...Strange Dangers...

Cammie

Zach didn't come upstairs the first night.

In the morning, or afternoon considering we'd slept for a solid thirteen hours, I let the mirror scan my retinas and stepped into the elevator. Two sophomores eyed the cinnabuns— courtesy of Chef Louis— balanced in my hand along with two folders from my mother's office. They didn't whisper, but if I knew anything about meaningful looks, they were practically screaming ideas and theories to one another. I gave them a wink as they got off at Sublevel One. No doubt there would be a million rumors circulating by the end of the day.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into the hall. It had been years since I'd first set eyes on the second sublevel, yet the amazement hadn't evaporated.

Navigating the twisting halls had become second nature. A few minutes later, I was scanning my way into a room. Monitors were arranged along the walls, silent but exposing every movement in the cell they were watching. Grant and Townsend were discussing something in the corner, their eyes flickering to me briefly as I made my way to the front table and the snoring lump sitting there.

I eyed him for a moment before letting the folders in my hand fall. They slammed against the table an inch from his face, but Zach didn't move. I sighed, placing the cinnabuns down next to the folders.

"Leave him be, Miss Morgan."

I turned to Townsend, who was stepping towards me. Grant raised a hand in salute as he walked out of the room. Townsend eyed his son. "He hasn't slept more than four hours," he said, his lips turning in a small frown. "I've never witnessed such stubbornness."

I had to fight the temptation to point out that stubbornness was an inherited trait. I looked from Zach to the screens. Alyson was lying on the small mattress, awake but still. "He cares about her." The words were out before I'd decided to say them.

Townsend nodded, his gaze following mine. "Love is a strange thing," he said. His voice was even, controlled.

"Did you love her?" I asked before I lost my nerve. "Cath—Zach's mother?"

He didn't blink. He didn't move, but his eyes flashed in surprise. I was in a little shock that the words made it out myself. But there would never be another opportunity.

Townsend was quiet for a while, staring at the image of his daughter on the screen. I was beginning to believe he would let the question die off unanswered.

"I was once fond of an imaginary woman," Townsend said, his eyes trained on the monitors. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Zach. I doubted he actually saw his daughter. There was something old in his eyes, something I could never see. Townsend kept every syllable composed as he continued, "She was wild and passionate. But she was a lie." His tone tightened slightly. "Nothing about that woman was true, nothing was real. The real woman was chaotic and full of a bitter rage."

I didn't know Townsend's history with Catherine. No one did. No one had asked. Some secrets are too personal. The past was between Townsend and Abby. It was theirs, and no one dared to intrude.

There was silence for a while. Then Zach shifted in his sleep, and my eyes were drawn to him. His hair was sticking up, longer than he had let it grow in a while.

"Do you love him, Miss Morgan?"

I blinked. My eyes went to Zach, still asleep, head on his arms, breathing deep and even.

"Cameron?" Townsend prompted.

A part of my mind noted that Townsend had just used my first name. The other part grappled with the question. I tore my eyes from my sleeping boyfriend to face his father. "Yes."

Neither Zach nor Townsend had exactly embarrassed the roles of father and son. Joe had been the closest thing Zach had ever had for most of his life. But right now, under Edward Townsend's unflinching gaze, I couldn't help the overwhelming certainty that this was Zach's father, and I was under inspection.

Townsend didn't say anything for a while. His eyes shifted to Zach for a second before reverting back to me. "I see her in them. Fragments. Shadows." His tone never changed, never betrayed any emotion. I got the sense he wouldn't be saying any of this if Zach were awake. "But, he is not his mother. He may have hidden something from the world, but the boy you met, the boy I met in Italy, he was not a lie." Townsend eyed me for a moment. "He loves you," Zach's father told me, "but more importantly right now, Cameron, Zach needs you."

I nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," I said, my voice careful.

Townsend seemed satisfied with my response. A moment later, he had turned and left the room. I sat down and flipped through the folders I'd brought and picked at my cinnabun. Zach slept beside me. After a few minutes, I gave up and slid them across the table. It was hard to focus.

My eyes were drawn to the screens, to Zach's sister. Zach had refused to allow anyone to lay a hand on her. She hadn't spoken to anyone but him. They seemed to drive each other to the edge of sanity every time they were in the same room.

I looked at the boy barely snoring beside me.

Townsend was right. Love was strange.

I don't think Zach left the sublevels until Joe forced him. In the following days, there were times when I had to physically drag him from the rooms too. Most days, we stayed talking to Alyson for hours, while the others went searching for Evelyn.

It had been a week since Alyson walked in, four days since we'd first talked to Alyson. In that time, we'd rested, regrouped, and tried to figure out our next move.

Bex and Macey volunteered to search for her first. They'd left for two days, but were unsuccessful. We were all planning to split scour the entirety of New England for her. Alyson, Clara, and the boys insisted she wouldn't have gone far.

Bex was still refusing to speak to Grant. Preston had been released, but he stayed in the school after some strong suggestions from Mom. He and Macey seemed to have come to an agreement. Which meant he was still alive.

"Is the old house we used in North Carolina still there?" Zach asked his sister.

Alyson rolled her eyes at him from her bent position. She insisted on stretching every morning, claiming it helped her stay calm. "I don't know, Zachy," she said. Zach didn't react to the nickname anymore. "Do you think I wanted to go back there after everything?" she asked. Her eyes were vivid, glaring at him over the tips of her toes.

Zach frowned. It was getting easier for them to talk without it ending in an argument, but the tension hadn't left their conversations.

"We'll look there," Zach said, writing it down.

I glanced between them as Alyson huffed. She didn't say anything, but her eyes shifted from glaring to something closer to irritation.

Relationships are hard. All of them. They're messy and strange and difficult at times. If anyone claims to have a perfect relationship, it's a lie. Trust me. I'm a spy. I know lies. The point is, relationships take work, and when you're a spy, they're nearly impossible to navigate at times. Sometimes making it through a day without killing one another is a miracle.

But the thing is, they're worth it, worth the confusion and pain and forgiveness and struggle. That was evident in the way Alyson looked at Zach. Anger and hurt mixed with longing. There was even a bit of fear when she first spoke to Townsend.

Alyson was dangerous. She was highly trained and not to be underestimated. Not to mention, she was possibly the most irritating person I had ever met. But she was also a nineteen-year-old girl, one who felt betrayed by her brother and endured the Circle much longer than I had.

She'd tried to kill us. She'd tracked us and used us and threatened us. She'd helped the Circle and worked for Catherine. Remorse didn't seem to be a part of her vocabulary. Yet, watching her tentatively speak to her father over the next few days, slinking away when Zach's tone grew firm, narrowing her eyes and spitting out accusations before wilting when Clara spoke— it made me pity the girl.

She was dangerous. Unstable.

But she loved her brother.

"Alyson hasn't been a problem except for some spikes of anger," I told Bex. We were in one of the secret passages. The architects in charge had listened to my recollections of the old passages and even let me assist the designs for new ones during the rebuilding process. The one we were currently walking through led to the kitchens. We had been in charge of getting snacks.

Bex stepped over a spiderweb. She didn't look back, but the set of her shoulders was enough to tell me she was rolling her eyes. "She's biding her time. I don't trust a thing that girl says."

"Have Preston and Macey made up yet?" I asked her, deciding not to delve into how trustworthy or not I believed Alyson to be. I hadn't been that attentive to the status of my friends' relationships the past few days.

Bex let out a small laugh. "Oh, they've made up… and found something else to argue about, and made up again."

My lips pulled up a little. "So, they're back to normal?"

"As normal as those two can be, I suppose," she said. We went along in silence for a while, avoiding the thin laser beam on the floor as we turned a corner.

After a while, I glanced at her again. "Have you talked to Grant?"

Her words were crisp when she answered, "I have nothing to say to him."

I frowned. My friend's relationships weren't the biggest issue in need of our attention, but I couldn't help wanting to meddle. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact his ex-girlfriend is currently being hunted as a highly dangerous threat to all of us?"

Bex turned around, her face perfectly expressionless. It sent a small warning bell off in my head. "Cammie, you may be able to forgive Zach. Macey may still be working whatever she and Preston are out. But don't expect that from me."

There were embers of something lurking in my best friend's eyes. I pressed my lips together, nodding slightly. She turned and kept walking, her feet never faltering. Watching her, surrounded by an aura of pure determination, I was suddenly glad she'd changed her original codename. Bex wasn't a Princess. She didn't need a prince.

I pitied the dragon that got in her way.

Evelyn

One day. Two. Three.

There's something riveting about loading a gun, the clicks as everything slides into place. Life and death held in your hand, waiting for orders, waiting, waiting. Always waiting.

Four days. Five. Six.

No more waiting. Enough waiting.

One week. Eight days. Nine.

Now was time for vengeance. It was time for justice. It was time to stop being weak. There was one sure way to ease the pain, to melt the ice. I'd had enough pain. All in vain. So much pain, so long, so many betrayals. For what? Soon they would all see. How clear death can make everything. How quick everything is seen.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

But this wouldn't be quick. This would be long and painful.

Thirteen.

Justice would be dealt. Revenge would be had.

Enough.

Death would reign.

Cammie

"You look better."

I glanced at Liz who was lowering herself next to me. I nodded, looking back out at the town. The gazebo in Roosville was beautiful after all these years. It seemed like a past life that had hidden notes in for a boy who could never know what I am. In a way, I guess it was. "It's amazing what a few days of proper sleep will do," I said.

Lizzie spread her notebook over her lap. I'd half expected her to give some sort of statistic; instead, she eyed me like she was trying to figure out an equation.

"What?" I asked her.

"It's just… How did you know Zach was the one?" Her voice came out so fast and high pitched, it took me a second to decipher what she had just said. When I didn't answer right away, she stumbled on, "After so much with the circle and not knowing what the truth was and not knowing if you could actually trust him and—"

I nudged her shoulder. "Liz." Her head snapped to me. "Breathe."

She took the command a little too seriously, and I had to fight the urge to chuckle at her gasp. I scanned the town again as she gathered herself. Once she had calmed down a little, she cleared her throat. I nodded a little to let her know I was listening, eyes stuck on a woman crossing the street.

"How are you supposed to know if he means anything he says if there's so much data you don't know?" she asked.

The woman across the street walked into the bookstore. I turned, smiling a little at my friend. "There's always going to be data you don't know. If it's the right person, they'll give you what you need."

She frowned. "But what about all the variables you don't know? What happens when they get thrown into the mix, and he does give you anything to add, and—"

I touched her arm. "Have you actually talked to Jonas since this thing started?"

Liz bit her lip. "Well, not exactly," she held up her notebook a little, "but, I've examined everything—"

"This isn't something you can analyze, Liz," I said, my eyes flickering to the rooftops. Liz followed my gaze, frowning. After a few seconds, I looked at her again. "Jonas knew Clara since they were kids. If not knowing about his childhood bothers you, the only thing to do is ask him."

She sighed. "What if he—"

I shook my head. "No 'what if's'. You need to talk to him." I grinned at her. "It can't be a worse conversation than Macey and Preston's," I said, thinking of the three days of yelling Macey had done before they had finally settled into something resembling a relationship again. "Maybe you could actually teach Bex something."

That pulled a small smile from her. "Alright… I guess it couldn't— Cam?" she cut herself off as I stood up and took a step forward. Something was wrong with the curtains of the apartment building. I couldn't place it, but it was… off, somehow.

"Cammie, are you sure this is a good idea?" Liz asked, watching me warily. No one had wanted me to come out, but they couldn't argue with the fact that we hadn't gotten a lead in days. In a business where every hour matters, we were running out of options.

I sighed, sitting back down a step in front of Liz. "Sometimes, there are no good ideas."

Liz frowned at the idea. We were silent for a few seconds, the wind rustling her notebook papers. I'd been wandering around town for a few hours before she'd shown up. Fifteen more minutes and I would be heading back towards the mansion. Liz adjusted her notebook again, and subsequently, it fell off her lap and onto the steps.

The book fell by my foot. Lizzie bent down in front of me to grab it with a signature,"Oopsie daisy," just as something in my brain clicked. "Liz, wait—"

But it didn't matter. I was too slow. The glint in the apartment window had already moved. Liz was already in front of me.

And the minuscule needle meant for my leg had already embedded itself into her arm.

.

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Okay, so I failed on three weekly updates in a row, however, this chapter has quite possibly, my favorite scene in this story so far. I'm not sure if the ending is how I originally wanted it, but we'll see.

{insert cliché plead for reviews because even one word of feedback literally makes my day}