The FBI comes when we're hanging out in our hotel room at Aria. It is so much nicer than the one in Paris. There's floor to ceiling glass windows; Daniel's looking out at the tall skyscrapers of Las Vegas. And there's actually a main room. It has a modern theme; everything is wood and stones, and some tan color. It has a bar, a huge TV, a couch, a desk with a computer, and a spiral staircase. Merritt is lying on the couch, rereading that weird book. This place is high class. It's a plus side to having Art as a benefactor.

We're leaving for New York soon, so I'm packed and my suitcase's ready. Henley is upstairs, still packing. The bags are in a pile next to the couch.

I'm lounging in a chair at a side table; it's off in the corner of the room, near the TV. I have my feet up on the table, my new iPad is resting on my lap, and I'm playing Fruit Ninja. The room is quiet except for the sound of slicing fruit.

"FBI! Hands where I can see them!" The room is suddenly filled with people in black suits with guns. We figured someone would come to arrest or question us; I mean we did openly rob a bank in front of an audience. But, man, the FBI? How cool is that? I pause the game.

Merritt raises one finger, saying, "Uno minuto," and his eyes don't even move from the page.

I slowly raise my hands above my head. Daniel turns away from the window with a confused look on his face and hesitantly raises his hands; there's a deck of cards in one hand.

"Put the book down," One of the men orders Merritt.

Merritt smiles and sighs, "Okay, you got me." He sets the book on his chest and raises his hands with peace signs.

Henley is coming down the stairs, putting on her jacket when another man yells, "Freeze! Hands in the air!" at her.

She's startled, but regains her cool. With her jacket only half on, she raises her hands and asks, "Do one of you guys mind giving us a hand with our bags?"

Unexpectedly, they don't mind. They cuff us, but they carry our bags for us. We walk in a line, cuffed like criminals, but we don't feel like ones. I have a huge grin on my face. We're applauded by other guests as we walk out through the casino on the ground floor.

We're put in separate SUVs. I'm guessing it's so we can't collaborate on a story. It doesn't matter. The ride is really boring and I almost fall asleep (in my defense, the show ended at midnight). The agent sitting next to me jabs me in the gut. I open my eyes and stare at him, trying to make him uncomfortable. It works; the agent shifts towards the window.

I ask him, "How long is this going to be?"

I receive a confused look from the agent and he answers, "Depends."

Once we get to the FBI headquarters (how cool does that sound?), the agent leads me to an interrogation room. Just two chairs, one on either side of a table, and a one way glass window.

I decide to cooperate. I let the FBI agent attach my cuffs to a bar on the table and seat me in the surprisingly comfortable chair. I'm facing the door and the window, which looks like a mirror from this side. When I slouch, kick my feet up on the table, and slip my hands out of the cuffs and into my lap, I'm able to nod off.

I wake up a minute later when the door opens with a click and I'm face-to-face with a lady in a suit, who looks strict enough to be a math teacher. I can smell wintergreen mints on her breath.

"Kid," Math Teacher asks me, sounding pissed, "Why aren't you handcuffed?"

I shrug in response and accidentally (on purpose) bump her as I go to put the cuffs back on. She coldly snatches them from me, unlocks the cuffs, and tightens them harder than before. Then she leaves. That was the easiest interrogation ever; I even got a mint out of Math Teacher's pocket when I bumped her.

How are the others doing? It occurs to me that the FBI agents might not even talk to me. Daniel is, obviously, the leader. They'll interrogate him. Danny will most likely only give them snarky comments and threats. If they talk to Henley, the agents will only receive her suave responses. Merritt will have fun with them, oh boy. Too bad they won't let me watch that.

I resume my napping position, which is slightly adjusted due to the cuffs. I rest my hands on the table and close my eyes.

I think FBI agents have something against their suspects sleeping. I've hardly dozed off again, when the door swings open wide. I open one eye slightly. Two agents debate in harsh whispers about whether or not to enter. The blond woman gestures towards me, seemingly in favor of having me questioned. The dark-haired man with a round face looks fed up and resists.

I catch the man say, "I'm tired of these idiots…don't want to talk to the assistant…the nerve to sleep in an interrogation room."

They continue for about ten seconds, in which the woman gives him a look. He sighs and walks in. But, he immediately turns back around, saying, "I'm not doing it!" and the door closes once again.

I can't sleep after that; I just stare at the wall. I don't want to be thought of as the assistant. I'll have to talk to Danny about that.

Right on cue, Henley opens the door, followed by Math Teacher with a key. She hardly takes a step when I slip out of the handcuffs.

"No need," I say, standing up. Math Teacher gets that pissed look on her face again and throws her hands up in frustration.

I join Henley and we walk out. I'm still thinking about the assistant thing.

"Henley," I ask, staring at the ground as we go, "How did you quit as an assistant?"

She starts laughing at me. Then she realizes I'm serious and drops the smile. "Sorry," Henley says darkly, "Well, you're not going to be an assistant much longer… Not that you are now."

"What?" I say, still not looking her in the eye.

Henley leans in and whispers, "Danny has some more plans to show you. We didn't tell you earlier because we didn't want you to be nervous."

"Does it have to do with the death card?"

Henley nods. We find Merritt and Danny waiting for us at the exit. Together we walk out to the cars that'll take us to the airport.

I keep quiet until we arrive back at the apartment in New York. It's been our headquarters ever since we met a year ago. Since then, the place has become cluttered with plans (models of venues, lists, maps, that sort of thing). The furniture that was stacked in the dining room got vacuumed and distributed throughout the rooms and everything has been cleaned (sort of). At least now the bathroom is useable and we brought in a TV. There's also another door near the kitchen that I didn't notice the first time.

I've set up camp in the bedroom. The room doesn't actually have a bed, just plans for the final show. No one else sleeps in the apartment but me because the others go home. I keep a sleeping bag stashed in the closet, so I can just sleep on the couch here. It's not every night, though. It's only because I forgot to pay the bills for my own apartment, so there's no electricity or water there.

The four of us are meeting in the main room, on the couches. As soon as we're all sitting, I immediately ask what's weighing on my mind. "So, Danny," I say. "How about the plan for my death?"

"Well, okay," Daniel replies, unfazed. "I mean, you did get the death card, so this shouldn't be much of a shock. However, "they" want you to fake your death and "they" gave us a plan to do that, as well. You'll die in a car accident. The car will flip multiple times and then go up in flames."

"What? How am I supposed to survive that?"

Daniel gets up and grabs a stack of paper and folders. He looks hesitant when he hands it to me, like I'll destroy his precious paper with one touch. "This is all they gave us on it," He sits back down and continues, "From what I understand, it'll be one big sleight of hand trick. They probably chose you specifically because that's what you're skilled at."

Wow, that's almost a compliment. But faking my own death? I don't understand how Danny's so calm about this. He just moves on to what happened during the interrogations and the plans for our next show in New Orleans. He doesn't even consider how this is going to ruin my life. Come to think of it, I don't really have much of a life. The few people I know will think I'm dead.

I see why they were keeping this from me until now. I expected something like this for an initiation into the Eye because they're rumored to test your blind obedience. However, I didn't expect something that I can't turn back from. This is an all or nothing thing.

When I read the plans, I realize just how complicated it is. There'll be no question that I died when it's over. It involves taking on several FBI agents, stealing a car and then driving said car, stealing a corpse from the morgue, and more than a little improvisation. Holy shit.

The more I think about who'll care when I die, the more I think of my family. My heart sinks at the thought of my parents watching the news and then seeing that I died in a fiery explosion after crashing a car. I can picture them crying; I don't want them to cry. Even though I haven't spoken to my parents in a year, I feel like I need to warn them about what'll happen. I decide to write them a letter as something they can hold on to when they see me on the news. But, I can't tell them everything.

Here's what they'll find in their mailbox:

Mom & Dad-

You guys know that I want to be a famous magician. Now, I finally get the chance. You'll know what I mean when you see it; maybe you already have. All I want you to remember is: When it seems like the end for me, I need you to have faith. But, this is goodbye.

-Jack

I've never used the word 'faith' before, but it seemed to work here.