"Charlie?" The whisper threaded through their small, one-night camp like a ghost. Rolling onto her side, Charlie scanned the darkness around her until she found what she was looking for – a pair of reflective green eyes. Annie.

"Yeah?" Charlie could've sworn. She'd thought her voice would sound steady, strong. Apparently, not.

"Are you…?" Annie sighed. "I mean, are you going to be-" But Charlie's sudden fit of laughter cut her off.

"OK? Am I going to be OK? Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" Leaning over her pack, she rifled through two spare shirts, one pair of pants, underwear, and the rest of her supplies in search of her hunting knife. Her nails scratched the bottom of the bag. Damn it all to Hell. Annie tried again.

"You're doing the right thing, you know." Charlie's chest suddenly felt too tight

"Am I?" Turning, she looked back at Annie in the dim firelight, noticing again the bruises around her friend's throat and along her collarbone. Charlie winced.

"You can't wait for a person to hurt you twice. Once they do it the first time, they'll always do it again." Annie's smile was sad – looking at it made the ice creeping up into Charlie's heart crackle and snap like an arctic fire. Annie sounded so much like Charlie's mom, sometimes. Rachel had said something just like that to Charlie on her wedding day. He's going to do something to hurt you one day, Charlotte. Sooner rather than later, probably. He can't help it. Men like him never can. Instantly, remembered anger flared up in Charlie, before being promptly smothered by the reality of her current situation. And baby, when he does, please come home. In a daze, Rachel had managed to pull her into a brief hug before Charlie came to her senses and pushed her away. Rachel's red-rimmed eyes were filled with tears; she looked more like a 5-year-old kid begging her mom to leave the hallway lights on at night than a 50-year-old woman who'd just insulted the man her only daughter loved enough to marry.

But in the end, Rachel had been… right.

So had Annie. Ever since she and Charlie had met at one of Bass' dinner parties, Annie had always seemed to keep at least one eye on Bass, never turning her back to him, and the other eye on her new husband, Alex Hamilton – one of General Monroe's top officers. At first, Charlie'd thought that Annie had a thing for him, which, needless to say had gotten her relationship with the only other girl her age off to a rocky start. But after noticing more of the little details – the almost-but-not-quite-hidden black and blue marks on Annie's skin peeking through layers of makeup, the way she tensed whenever her husband was nearby, and the way her laughter was always a bit too forced – Charlie knew that Annie was no threat. After that, their conversations had become more genuine, neither working so hard to hide from or decode the other's conversation. They'd become friends. And that was something Charlie hadn't had since Danny died. Danny.

Charlie looked up at Annie, who was now snoring softly on the other side of the dying campfire. She must've fallen asleep waiting for Charlie to answer her. If getting lost inside your own head was a sin, Charlie would be the worst sinner of all. Sinking back down to the cold ground, Charlie tried to think about anything but the bed she usually slept in – or the man in it. Charlie shifted, trying to find a good position. She hadn't just left for herself. She'd done it for everyone under Monroe's increasingly terrifying rule. He wasn't the monster he once was. Not yet. But with time, he would be.

She'd done it for Annie too. And just like it had been with Danny, it was Charlie's job to protect Annie, and not just from her bastard husband. Helping Charlie get away from Monroe would've definitely earned her a spot on Bass' hit list. And Charlie couldn't bear to lose another person she cared about to Sebastian Monroe. So that left her with two options: find a way to dethrone Monroe, or force him to kill her along with the rest of his enemies.

Charlie's hands shook like mad, but her gaze was deadly calm. Sebastian Monroe would die tonight. He'd never hurt another living soul. Although he might give Lucifer a run for his throne once she'd personally sent him straight to Hell.

The New Vegas smoke was as thick as fog around her, pressing down on her head and shoulders, making her fingers itch on her crossbow's trigger. Waiting was always the worst part – waiting for your target to make their final appearance. Waiting to see their eyes widen with shock and dismay and fear when the fatal shot struck. But this time, the wait was worth it. She'd get to see the moment he realized he was going to die. Maybe she'd even make it so the first shot didn't kill him right away. Maybe she'd walk over to stand beside his body while he spasmed with pain – he'd look up, maybe for the first time in his life, in terror, into her eyes. And then she'd shoot the bastard in the face and watch him die.

The door to Monroe's scuzzy little trailer flew open, and out staggered the man of the hour. His curly hair stuck to his forehead, and his clothes looked like he'd been wearing them for weeks. Head down, Monroe slowly made his way toward the nearest casino. Charlie shifted from her crouch and repositioned her crossbow. Setting Monroe in her sights, she notched the arrow, and-

"I love you, Danny."

-let if fly.

Charlie woke up shaking. The dream – a memory really – was already fading, but a deep dread remained. It was like being told the sun would never rise again, and then staring for days at the horizon, hoping and praying that it wasn't true. Crouching there, on the hard, unbroken ground, Charlotte Monroe could barely keep her tears from falling.