The room was filled with the cracking of the fire. After her interaction with Coco, she and Gallant had upped the drama tenfold. Em felt like she was back in high-school - the wanna'-be Abercrombie and Fitch models and America's Got Talent stars whispering amongst themselves and snickering. You always knew they were talking about you because they wanted you to know they were talking about you, eying you up and down just to make a point.

So Em wandered to Langdon's office. She had grown up, but it didn't make the pair's antics any less annoying. They had taken up the library as a show of power so the brunette had gone to the only place they couldn't go.

Curled up on the sofa, Em was writing in a journal. Her knees pulled up to her chest and the radio playing lightly in the background, she could almost pretend she was back home on a rainy day.

Langdon was working across from her at his desk, typing away at a laptop he had smuggled inside. Ever so often, she'd look up at him. His eyes were always focused on the task at hand. Dark brows would furrow as he turned away from the screen to check something he had written down in a notebook.

It amused Em. So, he did have work on a higher level, beyond the interviews and selections.

"What's your opinion in regards to your fellow residents?" Langdon asked out of the blue. It took a moment for his words to process, but after a moment she finally responded, eyes still focused on her notebook.

"With all the lurking you do I suspect you know my opinions."

"You hate them," He noted, still typing away at his laptop, "Yet you help them. Why?"

"I reserve my hate for people that matter," She corrected, "They annoy me."

"Yet you help them."

Em sighed and looked up at him, offering a half-hearted shrug, "I've always had a problem saying 'no,' and Coco isn't used to hearing it."

It wasn't entirely true. She had said those words to him ample times… Venable as well. It meant she deemed Venable as deserving of her anger, but what about Langdon? What did he mean to her to warrant being able to say that one simple word?

He didn't push it.

"Gallant isn't too bad," she noted, "he just wants to be something to someone."

"What about the Stevens?"

"Is this another interview?"

"Conversation," He corrected, briefly looking up from his work, "It isn't as if we can talk about the weather… and I value your opinion."

She smiled and placed her notebook to the side.

"Andre…" she mused, looking off to the side as she thought, "He's a wounded animal. Stu and I clicked and we only knew one another for a week at best, but anyone with eyes could see they cared deeply for the other. Besides Timothy and Emily, they were the people I considered myself close to."

"And Dinah?"

Em's answer was quick.

"Would do anything for her son, but after the incident we don't talk much anymore. Andre needs her and considers everyone else an enemy in some shape or form."

"The incident?"

Her voice was surprisingly matter-of-fact. There was no sign of distress or shame. She was reading from a history book that resided in her own mind.

"Venable fed us a person," the brunette explained, "of that, there is no doubt. Timothy still has the finger to prove it. Just a bone, but I know a human finger when I see one."

"Who was it? They said Stu was contaminated."

Em read him like a book.

"Why do you ask when you already know the answer?"

Langdon ignored her question, only offering a shrug as he continued to work. "How did that make you feel?"

"Different."

"Different?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He dropped the subject, grabbing a file from his desk and slowly walking over to her as he read it. So, this was just a conversation. The blond would be much more attentive if it were an interview, more calculating.

Stopping at her shoulder, he sat on the arm of the sofa. Em stiffened as his hand absentmindedly grabbed her own as he continued to read. The file was rather thick — too thick to be a file on one of the residents. Unless he had one that contained the contents of Coco's twitter page. From what she could see there were no pictures, ruling out that theory entirely.

With a frown he set the file on the back of the chair, pulling her hand into his lap and playing with her fingers as he stared into the fire. They trailed over her palms as if the lines across it were a map to whatever he was searching for. Her neck felt hot, red splotches rising up it and onto her cheeks.

"…and I already know your opinions about the other four," he mused, more a mutter than a statement, "Evie?"

He sensed the look she gave him without turning his head. "Right."

"Then again I'm biased," she noted, pulling her hand away before her palms could start sweating. Langdon seemed to realize what he had been doing and quickly straightened. Standing off to the side, he straightened his jacket and returned to his desk.

The blond's questions brought up introspection on her own end, insecurities and worries rising to the surface. There was an argument to be made about projection. When she looked at Emily and Timothy, she saw people who were like her, like all the friends she left behind. If the pair survived then somehow Em's friends survived — the ones who worked hard and deserved so much better.

Langdon was watching her. Blue eyes narrowed in on the absent void in her eyes he had seen in the hallway before.

"You look tired," he noted, pulling her from her thoughts, "trouble sleeping?"

"No," Em admitted, returning from her trance and sitting up on the couch before she fell asleep. The room was so warm. "I sleep fine… just wake up heavy."

"Heavy?"

"Like my limbs are made of led," she explains before waving a dismissive hand, "I just tampered off the last of my medication so it's probably just withdrawal. Would certainly explain the weird dreams I've been having."

This caught his attention, "What sort of dreams?"

"You really sound like your interviewing me," she noted.

He smirked, sitting on his desk, "ye of little faith."

"Now it sounds like an interrogation. We seem to talk about the same things over and over."

"There's little to talk about," he reminded with a chuckle, "remember?"

She merely shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Well?" he prompted, waiting for her to answer his question.

"My mind is what I hold most dear."

"Some think the mind dies with the body."

"Is that a threat?"

"I've learned threats don't work on you."

Em rolled her eyes, much to his amusement, "you can be one of the most annoying people… and I've spent the last year with Coco and Gallant."

"You're hedging." Langdon sang, laughing as she held up her hands in defeat. Biting her lip, she tried to stay annoyed. The second she saw his grin, her own began pulling at her lips. He just stared at her. He could have stared at her for hours.

The smile eventually faded as she sighed, relenting to his demands. "I dreamed I was burned alive, but I wasn't myself… I was someone else. Couldn't tell you who."

Langdon stiffened, but only for a moment.

"Do you often have dreams like that?"

"My dreams have always been weird," She admitted, "side effect of an overactive imagination."

He nodded and took a seat back in his chair, flipping his laptop back on and waiting for the screen to load. "I imagine confinement in the after-effects of the nuclear apocalypse does little to help."

Em was quick to change the conversation. Her dreams were something she both took pride in and felt embarrassment from. They inspired her stories, but also made for awkward conversation when anyone asked for the source of said inspiration.

"What are you working on?" The brunette asked.

"Classified," he replied on instinct, tone telling her something had popped up which required his focus. However, he had made a promise.

"Langdon."

He looked up and sighed, eyes flickering to her before returning their attention on the task at hand. "My job doesn't end once the selections are completed. I have to arrange transportation back to the Sanctuary as well as keep tabs on operations on the inside which have taken place in my absence."

"Sounds like you're an important person?"

The man smirked at that, "you think they'd let just anyone decide the fate of residents?"

"You know what I think."

"That I do."

They lapsed into silence once more. One minute passed… two… twenty. She went back to writing in her notebook and Langdon went back to typing away at his computer.

He would occasionally reference back to files, one hand keeping his place while his other typed. His movements were a soothing white noise that helped her think upon her notes.

Langdon had been right. Em would never fully trust him until she got into the Sanctuary. When that time came, she'd then have to prove her own honesty.

Her morality refused to let her friends die, however. No matter what oath she made. Loopholes… she had to find loopholes. Em couldn't tell them what she learned or about her deal. Atop all that, she had to give Langdon a wide berth to work.

She didn't necessarily have to tell them anything. Not if she manipulated them, pushed them in the right direction. It wouldn't compromise Langdon's mission. It wasn't as if she was getting them into the Sanctuary by giving them all the answers. She was just pushing them to find the truth. Timothy and Emily were already on the right path, after all.

Em hoped they found something of weight in the man's room. Then she could assess the situation properly.

Langdon flipped through his files, trying to find a specific one. Not outwardly marking them was a pain in the ass, but it was a needed secrecy. Something caught his eye and he stopped, flipping back a few pages and looking up at his companion.

"Happy belated birthday," He said. Em's nose scrunched in confusion as she looked up from her book. For a moment she seemed to be doing the math in her head. "You were born an exact week before Halloween."

"When's Halloween?"

"In two days."

She hadn't even noticed. It wasn't as if there was anything to look forward to. If she was being honest, she had forgotten what day it was. The hours seemed to blend together the longer she stayed in the outpost.

"Halloween was the theme of many birthday parties," she said with a smile, trying not to look too disappointed, "explains a lot, if I'm being honest."

"Such as?"

"Fascination with the macabre and occultism," she admitted, "all those… weird things."

"I don't find it weird at all," he reassured, "how old are you now?"

"23." She said, the pair lapsing into silence before she spoke again, "when is your birthday?"

"March fifth," he answered.

She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling as she thought before letting out a frustrated sigh. "I was going to try and guess your zodiac. That's how people flirt, isn't it?"

"It was also the trademark of the Zodiac killer."

"Well… shit."

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he wandered back towards the couch.

"Pisces," he said, plopping down opposite of her.

"That means you're… that's the fish one, right?"

His cheeks hurt, "you're terrible at this."

"I don't exactly have the Sunday paper to reference."

"Are you trying to tell my future now?"

She rolled her eyes and swatted him with her book. He watched red crawl up her neck and to her cheeks as he continued to chuckle at her antics.

"Okay, fine," Em relented, "another topic then — what do you miss most about the old world?"

"You're filled with questions today," he noted, trying to hide his amusement but unable to rid the smile that took up his entire face.

"I'm tired of having one-sided conversations," the brunette corrected. She tried to look stern, but failed miserably. "Believe it or not I don't actually like talking about myself as much as I have."

Langdon rose an incredulous brow, "oh?"

"Okay," she admitted, "maybe a little, but who doesn't?"

He laughed and she smiled. God, it had been so long since he had laughed.

"What do you miss?" the blond countered, chuckling as she sent him a scathing look.

"Did you not hear a word I just said?"

Rolling his eyes with as much dramatics as he could muster, he finally gave her an answer.

"There are many things I miss about the old world, but things must be sacrificed for the new one."

"I'll hit you. I really will." She snipped, "that's not an answer."

Em knew with one look that he was doing this on purpose. His smile was shit-eating and smug. The game of cat and mouse continuing.

"Yes, it is."

"For a politician, maybe." She said, staring at him silently until he gave her the answer she wanted. He had to think long and hard. Langdon hadn't lied — he missed a great deal of things. But what did he miss the most?

"The freedom," he decided with a nod of his head before gesturing to the rest of the room, "dress these places up as much as you want, but they're still cages."

"And the sanctuary is different?"

"No," he admits, "but it's certainly larger."

"By how much?"

All he gave her was a smirk, "you'll find out soon enough."

"Will I?"

He just stared at her and she stared in return. Both of them were trying to read something from the other as if there was some sign that they were telling the truth.

Em didn't know what to feel. There was a fascination she felt when she looked at him. When she spoke, she felt a familiarity, their conversations were so easy and natural. She would see the twitch of his lips as he read or the way he crossed his legs and it felt like she sat there a hundred times before. Part of her wanted to see it a hundred times more.

Landon's brows furrowed and sat up a bit.

"You're crying," he noted.

Confused, Em placed a hand on her cheek. When she pulled back it was wet. Her brows furrowed as well. Why was she crying?

"Odd," she muttered, "allergies, possibly."

"There's nothing living here."

"There's dust," Em noted, chuckling a bit, "lots of it."

They weren't stopping, her eyes watering over and over again. Langdon found himself reaching forward to wipe them away. Why did he have to get so close to her? She'd bump noses with him if she leaned towards him even half an inch.

"I have a few more interviews to conduct," He noted, pulling away quickly and rising to his feet, "I hope to speak with you soon."

"Yeah," she noted, swiping at her eyes and grabbing her notebook, "same time tomorrow?"

He smiled and shook his head, "would I be able to stop you?"

"Probably not."

Carefully closing the door behind her, Em both ways before making her way back to her room. God, the tears weren't stopping. It was more annoying than anything. She could hardly see.

Turning the corner, a force slammed into her shoulder. The brunette stumbled back slightly before hands centered her once more.

"Hey," the familiar voice of Emily chuckled. Then she noticed her tears, "What's wrong?"

"Allergies," Em said, scrunching her nose and fanning at her face, "god, they haven't been this bad in years. I feel like I'm chopping a fucking onion."

Emily could only laugh, stepping back and pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully she dabbed at her friend's eyes. "Here."

"Ugh," Em groaned, gently taking the piece of fabric from her friend's hand, "maybe it's a hair. Can you see anything?"

Em turned her head up and did her best to keep her eyes open. Emily shook her head.

"Nothing."

With a sigh, Em went back to dabbing the tears away and started to move down the hall, "maybe it's a stray hair. I'll meet with you and Timothy later, okay? Need to get whatever it is out of my eye."

Emily could only step back and let her friend pass.

"We'll be in the library!" She called after Em. The only sign the woman heard her being a thumbs up thrown up above her head before she turned another corner.

There was something going on with that girl. Emily could feel it in her gut. She just didn't know what.


"What did you find?" Emily asked her as soon as she entered the library, barely giving the brunette enough time to take a seat.

Em looked around the room, ensuring the three musketeers were the only people in the room. Timothy leaned on the other side of the table. Emily was pacing behind him as always.

"Nothing," she said, her heart twisting as she blatantly lied.

Timothy scratched at his head, cheeks puffing out before she let out a long breath. He glanced at Emily who paused her pacing, lips pursed as she held back her disappointment.

"Nothing?" She echoed.

"He's like a shadow," Em said, turning sideways in her chair to face them properly, "always lurking somewhere. Was barely in there ten minutes before he showed up."

Dragging his hands down his face, Timothy punched his brow and flexed his jaw. God, he was not made for this kind of work. He wanted to be an engineer, not a spy.

"We should stop while we're ahead," he said, glancing between the two women.

Emily gave him a look somewhere between shock and anger. "Don't you want to know the truth?"

"He could kill us for this," Timothy hissed, "leave us for the cannibals. Don't you remember what he said?"

His girlfriend rolled her eyes, "I have ears, Timothy."

The man shook his head, tapping his knuckles against the table and avoiding her gaze. Em watched their interaction. She wasn't about to get in the middle of a lover's spat.

"Is the truth really worth it?"

Emily's response was immediate, "Always!"

Timothy sighed, "look, why don't we wait till after the selections to find the truth. That way we don't die."

"And be trapped in another cage?"

"He has a point," Em noted, the ebony-haired woman turning on her heels to face her. Emily felt betrayed, face contorting with anger.

"If you two want to die in your ignorance so be it!" she hissed before storming out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Timothy was staring at the floor, hand going up to scratch at his head and then rub at his neck. It didn't take a genius to see he was conflicted.

"She'll cool off," Em reassured.

"I know."

"She has a point."

He turned to look at her in disbelief, "I thought you—"

"You both have points. Good points."

"But which one is best — being screwed over now or later?"

Em shrugged, "depends."

"On what?"

She sighed, taking a moment to articulate her thoughts, "I can't answer that for you… you have to fill in the blanks yourself."

Timothy could only nod. Such seemed to be the consensus. If only the waters weren't so murky.

"What did y'all find?" Em finally asked.

"Venable has been making her own rules," Timothy noted, "… abstinence and all that."

"And that's what Langdon's focused on?"

"He has a laptop," Timothy explained, "There were lots of emails between himself and the Cooperative. Emily thinks he has a satellite hook-up or something."

"What kind of emails?"

Timothy shrugged, "general updates. Last outpost had extremely depleted resources, surrogate tests were failing, status updates…"

"… and?" Em pressed, knowing there was more.

"He plans to execute Gallant and Venable," Timothy said. His eyes flickered as if he were reading the email to her. "there are two promising candidates so far that he's considering taking to the Sanctuary."

Em let out a breath of relief. So, Langdon had been listening to her. She nodded for a moment, thoughts spinning.

"Go to Emily," she said.

"What?"

"Apologize," she says, rising from her seat and starting towards the door, "you have to work together to find out more."

Timothy gaped for a second, pushing off the table as he watched her leave.

"What about you?" he finally spoke.

"I'm the distraction, remember?"

The boy could only stand there as the door closed behind her; brows furrowed. God, why did she always have to be so… cryptic? Scratching at the back of his head, Timothy paced back and forth for a moment.

The creaking of the door caught his attention once more. Freezing mid-step, he rose his gaze to stare at the new arrival. Emily was peeking her head in, looking for any sign of Em before walking back inside.

"What did she say?"

Timothy let his hand drop to her side, "That we need to work together."

"Did you tell her about the emails?"

"Yeah."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing," Timothy replied, "but she's always examined our findings before saying a word… even to us."

Emily sighed, reaching out for his hands which he carefully placed in her own. She stared at them as her fingers smoothed over his knuckles and traced circles on the back of his hands.

"She's hiding something," she said, biting her lips and eyes welling with concern, "Langdon must have done something to her."

"Or maybe she didn't find anything," Timothy reminded, "She's honest to a fault… a really, really big fault."

A small smile graced Emily's lips. It was quickly gone, replaced by an expression of determination. Finally, she looked up at him.

"We need to investigate on our own."

Timothy opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off, "without Em. He can't silence all of us."


"Who deserves a shot at salvation?" Langdon's questioned, voice booming across the room as he strode to his desk with a bounce in his step. Venable stood by the fire, back straight and lips pressed into a thin line. The woman was like a statue. Then again, the Greys had come to call her the 'iron woman' for a reason. Even iron rusted.

He eyed his files, hands hovering over the names of Purples. He knew exactly how Venable viewed them, the rage she felt at their presence.

"Let's start with… Coco St. Pierre Vanderbuilt."

Settling in his chair, Langdon placed a hand on either side of the desk, keeping his posture open. Body language was a key part of communication. It was processed so subconsciously one didn't know they were telling a story with their whole bodies. He needed Venable to feel like she was in charge. Give her the power and then yank it out from under her feet.

Venable scoffed before her eyes narrowed on him, "The Vanderbuilt girl is a vacuous abomination of inbreeding. She'd be my last choice to propagate the human race."

Langdon simply stared at her and she continued on with her rambling. Each insult pulling her spine straighter and straighter, giving her a pathetic illusion of power.

"The hairdresser is a cowardly homosexual. His grandmother is a festering pustule who just will… not… die." She ranted, eyes alighting with a fire of superiority and a satisfied smirk crawling onto her face. Recognizing her own hubris, she pulled back and tapped her cane quietly. "And the talk show host…"

The woman balked at that one, glancing at her feet as she searched for something to say.

"Well, actually," she admitted, "I don't know that much about that one."

"And Emily?"

When he looked upon Wilhemina Venable he did not see a leader. He didn't even see a person. All he could see was the woman who had tried to hit Em, the fear in her eyes when the brunette refused to cower. Langdon had no pity for those who abuse their power.

"I'm surprised we haven't run out of oxygen with all her preaching," Venable scoffed, "She's an ungrateful brat that's never satisfied. A mangy mutt that thinks she's a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Langdon showed no reaction to her words. His face was an iron mask that, unlike Venable, he knew how to regulate.

"Mutts can still bite."

The woman chuckled, clearly amused, "all she knows how to do is bark. She lacks the backbone needed to carry out anything of substance."

Langdon offered a mocking smile that Venable quickly mistook for validation. Her eyes glimmered with the satisfaction of a queen on her throne.

"At this rate, you and I will have the Sanctuary all to ourselves." He noted. The woman made no move to react or acknowledge his statement.

"Come," he sighed, rising from his desk once more and rounding it to stand at her side, "There's no need for us to be adversaries, Ms. Venable."

The woman seemed to consider his proposition, chin rising ever slightly to look into his eyes. They were so blue it was easy to see why many residents were mesmerized by them. There was an… attraction to the man, a magnetic quality. Perhaps a man she could tolerate. A man Venable could use to get out of this hell hole to rise to a position more suitable to her skills.

Langdon allowed her to stare for a long moment. He stood close to the woman, but not close enough. She would have to make the move… at which point he would land the final blow.

"Take off your dress," he ordered, tone and words off enough to make Venable falter. Her eyes widened in surprise as she processed his request, but made no move to put distance between herself and Langdon.

"I will not," she gaped, incredulous and chuckling as if he were telling her a horrible joke.

Langdon's face remained as it was.

"Part of your cooperation includes a physical examination," he reminded.

Venable, like Em, knew exactly what a physical examination required. She kept her eyes on the man, refusing to give him any more ground than he had already conquered. "You can read my file."

The blond's head quirked to the side as he assessed the woman before him, "Your file won't show me what I need to see… your shame."

Venable's confident smirk disappeared and his own quickly formed. It was as if he was sucking the power from her and fueling himself. Slowly, he began to circle with his hands behind his back, a vulture around a wounded and slowly dying animal.

"I want to see that part of you that humiliates you the most."

His hand trailed up her arm and over her shoulder where it came to rest by her neck, touch light as a feather. Her hand sank into his like a claw before it could reach the zipper just a breath away from his fingers. He placed another hand on her other shoulder, caging her in place and leaning in so his breath fanned her ear.

"You won't get a second chance."

Venable's breath made her chest rise and fall, panic rising from her belly and into her chest. She stared at the ground, weighing her options before she finally retracted her claws.

Langdon's hand trailed to her back, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress to reveal a twisted spine, the flesh around it a deep bruised purple.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, hands trailing down her spine.

Venable spoke with all the conviction she could muster. She focused her eyes on the wall and willed her tears to return back into her eyes, "no."

She felt his face come closer to her cheek, voiced hushed as he spoke, "Does it bring you great pain."

It took Venable a moment to gather the breath to even formulate a response, shoulders shuttering. A single tear fell down her cheek, the shame too much to bear."

"Yes."

Slowly, she turned her head towards him. His nose was almost close enough to brush her own and she tilted her head as if she hoped he'd kiss her.

"Is this part of my test?" the red-haired woman asked, eyes staring into his with a vulnerability she hadn't show in years.

He shook his head, moving slightly towards her, "isn't everything?"

"So then," she said, eyes flickering to his lips, "Do I pass?"

Langdon leaned forward, her eyes closing in expectation as his nose brushed her own. His breath and the expectation of his lips made her heart hammer in her chest.

Then it was gone, a wicked smile forming before her eyes on the man. She felt the humiliation before he had even said a word. More tears trailed down her cheeks.

Revenge certainly was sweet.

"No."


Em sat in the salon, Coco on the couch opposite her. The blond was posed, resting her elbow atop the back of the chair and her head upon her dangling hand. It was an Instagram-worthy pose. One Em was supposed to be capturing… instead, she was drawing Langdon from memory. She was merely using Coco as a reference to draw the couch he was leaned back on, legs crossed and eyes on his file.

"Are you almost done?" Coco snipped, "my elbow is cramping.

To her credit, she had drawn Coco. She just hadn't told the woman she had finished.

"Do you want it done right?" Em asked. There was no hard in torturing the woman just a little longer. For once the salon was quiet. Coco was deep in thought about something, a rare occurence.

"My family was supposed to be here," Coco said, breaking the brief respite with her quiet words, "My dad purchased the tickets.

Em glanced up at her before her eyes returned to her drawing. She was unsure of what Coco wanted from her. "So you've said."

Green eyes flickered back to the blonde as she shifted uncomfortably. Halting in her ministrations, Em watched her for a moment. It was like a sudden ripple in the water, something either falling below or coming towards the surface.

Coco's eyes flickered to the fire. She remembered being a tiny tot having lavish bonfires with her family in flannel shirts that cost more than a small New York apartment. Her little brother would be such a menace, chasing her around with dirt-covered hands or a worm dangling off a stick. She'd scream but always found herself laughing when he'd toss it at her. He always had the worst aim. Their father had to bribe the high-school baseball team into letting the boy play.

The woman turned in her seat, Em closing her sketchbook to give Coco her attention. The blonde sunk in her seat. Her lips twisted and eyes focusing on the empty spot in front of her, furrowed brows darkening her expression.

Finally, she looked to Em, scooting towards her and crossing her legs on the couch. "You're one of those… smart people, right? Do you think they suffered?"

"I—" Em was blindsided by the question, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

Coco was quick to press the subject, "They were in Hong Kong — right by the first blast."

The woman's eyes were so desperate Em couldn't even formulate a thought. What was she supposed to say? What was the truth? Was it better to tell her a lie or the harsh reality?

"Coco, I—"

"Did they?"

Jaw tensing, Em took in her eyes welling with unshed tears and her hands which tightly gripped at her arm. This wasn't something the woman wanted, but something she needed. They were all facing death and with it their own guilt and regrets.

"They would have been… incinerated in a matter of seconds," she found herself saying. Em's voice was slow and even in an attempt to keep it from trembling. Her hands reached to squeeze Coco's as if her touch was a soothing balm to the wounds they were reopening. "If they did feel any pain it would have been like a paper cut— sharp and then… nothing."

Coco nodded, chest rising and falling as she tried to keep panic from rising. Trembling lips formed an uneven smile as she looked up at Em. The action shocked the brunette. It was a part of Coco she had never seen, a part of Coco she empathized with.

"Thank you," Coco whispered, squeezing the other woman's hands. Em was too shocked to move. She was still processing the situation, her own words and the meaning behind them, the weight they held.

Coco fanned at her eyes, tilting her head back.

"Oh," she whined, "I can't cry… I only brought enough eyeliner to last me a year. Mallory!"

She was gone before Em could even realize. The brunette's brows were furrowed as she stared at the floor, confused and… sad — so, so sad. The kind of sadness that hit you like a punch to the gut, strong enough to make you double over.

Her own breath became labored as the voices once again welled in her head. They screamed and begged for life, just one more moment to apologize for their wrongs… to make right arguments that turned into their last words. A million hands gripped on to her, dragging her into the black and gaping void. She could feel their fingers digging into her skin, bruises rising to the surface.

Em jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it and pulling her out of the river Styx. She wiped her face of tears and turned to the man she hadn't even heard approaching.

Langdon was blatantly concerned, kneeling beside her and holding her hands. It centered her somewhat, kept her from drowning.

"Why do you cry?" He asked, voice quiet and gentle.

"I don't know," she admitted with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she stood, Langdon mirroring her actions. Green eyes looked everywhere but at him and her hands slipped from his grip. "Excuse me."

His hand shot out; grip strong enough to stop her from turning away. It loosened, and he let his hand drop to his side as he willed her to look at him.

"It's not your fault."

"Yet I feel guilty all the same."

Langdon shook his head and took a step towards her, hand hovering over her back as his body curled around her front. "You couldn't have saved them."

Em's hands curled into fists at her side. She remembered her brother, her nieces, her nephews — all too young to die. Taking a step away from him, she finally spoke. "I could have made sure they didn't die alone."

Langdon loosened his grip, allowed her to walk away. His eyes didn't leave her as she left the room, palms swiping at her cheeks as she made her way down the hall.

That was the difference between them — Venable and Em. The former played at caring but used it as a weapon. The red-haired woman was a Puritan preacher, rising the heat on who she perceived as sinners. She didn't really care about what she preached. It only served to keep those around her in line.

Em, however… Em cared. She cared even when she didn't want to, when she wanted to be annoyed. Satan did not hate the humans just because they were mortal, flawed. Lucifer was once an angel, after all. An angel dedicated to justice against the sinners.

The salon was a place none of them could stay away from for long. It was like the living room of your house, a place you always wandered to when you didn't know what to do.

Em didn't like looking weak. She had already cried in front of Langdon more times than she had cried in front of her own mother. Perhaps it meant she was comfortable with him. The thought of anyone seeing her with snot running out of her nose and eyes puffy and red was still humiliating.


Much to her surprise, Gallant was in the salon. His eyes were dead as he stared into the distance, his usual shades missing to reveal the face of a man who had lost everything.

She had heard about what happened, the torture brought to him by his own grandmother's hands. Coco wasn't exactly good at keeping things quiet.

"I don't want to talk," Gallant grumbled, sensing her presence.

"I didn't come to talk."

Gallant turned to look at her over the back of the couch. He had expected Coco. Somehow this was even worse. The hairdresser wanted to hate her, but he knew it was Langdon he was really angry at.

"Here to gloat?" he asked, slumping back into his seat and picking up a glass which had fallen to the side. He picked it up, closed one eye to stare at the bottom, and then downed the rest of the water.

"You aren't the best man in the world, but you certainly aren't the worst," Em said as she took a seat opposite him. She left a cushion length between him and herself. "But there's no sin in that."

Gallant glowered at her and scoffed, "great pep-talk. You and Dinah should be co-hosts."

Em watched as he stared at his glass once more and frowned, letting his hand drop to his side once more. Gallant may be pouting like a child, but it wasn't without reason.

"Do you want some water?" she asked and he numbly nodded his head. She rose from her seat and brought over the pitcher, sitting closer to him to take the glass from his hands. The man was nearly catatonic like a sad drunk. With a sigh, she placed the pitcher on the coffee table and the glass back in his hands.

"You're not disgusting Gallant," She assured, squeezing his hands around the glass, "a bit arrogant, perhaps, but not disgusting."

After a moment she pulled away. "And it's okay to mourn what could have been."

The man stayed silent, sparing a few fleeting glances in her direction. He reminded her of a lost puppy. A petulant one — the kind that would tear up your shoes and your house until you came home. Somehow, they were endearing despite the annoyance they brought.

Gallant sat still for a moment before leaning on her shoulder. Tears began to flow freely from his eyes and he curled into her like a lost child. Slowly, her arms curled around him and she held him to her chest.

"Welcome to the shitty family club," She jested once he had finally calmed himself down. The man shook his head and chuckled through tears, using the corner of his dress shirt to clear away his tears and snot.

"You tell anyone and I'll kill you," he said, a smile forming on Em despite her previous feelings towards the man. She half expected him to run off as Coco had, use her for the therapy and then go back to his day.

"Twenty questions?" he asked, grabbing the pitcher and pouring himself and Em a glass. He held it out expectantly and she slowly took it from his hands.

"With no drinks?"

"Don't remind me."