A/N: Hi! I hope everyone had a fantastic week :) I'm posting this instead of doing the biology reflections on a book we have to read. Sigh. Today I went to a preview thing at a University I'm looking at and it was super fun! I met lots of cool people in the English/Creative Writing department.
Just a few notes -
IED = Improvised Explosive Device. Like an unofficial bomb.
Myositis = a muscular viral or parasitic disease, either triggered by influenza or parasites, for which there is no known cure. I think Google can provide a better definition though lol
Happy reading!
Danielle knew something was wrong.
Her fever spiked rapidly and uncontrollably while her stomach heaved. Her muscles felt like she had run a marathon, weak and shaky. She had managed to push herself off the bathroom floor and sit on the edge of the tub, but the room warped, tilting, and she almost slid off. When she swallowed, her throat winced.
Tears stung her eyes.
She bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Some time ago, she had heard people leave - a lot of people, by the sound of footsteps tramping around and doors slamming.
A loud knock pounded on the bathroom door. It rattled around inside her head as she wiped her watering eyes, pushed her hair off her sweaty face, and stood.
Her legs buckled. She gripped the edge of the sink to steady herself as she forced herself to breathe.
"Yes?"
"You good in there?" It was Clara. "I'm heading out."
"I'm fine. You go, I'll study. For school." Danielle grit her teeth.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, just tired."
"Okay. Well, I'll see you later."
Clara rustled around in their room for a few moments before leaving, and Danielle breathed a sigh of relief, almost collapsing to the ground again.
She waited a few moments, opened the door, and walked on shaky legs to the carpeted stairs. Clearing her throat, she peered into the living room and called, "Ian?"
"He's asleep," Ben's voice replied moodily. "Need anything?"
"Cold medicine?" overcome by a wave of exhaustion, Danielle leaned against the wall. Heat prickled on her skin like someone was bathing her with a blowtorch. She knew she should be worried, but couldn't bring herself to put that much effort into thinking.
She barely noticed when Ben appeared at the bottom of the stairs and, cursing, sprinted up them.
His face swam before her eyes as if she was watching his reflection in rippling water.
She shut her eyes.
Ben Daniels was having a horrible day.
As if having a mangled leg wasn't bad enough, his team mates - the men he had served with and fought for - thought he was too weak to help them. They didn't understand that Alex was still teetering close to a fall from which there was no return, but they would barely let him get a word in edgewise. Ben had discreetly kept tabs on Alex ever since he left MI6 five years ago, having seen the desperation lingering behind his eyes in Australia on that one mission they had been paired together on. He knew what Alex tried to do in America and why he returned to England.
Most frustrating of all, Alex didn't seem to want to understand that Ben was just trying to help.
All issues with Alex aside, there was also Danielle. To Ben, she was a younger, female version of Alex - resisting help at all costs, closed off to the world around her. He wanted to help people like her, that was part of why he'd chosen to work for the government.
Of course, he hadn't counted on people not wanting to be helped, or thinking they didn't deserve it.
Ben was beginning to feel more like a babysitter for teenagers screwed over by the legal system than an elite, esteemed MI6 agent. With a limp.
Now here he was, barely able to stand, holding an ill girl. Danielle's skin was clammy, her eyes bloodshot and sunken. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, clinging to the faint flush over her skin.
"Danielle?" Ben gently jostled her shoulder.
Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't respond.
He could practically feel the heat radiating from her skin - wait, no, she was burning up. The stairwell suddenly seemed claustrophobic as Ben struggled to step up one stair after another. His leg twinged with every movement, muscles not healed despite the scabbed-over skin. Upon reaching the landing, he leaned down and managed to get a grip beneath Danielle's legs, scooping her into his arms and staggering into the bathroom adjacent to his room.
It was nowhere near lavish; simple tiles, an inconveniently deep bathtub for someone who could barely walk, and a sink. Gwen's things were scattered all over the counter - she'd left in a haste that morning, refusing to look him in the eye - and he nearly tripped over the cord of her blow dryer as he bent, carefully, to place Danielle in the tub. Her bed could be contaminated with whatever she'd contracted, and he wasn't going to risk contaminating his own room, not with Gwen there too. If one of them were to fall ill, Ben worried Danielle would feel responsible.
She wouldn't let him help her if she was conscious, that was for sure. As it was now he shoved Gwen's things aside and wrenched on the tap, running the faucet to the coldest temperature it pulled.
He soaked a towel in water and laid it on Danielle's forehead, trying to cool the temperature of her body. Limping, he hurried out to his room, grabbed a blanket, and slid it around her body. Faint memories of basic medical training filtered back to him from SAS instruction. It was necessary to avoid severe physical shocks, like temperature changes.
But what else could he do?
Ben leaned out the door. "Ian!"
Alex consciously stopped himself from gripping his glass of water in a fight fist. This was a test, just a test to see how he would react.
He gave the American a tight-lipped grimace. "The man who killed your wife has been dead for five years."
Troy leaned back in his chair, offering the kind of cocky grin that hid a deep wound. "You're good, Rider. Tell me, how did this fine governmental agency get its claws into you?"
"They made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
Throwing his head back, Troy guffawed. "You are a true Brit, through and through."
Alex bristled, but remained silent at a sideways glower from Wolf.
Snake took over the conversation. "We want to discuss a theory about the information you were so kind to inform our government of."
"In public? Risky choice."
"No more than meeting behind closed doors." Snake leaned forward, his arms on the table. "Are you aware they were planning to frame the IRA?"
"Obviously." Casually, Troy thanked a passing waitress for his drink and tipped the beer into his mouth, taking a long swig. "They're the middle man. It's the employer your people should worry about."
"Who is that?" Alex asked.
"I dunno. I'm sure they're around somewhere, if you can look."
"Why are you here?" Wolf sounded curious enough, but his gaze was hard. "Business?"
Troy took another gulp of booze. "Pleasure."
Alex felt his brow furrow and quickly smoothed his face into a blank mask. This was a very different man than the voice on the recording would suggest. "I hope you enjoy London."
"It's a beautiful city."
Snake stood, pushing his chair back. "You should visit the bridge."
And jump off it, Alex thought, irritated. What was the point of these pleasantries, which oozed falseness, if they all knew exactly what game Troy was playing at? He knew a lot more than he was saying, a fact almost disguised by his seeming reliance on alcohol.
"Not too bright," Wolf muttered as they walked away, back to the car parked alongside a boutique a few streets over. "If he thinks we're that gullible."
"It was a test," Alex said, not sure how he knew that but with a feeling of certainty nonetheless. For career agents, everything was a test. "He wants to know what we're willing to do for his help."
"Maybe he wants to leverage," Snake suggested. "Some sort of trouble back in the States."
"Or he could know about the cameras." Wolf unlocked the car and pulled open the driver's door. "And the mics."
Alex shrugged, sliding into the backseat. "Maybe he's had breakdown."
"I don't know," Eagle said, staring down at Danielle. "Hospital?"
"Maybe." Ben leaned against the sink counter.
Two hours later, Danielle still hadn't stirred. She radiated fever but there was no way of checking until she woke up and could use the thermometer, so Ben stayed with her while Eagle went to look up symptoms of the flu.
Suddenly, with a hacking cough, Danielle woke. Her hands scrabbled at the slippery porcelain edge of the tub as she tried to pull herself into a sitting position. Seeing him, her eyes widened like a cornered animal's.
"Hey, it's okay," Ben said to reassure her. "You're very sick and we don't know if you're contagious or not." As he spoke, he realized how empty an explanation that was.
She coughed again - a rattling sound like her lungs were collapsing - and nodded. Her eyes watered, spilling over onto her face.
Moved by pity, he knelt on the tile as his leg throbbed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, using his free hand to balance. She sniffed, leaning against his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I don't know what's happening," she rasped.
"We'll figure it out," Ben promised. "You'll be fine."
He only hoped that they could find what it was that made her so suddenly ill before it got to anyone else.
"Hey," Eagle said as he stumbled through the door, foot catching on the threshold. "Is milk supposed to do this?" He brandished one of the bottles delivered that morning to reveal a layer of congealed proteins on the top, stained faintly pink. "I think we left it out too long."
Ben motioned him closer and took the bottle from his hand, tilting the glass toward the light to get a better glimpse. Sure enough, it looked rotten.
"That's odd," he muttered. "It's only been a few hours."
Danielle wrenched away from him, turning to the side and retching in painful looking convulsions, her spine contorted as she hunched over. Unsure of what to do, Ben let her pull away.
After a few seconds she collapsed back against the wall. "No milk."
"Does it make you sick?" Eagle asked at the same time Ben almost knocked him over in an attempt to stand faster than his leg was ready to move.
"I know what happened," Ben said, still gripping the milk bottle. "There was a case on it, read it a few months ago, something similar."
"What about?"
"Some scientists in America discovered a hybrid myositis virus, parasitic and triggered by disease. It was in a vial. They never figured out who engineered it." Ben rubbed his forehead, trying to remember the name of the suspect. He'd had it just a second ago. "It's incredibly fast-acting."
Eagle took the bottle from him. "I'll drive this to the lab."
"I'll take her to St. Dominic's."
Instead of pulling away from the curb, Wolf got out of the car again not five minutes after he sat down. Alex didn't know why, but he wasn't about to ask and seem even more inexperienced than Wolf seemed to think he was. Not even inexperienced, but incapable. So, he silently followed suit and trailed a few feet behind the elder, noticing that Snake wasn't following.
After a few blocks the familiar terrace cafe, where they met Troy, came into view, except from the opposite direction. Wolf kept walking.
Finally Alex saw sandy hair and wraparound sunglasses on the head of a person ducking into one of the boutiques.
They were following Troy.
Alex passed Wolf and slipped in through the door. It was a typical tourist's shop with all the gaudy London merchandise anyone could ever want inside. Grabbing a baseball cap and flipping it backwards on his head, Alex ducked behind a wrack of Buckingham Palace jumpers and pretended to examine a guidebook while watching the window reflection for any flicker of movement.
Wolf waited outside, leaning against one of the bus stops.
From farther back in the shop came rustling noises as someone else flipped through racks of clothes. Alex replaced the guidebook and pivoted, scanning the interior for any sign of Troy.
The American stood facing a wall of poster displays. On his earpiece, a blue light rapidly blinked: it was activated.
Carefully, Alex sidled closer, dodging displays of merchandise.
". . .just gotta keep 'em guessing," Troy muttered, his eyes roving over an image of Princess Diana. "Perpetuate confusion."
A pause. Then he laughed. "Nah. The kid's on the edge."
Alex swore he felt his heart stutter - was Troy talking about him? On what edge? He was fine.
"Not a nationalist," Troy said. He suddenly turned around.
Alex dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch behind a shelving unit that held more t-shirts and sweatpants. His heart thundered in his ears as Troy paced across the floor, each step a dull thunk against the tiles.
"No," Troy said at length. "Thought I heard something. Look, I'm heading back to the hotel. Meet you later."
The door dinged open and shut.
Alex waited a few seconds, steadying his breathing before scrambling to his feet and yanking the baseball cap off his head, making a mental note to work on his disguises.
"He's meeting someone," Alex told Wolf.
Wolf gave a short nod and jabbed at the screen of his phone, pressing it against his ear. Alex heard the hollow ringing, and Snake picked up.
"Yeah?"
"We're watching the hotel," Wolf said.
Alex realized with a sinking feeling that this would be a long day of surveillance, something he despised. It felt like dragging out the case; he just wanted the arrest over and done with so he could go back to his normal life.
Ben hadn't counted on St. Dominic's refusing to admit someone for priority treatment who wasn't MI6. Hence the reason he was embroiled in an increasingly convoluted phone conversation with Mrs. Jones, who was dangerously close to showing some kind of emotion verging on anger.
"If you give me the file, I can change everything myself," Ben snapped, at his wits end.
"That is preposterous, Benjamin." her voice was still calm, but rose at the end of her words. "You've been an excellent operative up until now, I don't know what possessed you to -"
"She's dying," Ben said.
"You don't know that."
"You're thinking of the same file I am, and we both know that's a lie. If they don't treat her she'll be dead within the week."
She sighed. "Our job is to ensure national security, not to pick up strays."
"Alex wouldn't take it too kindly if she died on your watch," Ben said.
A long pause. The silence was made worse by the fact that Danielle could barely sit up in the chairs a few feet away so she slumped against the wall. Ben caught himself fidgeting like a panicked teenager and had to stop, reminding himself that he was twenty-six, married, and not in any position to be making demands to the head of MI6. He had been in St. Dominic's just over a month ago and had no desire to go back, except now Danielle was sick. Maybe it was a leftover effect of being in K Unit, but Ben knew they had to be a team, even Danielle who probably didn't realize that, and teammates took care of each other. She had no one else.
"Very well," Mrs. Jones said at last, startling Ben out of his thoughts. "I'll see to it that Smithers changes Alex's file. And the girl's records. All of them."
"She's seventeen. Plays the piano. Attends the Royal Academy of Music." Ben hung up before Jones could say anything else - or change her mind - and took the clipboard with insurance information off the counter. He finished filling out the last form, the other two already turned in to the irate receptionist whose temper probably wasn't helped by the tight bun her streaked hair was wrestled into.
"Here," He said, scribbling the last line, and handed it to her.
She took the board and examined the forms, finally nodded. She punched a few keys on her laptop. Behind her, a printer roared to life and spat out a laminated bracelet. "Someone will be here shortly."
That was as good as it was going to get. Ben took the bracelet, walked back over to Danielle and sat next to her, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. "Hey. Hanging in there?"
She nodded stiffly.
"There's going to be a few changes - we'll undo them all once this is over, but it's the only way to get you in right away."
"Like what?" her cracked lips barely formed the words; he had to strain his ears to hear her.
"Well, for one," Ben held up the bracelet. "They're going to call you a different surname. It's okay."
She fumbled with the bracelet, slipping it over her hand. "What's it?"
"Marks you as a priority patient."
She nodded once before lapsing into silence.
After about twenty minutes, the folding doors swung open and a nurse outfitted in scrubs and thick rubber gloves stepped out. "Danielle Rider?"
Alex sat in the car, watching enviously as pedestrians traversed the sidewalk outside. He wanted to get up and walk with them, heck, he would run a marathon just to get out of this car. Sitting still was driving him mad - he could be doing something useful instead of sitting around waiting for Troy to appear - but Snake was adamant that no one leave the car, which was strategically parked under the lowest level of a parking deck near the hotel's front entrance.
"Here," Snake said, chucking a bag of crisps over his shoulder. "Hungry?"
"For actual food, yes."
Wolf leaned his chair back and stretched out. "Man cannot live on potato alone."
"Bread," Alex muttered. "The word is bread."
"There he is!" Snake said.
Wolf sat forward and gripped the steering wheel, peering out into the morass of people traversing the street. "Yeah. And we're moving."
Troy was on foot so Wolf got out to follow him while Snake scooted over into the driver's seat and threw the car into reverse. Alex subconsciously gripped the handle of his door at the car's jerky movements, ready to eject himself the second he felt the trunk ram into anything solid.
"Where'd you learn to drive?" he asked.
Snake must've caught his aggrieved tone because the driving was considerably smoother after that.
Alex kept watch out the window as they approached Wolf, who was easy to spot due to his height and stature.
Slowly, the distance between Troy and Wolf increased as Wolf hung back to allow the American to get ahead. Troy had changed into an expensive-looking suit and slicked his hair back, a confident smirk chiseled into his hardened features. His image was markedly different now than back in the cafe, with only a few hours in between.
They pursued him out of downtown London into one of the seedier parts riddled with drug dealers, warring gangs, and roaches. The streets reeked of garbage, the stench filtering in through the A/C unit in Snake's car. Gagging, Alex leaned forward from the back seat and shut it off.
Cheap neon lights designated a gentleman's club, wedged between two rows of government subsidized housing, though the men who frequented it were anything but. Troy strode right up to the front door, flashed a card in his wallet, and disappeared inside, the picture of a man at ease in his surroundings. He was only betrayed by the slight hitch in his step as he crossed through the door, the regret of a man who passed the point of no return.
Wolf stalked up to the door and opened his wallet.
Snake sucked in a sharp breath. "He's not gonna do it. No. No - oh, bloody hell!"
Wolf flung his arms up over his head in protection as the glass door imploded, shards scattering everywhere as bullets shattered the glass panes. He blindly reached out as the force propelled his wallet out of his hand, and Alex saw the SAS identification card gleam in the murky lighting.
"Whoa, back up." Eagle lifted his hands in frustration. "Explain again what myositis is?"
"It's an infection," Ben wearily replied for the fourth time. "Brought on by the flu or parasites in your muscles."
"And this strain is engineered how?"
"It's an organism that latches onto your muscles and produces carbonic acid as a byproduct of respiration. Your muscles hurt and you have fever, chills, and vomiting."
Eagle gave a distressed sigh, burying his head in his hands. "I can't believe we let this happen."
"We couldn't have seen it coming."
"We should have! That's the whole point." Eagle shook his head. "We've been out of the field too long, we're losing our edge - all of us. These stupid mistakes are going to get someone *killed*."
"What happened in Iraq?" Ben asked. The entire Iraq affair was supposed to be easy, almost a joke, which why was he' had been royally pissed that he was forbidden from getting involved. Obviously, however, things had gone wretchedly awry. "That was the one I wasn't allowed on."
Eagle grinned sardonically. "The stuff of nightmares, Ben. You think the war there is over, but it's not. They have weapons that no one else would think to use - it's sick, screwed-up stuff."
"Like what?"
"Children. IED's."
Ben sucked in a breath for his suddenly empty lungs. "That's terrible."
"Yeah." Eagle stood and started pacing, jittery as always. "Wolf tried to save one of them - a boy, the kid didn't want to die. Disarmed the vest and everything. Three days later, we find that someone kidnapped the boy. Day after that, his head's staked outside our base." With a shudder, Eagle jammed his hands into his pockets. "Wolf hasn't been the same since."
A wave of revulsion hit Ben in the gut. He was glad he hadn't been there. "That's horrible."
"It's hell on earth."
Ben was about to say something else, but the same nurse from earlier reappeared in the doors. "Gentlemen? Do you want to see her?"
He jumped to his feet and hurried over, Eagle close behind. "Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine, but she's staying here for a few days while the medicine takes effect. The doctor put her to sleep for a while but it should wear off in the next hour or so."
"What are your visiting hours?" Eagle asked.
"Eight to twelve in the morning, three to seven in the evening, overnight for approved family members." The nurse recited the information robotically; it was a question she'd answered several times. "The medicine she's on is a cytokine inhibitor, blocks the inflammation, and a morphine drip for the pain. It's the kind of thing that's gonna get worse before it gets better."
Eagle's stride faltered. "Why?"
"Because there's no known cure for myositis. The doctor gave her an experimental drug, we'll see how well it turns out."
"It's incurable?" Ben swore. "What are the drug's side effects?"
The nurse gave him a pitying glance. "She'll be feeling a bit out of it for a few days, but other than that, the normal ones - nausea, dizziness, calcium deficiency."
Ben paused at the door to Danielle's room, which looked bare without any guards outside. He peered in and was almost relieved to find her still asleep.
"Is she awake?" Eagle whispered.
He shook his head and stepped in.
Danielle looked much younger asleep with the hard lines of tension and anxiety faded away thanks to the medicine she was on. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm assured by the monitors hooked into electrodes on her hands and chest, wires snaking beneath the flimsy hospital gown she wore. An IV dripped into her right arm, held by tape, and the urgent care bracelet was making red lines in her skin, pulled too tightly. Automatically, Ben reached out and loosened it.
"Are we going to wait until she wakes up?" Eagle asked.
Ben nodded.
Eagle slid one of the bedside chairs over and sat down, leaning forward with his chin propped on his hands. He didn't look all that concerned about having to linger.
"Do you miss work?" Ben asked. "Being deployed."
He shook his head. "Not after Iraq. I became a soldier to help people, but some of them . . . don't want help. So they die. We were yanked a few months ago and I've been looking into alternative assignments."
"You can always join me."
"I've thought about it."
"What do you think about Alex?" Ben asked, wanting to see if his teammate had any enlightening ideas.
Eagle's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Cub? Dunno. He's grim."
"Yeah. He reminds me of that guy from B Unit - what was his name?"
Eagle glanced up. "Jarrod."
"The one who went postal."
"I heard they're still digging bullets out of the caf walls."
A sleepy voice interrupted them: "What are you talking about?"
Ben's head jerked up as he realized that Danielle was awake. The bed sheets rustled as she pushed herself into sitting upright, her eyes slightly glazed from the pain medicine's effects. Her limp hair framed her face, sallow and pale. Standing, Ben limped over to the foot of her bed.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
She coughed. "Awful. What happened?"
Ben gave her a concise summary of the facts during which Eagle got to his feet and tried to help her rearrange the pillows that propped her up. It was an amusing sight.
"Where's the lab?" Danielle asked, glancing at Eagle.
"In the basement of a bank," he replied.
"Really, it's a remarkably sophisticated set up," Ben added.
A yawn cut her off mid eye-roll and Ben laughed, earning a disgruntled sleepy glare from her.
"You're adorable," Eagle said teasingly, a wicked glint in his eye.
Danielle protested that statement. "Am not."
"You should rest," Ben said, raising his voice over their banter. "The doctors gave you meds to help you sleep."
His phone rang, blaring into the small room, and he slid it from his pocket as he stepped towards the door. "Daniels."
"Ben," Alex said, urgency making his words clipped and short. "We found Troy at an illegal gambling club. The cops busted it."
"Does he know you're there?"
"Not yet. The club's going someplace else, but he bolted. Can you watch the feeds downstairs in case he returns to the hotel?"
"I"m not at the house."
Alex swore. Voices rapidly conferred, too muffled for Ben to hear, and he sighed loudly, drawing glances from both Eagle and Danielle.
"Did something happen?" Eagle asked.
Alex came back on the phone. "How soon can you get back to the house? Where are you?"
"At St. Dominic's."
"Did something happen?" Alex's yell nearly burst Ben's ear, and he winced.
"Funny, Eagle just asked the same. Calm down. Everyone's fine. Mostly."
"Who's hurt?"
Ben glanced up at the ceiling, exasperated. Could he have one day - just one day -without someone having a near brush with death? "Look, Al - Wolf's driving, right? Get him to drop you off here. First floor, through the hall, straight back." He hung up before Alex could ask any more questions that he didn't want to answer. It was easier to explain in person.
Alex stormed in through the double doors to the hospital's waiting area and marched up to the desk. The receptionist barely glanced at his ID before pushing the button that unlocked the door to the wards. He followed Ben's clipped directions and came to an open doorway with bright light streaming out into the hall. Beeps echoed from inside - machines, monitors - and Alex pulled up short at the door, half-unwilling to go in but desperately curious to see who was hurt.
Ben would have told him if someone died, so it couldn't be that.
Alex took a steadying breath and pivoted into the open doorway, reaching inside to knock. He saw Ben and Eagle sitting in the rigid hospital chairs, Ben stretched out, Eagle leaning forward.
A cluster of machines on wheeled stands sat in the corner, almost like an afterthought. Tangle electrode wires led from the heart monitor to the person on the bed.
Danielle.
He saw the electrodes snake beneath her gown and knew they were attached to her heart and other vital pulse points to be sure her blood wasn't thickening from medication or anesthesia. She had an IV taped into her arm, the tube hooked up to a clear silicone bag filled with viscous, translucent liquid: morphine.
Alex knew it was morphine because Danielle was asleep, and she never slept that deeply - she tried to hide it but he heard her wake from nightmares almost every night. Morphine had that effect on some people, especially if they had never taken any opiate medications before.
Ben, hearing him knock, motioned for him to come closer. "Alex! Good, you're here. We need to tell you about a few things-"
"Most won't affect you," Eagle interrupted. "Only professionally."
"Danielle has a hybrid form of myositis, a disease that attacks your muscles with either parasites or a virus -both in this case. She passed out a few times and was in-and-out for a while." Ben paused, taking a breath. "From before you left to when I found her about two hours later. The staff here wouldn't put her on the priority list unless she's employed by or related to an employee of the Agency."
Eagle nodded rapidly. "And you guys do look alike. More than a passing resemblance."
"Yeah. So I called Jones and she's changing all your private and public records, and Danielle's-"
"Hold up." Alex's head was spinning from all the information they were throwing at him. He rubbed his forehead. Adrenaline shocks still spiked his senses from the shattering glass and violent jerk of the seatbelt against his neck as Snake threw the car into reverse. "What?"
Ben almost looked uneasy. "For all intensive purposes, she's your sister."
REVIEW REPLIES:
Theater Guest: awww! Your review actually made my day - I'm so glad you like this story! Yes, the college applications are easy to drown in. I'm currently struggling to swim through them. Good luck on acceptances and theater rehearsal!
Guest: The dance was kind of lame because I didn't know most of the music lol. But the dinner beforehand was awesome! Lots of Mexican food. :P
Throne of Glass Guest from Chapter 11: THAT ENDING OMFV DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED. I have such mixed feelings about that book aaarghkkbhb