The devil's daughter in the City of Angels. Sabrina almost scoffed at the thought, but in truth, the irony of it wasn't lost on her. Admittedly, the irony alone made the spot more appealing when she first set out to find a place to get away. Not to mention, the glaring heat and sandy beaches stood in such contrast to the gloomy weather and still rivers of Greendale that it was almost impossible to resist the promise of a place that could take her mind off of everything she's ever known.

As the sun was beginning to set, she found herself wandering aimlessly around a random park, the single suitcase she bothered to pack sitting heavy in her hand as she drank in the fading colors of the sky. Normally, she always had a plan. Which spell to study, what tea to make, which record to play as she did the dishes. But surprisingly, for the first time in her life, she found her mind drawing up a blank on what to do next. Maybe after all the surprises the universe sent her way these past few months, she finally came to terms with the futility of making any plans, at all. Or maybe, just maybe, she was merely an exhausted young girl who eventually grew tired of figuring everything out.

And so, when the taxi driver asked where she wanted to go, she simply leaned back against the cracked leather seat and asked for somewhere with a good view of the jagged skyline.

The park was a modest choice, sitting on some obscure hilltop with well-trimmed trees and colorful flowers along the pathway. Quite quickly, she was able to find a spot for herself on one of the benches scattered across the place, and in a matter of minutes, her nose was tucked into a worn copy of An Exploration of the Lilim: Demonic Invocations and Incantations. It was hardly her first choice for pleasure reading, though Aunt Zelda snuck it into her bag at the last minute and left behind the collection of sensible poetry that she planned to bring. ("Oh, I'm afraid you're running late for your flight. What a shame, no time to change it back. You'll just have to make do, Sabrina.")

Surprisingly, the text wasn't an absolute bore, and she was reluctantly engrossed. Just as she was about to finish the first chapter, however, she felt a sudden chill down her spine as a gun was pointed directly at her forehead, rough and cool against her skin. The man holding on to it did not look the part of a criminal, dressed in everyday clothes no different than the hordes of people she came across in the few hours she traveled Los Angeles. She sensed a vulnerability to him, though, as if he had no other choice (You had a choice, and you chose to hold death in your hands).

With a defiant look in her eye, she held his gaze pointedly as she crossed her arms and quirked up a single brow. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Look, lady. Just give me your purse." His eyes darted back and forth around them, a fear buried deep in his gut that someone might see. ("There's no one else to fear around here," Sabrina thought, chagrined that fate played its hand so early. If the forces of the universe were truly adamant on bringing hell wherever she went, then she must remind them that it would not break her. Hell was her birth right, after all. "I am your every fear brought to life.")

She pursed her lips. "No."

He pulled the safety down, but she didn't flinch at the slightest. "I wasn't giving you a choice."

The young girl held up a hand and the clouds began to darken, lightning dancing ominously against the sky. "Well, I'm giving you one." Head quirked to the side, she regarded him curiously. He was trying hard to keep up the tough and violent façade, but she could sense him cracking. A month ago, she would have pitied the man.

But now? Well, he simply caught her at the wrong time.

"Drop the gun and walk away, or find out for yourself why everyone's so scared of powerful women."

Weak laughter bubbled from his mouth, but it was of the hesitant kind. His shifting eyes and shaking hands gave him away. "You think you're so powerful, bitch?"

With a pointed glare, the gun flew into the hand resting at Sabrina's side, and the thief's clothes burst into flames, bright and blue as the fire that claimed the Greendale 13. With a smirk, she watched as the man erupted into screams, his knees giving way and bringing him down to the ground as he rolled around in the dirt, hoping to put the fire out. She crouched down to his level and looked him in the eye, the sheer terror in his meeting the cool indifference in hers. "Witch. I think you meant to say powerful witch."

"You're the devil," he ground out through gritted teeth, tears beginning to pool no matter how hard he tried to keep them from falling.

"Close." She nodded her head, seemingly in agreement with his words. The girl hated the way her chest swelled at the thought, hated how the fear in his voice drowned out her mother's smile and the moral compass that came with it. "Close, but not quite."

However, the young woman was not able to revel in her satisfaction for very long when an ambulance and a police car suddenly showed up out of the blue. In a blink of an eye, she was quickly pulled away by a man dressed in all black with a simple blue jacket. He grabbed the firearm that was still held loosely in her hand and pocketed it immediately, all the while keeping a firm hold on her elbow. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're gonna have to come with me."

Sabrina struggled against his grip, but he leveled her with a gaze that said he wasn't to be trifled with. There was a fear in his eyes, too (it was very rare that she met anyone who didn't look at her with fear these days), but a kindness shone in them, still. With a huff of her breath, she relented and let him lead her from the thief whose screams still echoed in her head even as he was carried away by the medics. With a surprisingly gentle voice (Tired. You are not capable of gentleness. You're just tired), she asked, "Who are you? Where are you taking me?"

He gave her a good hard look. When some random park-goer made a call to the station that there was an altercation involving a gun between a teenager and a man in his 20s, he expected the usual bout of juvenile delinquency they encountered almost everyday. The caller didn't go into much detail, quickly hanging up in a panic (he was left scratching his head at the sudden shout of "Good God, he's on fire!" but learned to push it aside), so he just assumed it was the everyday case of hostility between a drug dealer and some teenage junkie. To his surprise, however, he was met with the scene of a very calm and put-together young woman holding a gun in her hand while she watched a man get eaten away by flames, unfazed as if she was unimpressed with how slowly he burned.

Still, even as he kept a tight hold on her, she didn't seem the least bit inclined to run, entirely unlike the brunt of flighty teenagers who were willing to jump every fence in their way as soon as they saw a squad car. She was young, that much was clear, but there was an age in the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly as if she carried a heavy weight. She may very well have been a pyromaniac who burned people alive, but she was also a child.

He sighed as he pulled a pair of cuffs from his back pocket and locked her hands into place. "I'm just here to sort all this out."

She didn't make a sound as he led her to the back seat of the car and closed the door behind her. Even as he loaded up the rest of her things in the trunk and began to drive them back to the station, she stayed silent as a grave. He wondered what was going on in her head.

"Hey, we'll fix things, alright?" He gave her a look through the rear-view mirror. Her head was in her hands and she looked conflicted at best. "What's your name, kid?"

She looked up with a resolute tilt of her chin. "Sabrina."

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, storing the name in his mind. She seemed like a lovely girl, though there was something eerie, almost chilling, about her. Earlier, when he went to pick up her things, there was a book lying open by her bags that was filled with all kinds of demonic symbols and unfamiliar text. At the back of his mind, he wondered if it had something to do with the spontaneous combustion of the man at the park. Quickly though, he shook the thought away. He was not a religious man, but he didn't believe in the existence of the occult, either.

"Well, just sit tight, Sabrina. We're almost at the station."

He looked at her again, and this time, she met his gaze. There was something familiar in her eyes that he couldn't place. They blazed, in a way, and seemed to be able to search the depths of his soul. He shivered at the thought and quickly looked away, trying to break the edge by engaging in his usual awkward small talk.

"By the way, before I forget, my name's Dan." He shot her a kind yet apprehensive smile. "Detective Dan Espinoza, LAPD."