Finally, she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she relented, "I'm not going to argue with you, but how do you explain what I saw?"

"He's using her, obviously," Gallant said, "he knows she's a flustered virgin and is making her sweat to get what he wants."

"You better be right," Coco says, "or its both our heads on the block."

"Trust me," Gallant assured, reaching over the couch to grab another champagne glass of water and handing it to the woman, "would I ever lead you wrong?"

Coco tried to keep a serious face but ultimately failed. With a sigh, her shoulders sagged and she gave a halfhearted smile to her friend. Gallant grinned and clinked their glasses together.

"We're getting into that sanctuary," Gallant says, "your dad bought the tickets. He kills off paying residents and the Cooperation or whatever it's called they're going to have a riot."

"Yeah, but my dad is dead."

"But you're not."

The pair were unaware of the shadow lingering above them. Langdon felt nothing but disgust when he looked upon the pair. Blue eyes filled with venom and his upper lip twitched as he pulled himself away from the scene.

"What do you mean?" Coco's voice echoed down the hall, clashing with the sound of his steady footsteps. They weren't nearly as quiet as they thought they were.

The hairdresser had fallen for his ploy. Shadows were so easy to manipulate, visions so easy to produce. Outpost three would fall into chaos without him lifting a finger.

A few Greys paused as he passed, heads bowed to hide their faces. His interviews with them had proved less than fruitful. They were all the same. Either they wilted under the weight of the new world or filled with anger by their oppression. An anger which aimed at either Venable or the Purples or both. It meant little to him, what they thought. They were but his pawns, protecting their king, protecting their—

The blond paused as he spotted a figure down the hall. Their back to him and facing the elevator. Quirking his head to the side, he approached them. A smile forming on his lips as he recognized the familiar brown hair.

"A sheep should not wander far from the flock," He teased, stopping in his tracks and waiting for her to turn. When she didn't his brows furrowed and he took a few slow steps towards her.

When he came to her back, he realized her hand hovered over the control panel, the lights blinking in an odd pattern. Still, she showed no sign of knowing he was even there.

Growing concerned, he placed a gentle hand on her arm and turned her slowly to face him. Her eyes were blank as she faced him, her usual light gone. He placed a hand on either arm as she swayed a bit.

"Emily," he spoke, crouching a bit to look in her eyes, "Emily."

She blinked slowly as if she was waking from a dream, eyes seeming heavy with sleep. He didn't rush her, searching her eyes for any sign of something wrong. When awareness finally returned to her, she jumped back out of his grip and look around wildly. Langdon's hand hovered close to her, seeing her waver on her feet.

"Are you alright?"

Her brows knitted with confusion. She turned here and there as she tried to put pieces of the puzzle together. She was scared, anxious, but doing her best to mask it. "I… think so."

"You file never mentioned you were prone to sleepwalking," he noted.

"Because I'm not," Em said, nose scrunching as she tried to see. She didn't have her glasses, the world around her cast in a semi-blurry fog. Looking down she realized she was still in her nightdress. At least she hadn't been sleeping naked…

"Sorry to… concern you," She apologized. Her attention was more on figuring out how she got there than on her words. "... I should go back to bed."

Ignoring his presence, the brunette turned and started to walk back down the hall. Her body had other ideas, however.

The world spinning around her, making her head light and her legs jelly. Gritting her teeth, she felt herself fall into the wall, hands flying out to keep herself vertical.

Langdon was quick to catch her, one hand on her hip and the other holding up her arm. His lips pursed, the rest of his face twisting with concern. Em didn't see it, too busy scrunching her eyes shut and trying to center herself with no avail. The floor didn't feel real below her feel.

"Perhaps I should escort you back to your room," Langdon noted, earning a shake of the head from the woman he held up.

"No sign of interaction, remember?" She reminded, "It's fine. I'll—"

The blond's voice was firm and left no room for argument, "I insist."

Em sighed. She didn't have the energy and, more importantly, the strength to fight him. "Alright."

They started walking almost agonizingly slow. Langdon would have offered to carry her, but he was sure the woman would only tell him off and crawl to her room instead. Holding up one of her arms and his own curling around her back for support, they took it one step at a time.

"Something can be said about the extent of your independence," He noted. She tried to walk out of his grasp, subtly shaking him off. Her reply was short and terse.

"My mother raised me to solve my own problems."

He did nothing to hide his annoyance, "part of solving problems is knowing when do ask for help, wouldn't you say?"

"Vultures will follow weak animals for miles until they drop," She replied, "some people are no different."

"So, you aren't entirely without trust."

She glanced at him, "I just have high standards."

"Am I up to standard?"

"Meh," she teased, "you're getting there."

Langdon chuckled, "you wound me."

Another wave of dizziness hit her like a brick wall. Stopping in her tracks, she closed her eyes again and breathed through it. This was certainly a new symptom to add to the ever-growing list.

"This will count against my evaluation, won't it?" she asked once she got moving again.

"I thought you didn't care what the outcome was."

"I prepared myself for the worst," She noted. The sight of stairs made her grimace and she prepared herself for the challenge. "retain any dignity I have left. Just because I'm prepared for death doesn't mean the thought of it doesn't terrify me."

"Where do you think you'll go?" he asked after a moment of silence. It was as if their conversation from earlier had never stopped.

The question caught her off guard, "pardon?"

"Most people have a concept of heaven or hell." He noted.

She chuckled, "I'd take either."

"You'd subject yourself to eternal damnation?"

"Afraid of the nothingness, remember? I'd rather be tortured for eternity."

They finally made it up the last step, taking a moment to pause as Langdon adjusted his grip.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Heaven or hell," she pushed, "I already gave my answers so technically you can't sway me."

"So, it is…" he said, sounding almost proud, "technically."

"So?" she said, stopping and showing no hints at moving until he gave her what she wanted.

"Hell."

"Is that due to belief or desire?"

"A bit of both," he admitted, smiling at a joke only he knew, "who knows— perhaps I'll take over Hades."

Em laughed. He quite liked the sound of it. "And become Satan himself?"

"Something like that."

They started moving again, finding his response satisfactory.

"And what would you do?" she asked, "once you became ruler of hell?"

She turned her head to him at his silence, catching a brief glance at his smug face.

"Classified," he noted.

"Ah yes," she sighed, "I suppose it does wander into the category of leading the witness, but I thought we made a promise."

"Does this look like my office?"

Em shook her head and kept pressing forward. God, they were going at the pace of a snail. Usually, she'd be frustrated beyond belief. Langdon made the journey somewhat tolerable.

"You know my nickname in high-school used to be Satan," She found herself saying to break the silence that took over them.

Langdon laughed and rolled his eyes, "of course it was."

Em narrowed his eyes at him, judging his reaction, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he assured, "how did this name come about?"

The brunette was eager to tell the tale… perhaps a bit too eager.

"I was in middle school," she began, "at a sleepover. The girls were still up a giggling, but I had gone to bed. They said I rose up around three in the morning, ordered them to go to sleep in the voice of the devil himself, and laid back down."

Her companion chuckled, "That's all?"

"The fact that I remembered none of it certainly added to the effect."

Finally, they reached his door. Langdon almost looked disappointed at the fact.

"Thank you for helping me," Em said, humor replaced with sincerity.

"Consider it a favor for a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

A smug smirk crawled on his lips, "I haven't decided."

Em rolled her eyes, "of course."

"Do try to keep out of trouble," Langdon pressed, tone serious but light, "If you go and get yourself killed, I'll be stuck with the paperwork."

She mirrored his smirk, pulling herself out of his arms to lean on the doorframe. Pride forbidding her to stay in his arms any longer than necessary. "I'll keep that in mind next time I'm feeling spiteful."

His eyes flickered between her eyes and lip before he took a step back. Nodding a goodbye, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall. Em turned to open her door, only to find it stuck. She checked the knob and realized it was still locked. When she pushed on it heard the familiar sound of a chair spoke hitting the wood.

Outpost Three was getting stranger and stranger and Em was swept along for the ride. With a sigh, she looked down the hall to find Langdon had vanished.

Allowing herself to fall against the door, she weighed her options. Flopping around the outpost hardly seemed a good idea. Her best bet was waiting for her fellow Purples to wake and get her some help or a Grey to wander by and get the master-key. Until then, she planned out a lie. Blackouts would make her stick out more and the last thing she wanted was to give Coco a reason to call her crazy.