Her hands were shaking. Tiffany's hands would not stop shaking and she wanted to cry; she wanted to cry and run because the box was coming and she knew she would feel compelled to solve it. Even if she never touched it, she would ache to even as the very thought made her want to flee to safety. It was a golden and glistening double-edged sword; since solving it she had been broken of her detachment that forced her hands to solve whatever was put in them, but only because they could not forget, could not accept anything that wasn't the Lament Configuration. Now it was coming this way, as was Kirsty, and as Tiffany stood guard she prayed to whoever might have been listening that Kirsty would get there first.

She was hidden in plain sight; the door was visible from her post, but it was harder to see her standing there. She clung to her phone and waited for a sign - for anything - to signal Joey. She looked down at her phone.

[Kirsty's ahead] came the text with almost perfect timing, followed by [do not worry. You will make it.] She nodded, though her fear wasn't quieted. She needed to focus.

[Thank you] she responded, and turned her attention to the parking lot. She could see the door, lit by a singular yellow bulb, and unsettling darkness in all directions. She knew where Joey was and that just made it worse; she was closer to danger, closer to him. Where was Kirsty?

"Tiffany!" The sudden voice made her jump, and she spun around. She barely had time to process her relief - Terri was sweating and struggling to breathe as she ran up. "The box - she has the box. It was in the Boiler Room." Tiffany's eyes widened and Terri nodded. "Yeah, I know. And she broke my phone, too."

Tiffany was typing before she fully realized what she wanted to say - she managed to send [Terri's alive] and hit send before the phone buzzed in response. It was Joey.

[He's upstairs, hide!]


Now Joey understood why Kirsty had panicked. She had slipped into the museum, hidden behind one of the displays, in order to monitor the doors. She couldn't stop glancing around; The metal seemed cold and harsh and judgmental in its icy gleam, every edge tantalizing and beckoning her to touch it, to slice her fingers open. Perhaps that was what a Cenobite was - perhaps their presence made the pain seem beautiful, but it only worried her more.

She stayed crouched behind the information booth and watched the figure in the dark. He had emerged from below, and she could only see a general shape and faint gleaming specks about him, like some otherworldly halo as he moved. He'd been described to her, though, and she knew exactly who she was seeing.

If she squinted, she could see bits of the Captain's face in that ghostly, impossible face.

Joey squeezed her phone a little tighter. They were both silent - did he know she was there? - and he was just walking, almost gliding through the exhibits, hands folded behind his back and posture soldier-stiff. She'd have assumed he was admiring the works if she didn't know better. He was waiting.

It wasn't wholly rational, but she hated him. Not a fiery hatred, perhaps, but a reactionary one - she looked at him and thought you are a problem, you have put my sisters in danger, you are the reason we're here right now. She clenched and unclenched a fist, forced her jaw to relax; anger would only cloud her focus right now. She needed to signal Kirsty if the other showed up first, or if he caught on.

Her phone buzzed. Joey silenced it, but when she looked up his head had turned. He started walking - with purpose this time - and she tensed as he came closer to her hiding place even as she ducked behind it. Joey held in a breath.

He stepped past her. She barely exhaled. Safe for now.

"Not so fast," came a deep voice that echoed through the building, and Joey looked up just enough for black eyes to meet hers. He was glancing over his shoulder, standing by the door with one hand flat against the wood. "The night is young yet." That smile was so hollow it sent chills up her spine. His eyes were empty, like an abyss. "There are such sights to be seen."

Joey watched, frozen, as he pushed the door open and strolled out. It started to close behind him, but in the distance she saw a figure approach - a woman holding a wooden box.


Kirsty gripped the coffin in both hands as she walked forward. She had parked about a block away and walked - it would have been too easy to just keep driving, to try and put off what she had to do. Her coat pocket was heavy and the contents clanked against each other, occasionally hitting her hip with her steps. She was too aware of everything, too sensitive to the dark, the glare of the light, the hair on her skin standing on end, the deafening silence interrupted only by her shoes going click click click.

He was standing there at the museum door - the yellow light fell down on him in a circle and it looked ugly in a way she couldn't explain. Perhaps it was her nerves, or knowing the truth, or what he'd said to her; perhaps it was knowing how close her sisters were to danger, but he looked wrong in that glaring fluorescent light. It fell on his leather and turned it an off-black that seemed almost sickly-green; the shadows on his pins seemed all wrong. She walked forward, click click click, and her stomach churned as she got closer.

He just stood there, waiting, that same wrong smile on his face.

"Kirsty." Somehow his voice was uncorrupted, unaltered, though its echo was slightly lost in the open night air. He spoke her name like a lover. "Welcome back." He extended his hands to her; at an arm's length away she brought up her own, still gripping the box. His hands settled over hers, fingertips brushing the backs of her knuckles.

"I brought the pin back," she said, voice too quiet. "Just like I promised."

"I knew you would," he said with that same gentility, and even if his eyes were empty his expression was one of faint, soft fondness. "Though I must admit I was hoping you would return either way." He pulled her right hand over the lid of the coffin, his thumb idly circling her skin. She felt the faintest buzz of her phone in her pocket, rubbing against everything else inside and making a metallic hum. "Have you considered my offer?" She felt the lump in her throat again.

"I..." She looked down. "I can't."

"You can." His hand was on her cheek now, and he tilted her jaw up so she'd face him again. "Let me repay you, Kirsty. Come back to me." Another buzz. His hollow gaze was almost comforting, devoid of trouble or fear. "Kirsty." She swallowed. "Come back to the realm of Leviathan, and I will make you my queen."

"Kirsty!" She was pulled from his words by Terri's voice, but already a hand was on her shoulder and another yanked the box from their hands.

"Angelique!" The low growl in his voice that all but promised a painful death would have terrified her if she wasn't frightened by the eyes of this woman. His were empty; hers were filled with all the agony of Hell itself.

"A Queen, hm?" The woman with lips like blood smiled. "You disappoint me, Prince. How can you offer Leviathan's power when you do not even have it?"

And Kirsty watched, frozen, as the coffin cracked and splintered before coming apart in a single moment of the Princess of the Labyrinth crushing it whole in her hand.


I. lost this chapter's progress. TWICE. But it's finally up, and Chapter 15 will be here sooner rather than later! Thank you all for your patience!

-Inky