Sheesh, it feels like I haven't updated in a while. I'll try to keep the author's note short(ish).

Just to let you know, this chapter was originally very, very different. It wasn't even Cammie's point of view or anything, but I got stuck on it and it annoyed me so much I'm grounding it for a while until I can find a place that it fits in the story. Don't worry; it'll be in here somewhere in the future, just in a different way.

DISCLAIMER: Umm... yeah, Ally Carter will give up the rights to me around about the time I actually learn how to not burn water.

As I run, I have this strange desire to be actually running towards a home – my home.

But, a real home is something any spy – let alone one who's hated by everyone she knows, and even some she doesn't – knows is a rare luxury.

Sure, many spies have house or apartments, but, due to their occupation, rarely spend enough time there to make the place a home.

My heart beats furiously beneath my chest as I sprint past cars and busy Christmas shoppers.

Not wanting to attract unwanted attention, I slow to a steady walk.

All I can do is hope that Zach didn't recognise me, otherwise everything will unravel. I can't risk him seeing me again, so perhaps it would be better if I leave the country.

Unsure what to do next, I let my feet carry me down an empty street.

It's a pretty place. Usually-shady trees – when it's not winter – line the edges of the road, and humble, old buildings sit side-by-side, looking inviting and warm.

But as I reach a peachy-coloured, double-story house, my reflexes are put to the test as an elderly lady steps out of her front door, right into my path.

Although I avoid any contact by sidestepping quickly, the old woman is so startled that she drops the boxes she's carrying, sending their contents flying.

And, okay, I know spies are supposed to be heartless, but something about her warm, wrinkled face fills me with pity.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I gush, bending down immediately, grasping at the small photos fluttering all over the sidewalk

But she just gives a kind smile. "Don't be, dear! I really should pay more attention on where I'm going."

Once all the photos are returned to the brown, cardboard box, I apologise again.

Mrs Patricia Hemley, as her name turns out the bed, waves away my apology.

"Oh, dear, honestly it doesn't matter. But you must come inside and join me for a cup of tea! My way of saying sorry."

Although I know I really should find a place to stay for the night (aka, a cramped, dank alleyway), I long to relax and put my feet up, not having to worry about anything.

As we enter her house, I know there's only one word to describe the whole place – cosy.

A fire dances merrily off to the right, around which three, squashy, deep-red couches sit. A small Christmas tree sparkles festively by the window, where a cat is curled up on the window-seat.

Photos of – who I presume to be grandchildren – line the hallway walls. They stare down from their dark frames, smiles frozen onto their faces.

The kitchen is tiny, but somehow Mrs Hemley seems to fit perfect in the house, as with the rest of her house.

It all seems to suit her personality.

Once we've both got a cup of tea in front of us, Mrs Hemley begins her interrogation of me.

"What's your name, dearie?" she enquires, taking a sip of the sickly-sweet tea.

"Emily Frankfurt." The name simply slips from my mouth, and, strangely, I feel bad for lying to this kindly old woman.

But Mrs Hemley doesn't notice my lie. "How old are you? Surely someone as young and as pretty as you should be somewhere with family enjoying the festive season!"

I smile, almost grimly. "I'm twenty-one, just had my birthday a few weeks ago. And, no, I don't have any family. It's just me."

Mrs Hemley laugh and leans forward, and a golden key-necklace slips from beneath her shirt and dangles in front of me, her frail hand patting my arm. "Don't you fret, dearie, join the club."

I'm surprised. "What? There's no Mr Hemley? No grandkids?"

She shakes her head, gray curls bouncing. "No, no, Arnie passed away years back, and we never had children. All my other family are dead."

"Who are the photos of in the hall, then?"

"It's a long story," she sighs. "I always wanted children, but Arnie never had the same feelings. He was such a thoughtful, quiet man. He gave me this," she says, gesturing to the necklace. "I asked what it opens, and all he replied was 'It unlocks the deepest secrets'. He always was very cryptic."

I smile sadly. "That reminds me of someone I once knew," I murmur, but I don't think she hears me.

"Anyway, what about you? No boyfriend or fiancée?"

My throat constricts and my grip on the teacup tightens. I shake my head. "No, I'm not exactly the dating-type, Mrs Hemley."

"If you're going to stay in my house, you're to call my Patricia. 'Mrs Hemley' makes me feel old."

I think I've misheard. "I'm sorry, live here?"

Patricia casually pours herself a second cup of tea and places the pot down gently. "Why, of course! I'm getting rather lonely, and besides, I get the feeling you need somewhere to call home for a while."

Glancing down at my filthy, faded red jumper, I think back to my whole 'I-want-a-place-to-call-my-home' train of thought earlier, and suppress a smile.

"I'm a stranger to you, yet why do I feel as if you've known me forever?"

Patricia throws her head back and laughs. "We are kindred spirits, my dear!"

I grin at her and say, "Well, if it's not too much trouble for you, one night would be okay."

Patricia nods, and pushes herself up out of her chair. "Come on, then. I'll show you your room."

That night as I snuggle into the comfortable bed upstairs, I dwell upon the fact that having a bed all to myself instead of sleeping out on the streets on the cold, hard pavement is so much nicer.

Okay, kind of short, and a little bit of a 'filler.'

You honestly wouldn't believe how many times I wrote and rewrote this. Every single time I finished it, it didn't seem a good enough standard, so I wrote it again.

Yes, I'm a perfectionist.

Ah, well. Hope you liked it

And please don't kill me for not updating in so long! Please review!

~Jen