Note: Violence and depictions of harm in this chapter. It's explicit but not gorey (hence the T rating instead of M) so hopefully this is okay. If at any point I feel (or anyone tells me) i should change the rating to M, I will.

Enjoy.

Chapter Three

Dead Men Tell No Tales

"Wait," Hayden croaked from his 'hiding' place against the wall next to the post of his bed. "Don't shoot."

May raised her eyebrows, turning what she hoped was an innocent expression towards the six security guards currently pointing rifles at her.

This situation was every assassin's worst nightmare, except this time, she really hadn't done anything. The only thing she was guilty of was being caught in an unfortunately compromising situation… well, that and breaking into Hayden's mansion, although if the door was open, it wasn't really breaking, was it?

As she took in the scene in front of her, scanning each guard and ascertaining they all held the same standard-issue weapon and wore the same suits with radios attached to their ears, she realised they hadn't taken a battering ram to Hayden's wall. A door swung open behind them, revealing what must be a secret passageway. It had been completely hidden when it merged with the complete wall; she never would have known it existed.

"Sir," said the security guard at the head of the pack—when May squinted, she thought she recognised him from Basculin Bar. "This is a security threat."

Except he didn't sound like he was facing down a threat. He sounded annoyed, as if he were reprimanding Hayden…

May's cheeks flushed deep scarlet. They thought Hayden had snuck her into his room as if they were dating.

She tried to remind herself that it was a better assumption than that she had come to assassinate him (true, but even Hayden didn't know that), or that she was some crazy stalker-fangirl who'd broken in (not true, but Hayden also didn't know that).

Hayden cleared his throat and stood up. He took a moment to straighten his slightly-askew nightgown, and then he stepped up to May's side. Not too close, but close enough to show he didn't believe her a threat.

She almost wanted to laugh—how ironic.

"What was that scream about?" Hayden asked, making an effort to sound emotionless.

But May was close enough to see the slight tremor in his hands.

The security guard sighed. "I have… unfortunate news…" his watery blue eyes slid towards May. She blinked back, expressionless.

"Speak," Hayden demanded.

Either he didn't think it mattered that she heard whatever had happened, even though she was a reporter… or he was too focused on what had happened to care who overheard.

The security guard lowered his rifle, and the others followed suit.

"Sir, I am sorry to report that Miss Franklin has been murdered. She was wearing a green scarf around her head and carrying your evening hot chocolate in your own well-known favourite mug. She was struck from behind in the back of the head just around the corner from your room, and for now, the assailant has evaded capture. We believe—"

"They thought she was me," Hayden rasped, his voice hoarse and horrified. "Someone is trying to kill me."

The security guard started to relay protocol—that Hayden was to remain here in his room under heavily armed guard until the rest of security on the premises could either locate the assailant or confirm they had vacated the premises, meanwhile the police would be called.

But May's brain was racing furiously.

"Hell no," she spat with vengeance, drawing every shocked eye in the room towards her. "Someone is trying to assassinate you?"

Without waiting for a response—without pausing to see whether anyone might try and stop her—she launched into a run, dodging past the security guards and fleeing into the hallway before anyone could stop her.

Miss Franklin's body lay around the first corner, limp and still bleeding from the wound in her head. May blanched and her step faltered. She muttered a quiet, "I'm sorry," and stepped delicately around the woman's corpse.

She ran down the hallway, along red carpets and cream walls with roses painted on the skirting boards, passing by vases and paintings each more valuable than her life would ever be worth, running until she was certain no-one was following her.

Not hearing footsteps in pursuit, she darted through an open door into a dark room. She flicked on the light, scanned the room to make sure she was alone—it was a dining room with a long table and chairs, but nowhere for anyone to hide—and then she closed the door.

Her mad dash left her breathless, but she didn't have time to lose.

After that crazy exit, she wouldn't be surprised if Hayden ordered his security team to hunt her down for her head on a platter too, but she couldn't spare time to be concerned about that.

There was another assassin in this mansion, trying to complete the same mission as her: assassination of Drew Hayden. If they succeeded, they would reap the reward—and she would be left with nothing, still deeply in debt, her family still in danger, her life still owned by Harley. She could not let that happen. She could not let anyone else kill Hayden. He was hers, or no-one's.

She took a minute to plan a strategy. It was possible the would-be assassin fled the scene immediately after the maid had screamed, but if they had realised their mistake—if they had done the most basic due diligence and checked the face of their victim after killing her (although they should have verified before—it was sloppy work all round) then they would still be here somewhere. They would know they wouldn't get another chance. Now that an attempt had been made on Hayden's life within his own mansion, within a couple hours it would be armed to the teeth; he wouldn't be going anywhere without an armed escort at all times, even in the restroom. She tried not to dwell on how much harder this would make her own job. Right now, she just needed to find the assassin before the assassin found Hayden. It was now or never—for them both. At least she had an advantage… She knew they were hunting Hayden, but they had no idea she was hunting them.

Hayden's security guards must have worked efficiently to evacuate the mansion of every employee, because as May prowled the maze of corridors, she didn't see or hear a single human noise. It was just her, and Hayden's would-be assassin now.

…And Hayden and his security team, but they were safely settled in his room, which no assassin would dare attempt to penetrate at this point…

She stopped dead in her tracks, a silent gasp parting her lips.

If the assassin was still around, of course they would be heading to Hayden's quarters. Or at least, hiding out near them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. There was no point in finding a hiding place far away from him; if they were to do that they may as well cut their losses and just leave.

The police couldn't be far out, so the assassin only had so much time to act.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She slapped her palm to her forehead, wincing when the smack echoed down the empty corridor.

I need to get back to Hayden. I never should have left!

She spun around and broke into a run, turning two corners and climbing one flight of stairs before she realised she was completely, utterly lost.

Shoot.

She consoled herself with the thought that he had a full team of six security guards surrounding him and he was literally in the safest place he could be. She had time to reach him.

Except… she had poisoned him right under their noses back in Basculin Bar, had she not?

The colour drained from her cheeks.

What if the assassin was one of his security guards? It would be the perfect cover!

No, no, that was ridiculous… wasn't it?

Shit.

When she was down to cussing, the situation was dire indeed.

Stop, she told herself harshly. Think.

Think, May, think!

An idea had barely formed before she decided to act on it.

She had no way of telling where she was from the inside of the mansion, but she knew how to find his room from the outside. All she had to do was go back the way she had first come in.

It took about twenty seconds to find a window, open it, and assess her position.

She was on the second floor—she didn't give herself time to doubt before she lowered herself outside of the window just like she had at the Pokémon Center. This time she was close enough to the ground to just jump, so she did.

After a heavy rolling landing which irritated the soreness in her shoulder present from the last rolling landing she'd carried out only that morning, she was on her feet and racing into the grounds to orient herself.

Once she located Hayden's balcony, it took only a couple of minutes to haul herself up the vine-covered wall. The light was still on in his room, but she could immediately tell that something wasn't right even as she paused on the balcony.

At first, the room appeared empty—and then she located a pair of feet sticking out from the end of the grand four-poster bed.

Her heart stopped. A shriek as devastating as Miss Franklin's worked its way up her throat, but she bit her tongue and stuffed it back down.

Once she dragged open the sliding glass door, she realised even before reaching the polished black boots that the feet were too big to be Hayden's.

There was no time to lose her nerve now. She took the necessary steps to confirm it was one of his security guards, and she whispered a brief prayer to Arceus in the name of the man she hadn't known.

She completed a brief sweep of the room just to make sure, but there were no other bodies nor living people within the walls of Hayden's bedroom. The door to the secret passageway in the wall had been closed, and she couldn't remember exactly where it was. Trying to find it now would waste precious time, so she decided to just hope the assassin wasn't hiding inside it.

"What happened here?" she muttered to herself as she walked to the open door leading into the corridor beyond.

The dead security guard behind her said nothing. His radio was silent, the chord no longer attached to its battery.

At least it seemed like Hayden had fled, maybe coming to the same assumption she had—that his own room was the least safe place for him. But it did make her task about a thousand times more difficult. Searching for Hayden inside his own mansion would be like searching for a Surskit in an ocean.

This time, she didn't rush out the door like it was her first day on the job. She took a deep breath and took a controlled step into the corridor. Speed would not aid her now. She needed to be smart.

Hayden had hopefully found a good hiding place—he should know where, it being his own home and all. But what would the assassin do? She needed to put herself in the assassin's shoes, and think as if she were an assassin…

Rounding the corner where Miss Franklin had been killed, May still had no clue as to which direction to go.

Miss Franklin's body had stopped actively bleeding. The blood crusted on her green scarf, wrapped tight around her head. The pool around her had started to soak into the carpet.

May swallowed the rising bile in her throat. She was an assassin—she couldn't afford to let sights like this affect her.

But she couldn't ignore it. Miss Franklin had died for no reason other than wearing a scarf resembling the target. She was a maid, bringing Hayden his evening hot chocolate. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time holding the wrong mug. She should not have died for that.

May knelt by Miss Franklin's body. Her face was turned into the carpet, not visible from May's position. Her frame was small, and her hands—lightly wrinkled but still flush with pink colour—still clutched tightly to Hayden's favourite mug, as if her last thought had been to protect it.

The bile rose again in May's throat, and she almost thought she could not hold it back. But she did.

"I am so sorry," May whispered into the thick silence of the corridor, her eyes fixed on the back of Miss Franklin's head. She didn't have the time to linger here, but she couldn't make herself move on. The very thought that another assassin had done this—that on another day, it might be her who murdered the wrong person in pursuit of her target—made her want to curl up in a ball and just await her own death.

No. It will never be me. I will always make certain beyond a single shred of doubt that I am hitting the correct target.

Her silent promise sat sourly on her tongue. Nothing could ease the acrid stench of Miss Franklin's death.

"Psst."

The hiss made May leap two feet in the air. She fell against the wall on wobbling knees, as she looked down the corridor to find a green head of thick hair poking out of a previously locked door.

"Hayden!" she spat, barely holding back the string of curses she wished to release for the fright he'd given her.

"In here," he whispered, beckoning her furiously.

May glanced once more at Miss Franklin, uttering another short prayer to Arceus as she stepped around the unfortunate maid, and then she hurried to the door Hayden called her to.

She stepped into the room without pausing to think it through, and Hayden quickly clicked the door into place behind her, turning the lock.

It was pitch black in the room once the door closed.

"Hayden?" May whispered into the darkness. A shiver danced down her spine—for the first time since entering his mansion, she felt anxious to be there.

"The police will be here in twenty minutes," he whispered back, sounding like he stood a few steps away. "We just have to hide until then."

A million questions whirled inside her brain. She took a moment to orient herself in the current situation, and then narrowed down the most pressing issue.

"Where are your security guards?"

"We agreed it would be safer to split up… the assailant will think I stayed with them, so it's safer to hide on my own." His voice sounded calm and reasonable, but May was sure she could hear a distinct strain of terror in his words.

"So we're alone in this room?" she clarified.

"Yes."

"Why is it dark?"

A few seconds of silence met her question. She could imagine his eyes rolling without needing to see.

"We can't risk a single clue that could lead the assailant to us," Hayden informed her loftily, in that same snobbish tone she had always hated.

It wasn't that he was wrong—May could admit it was a good point—but the longer she stood in the dark with the man she was supposed to assassinate, in a room she didn't know the first thing about, the worse her anxiety grew.

"I have an idea," she whispered. "Trust me, okay?"

"Trust you?" he spluttered. "You're a crazy obsessed fangirl, I'm not going to trust—"

May didn't wait for him to finish insulting her. She reached for a Pokéball on her belt and tossed it high into the thick darkness above. "Beautifly, take the stage!"

Hayden's protests died in his throat as the butterfly Pokémon burst into the room between them.

"Morning Sun," May whispered. "And keep it close this time."

Beautifly obliged with the quietest trill May had ever heard. A bright white glow grew from Beautifly's chest, making the Pokémon appear white, but it barely stretched beyond her sleek form. It offered enough light for about two feet in every direction, and Hayden's eyes glittered out of the darkness beyond like jewels absorbing the illumination.

All May could tell about the room they were in was that it was large, for there was nothing in sight within the reach of the Morning Sun move.

"What did I say about keeping a low profile?" Hayden hissed, horrified, his eyes glaring at her like emerald daggers.

May glared right back at him. "Beautifly is nothing if not discreet. No-one outside of this room can see a single thing within. Its light won't reach further than it intends, so don't fear, Mister Hayden."

He scowled. "May as well call me Drew."

She winced as her name fell from his lips for the first time, but not in reference to her. She was certain he did it on purpose, the way his eyes glittered so coldly at her.

"There's nothing like mortal danger to render formalities pointless," he continued, and then his face fell blank, as if waiting for her response.

"Then you should call me May," she said—too quickly.

"Whatever you say, September."

A growl rumbled deep within her chest. She couldn't help it—he'd purposefully set her up to mis-name her, again! The arrogance of Hayden knew no bounds, had no decency and no regard for their current situation. He should count himself lucky she had forgotten to carry her dagger tonight, or it would have been buried in his chest this very moment. As it was, she found herself seizing up his shadowed form mostly concealed by the darkness of the room beyond Beautifly's glow. He was the same height as her, and he boasted little muscle. He wasn't exactly skinny, but after Harley's training, she was certain she could beat him in an arm-wrestle. His figure was slim, though still more filled-out than hers, and his shoulders were barely broader than hers. If it came to a physical altercation, she figured she stood a good chance of winning. But a chance did not offer good enough odds.

He blinked at her, cool as a cucumber, pretending he had no idea of the hatred rising inside her.

"You're brave," she murmured, switching tactics. They had nineteen minutes to kill before police relieved them, if Hayden was correct in his estimate. She might not have the means to assassinate him right now, but she could certainly put the time to good use. "How do you know I'm not the one trying to kill you? You don't know me, after all. I'm just an obsessive fangirl, aren't I? Anything could happen while we're alone in this dark, dark room…"

A smirk twitched at his lips, bringing to life the dark sparkle in his eyes. "Yes, March, anything could happen…" He took a step closer, entering Beautifly's sphere of light so that his pale skin became almost luminescent. He looked like a ghost in Beautifly's glow. May stifled a giggle at the thought.

"Stay back, Hayden." May instinctively raised her fingers in the shape of a cross.

He raised his eyebrows, seeming unamused. "Warding me off like a vampire, December?"

"December?" Her nose wrinkled. "That's not even a real name."

A noise like a plate clattering to the floor made them both still.

In the following silence, May inched closer to Hayden.

His eyes flashed at her like warning beacons—warning her not to come closer.

Fine then. If she was on her own, she would make decisions on her own.

"Beautifly…" she whispered, soft as silk. "Throw Morning Sun as far as it can go!"

Beautifly trilled, the lyrical sound growing in volume, as her light expanded at the speed of—well, light.

The whole room was immediately revealed.

It seemed to be some kind of gallery. Paintings lined the walls. At a glimpse, most contained Pokémon, and the rest of the room was empty space. Hayden stood about a foot's distance from May, his posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, but his jaw was clenched and his eyebrows creased in a deep scowl.

May released a soft sigh. They were alone.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" Hayden snapped, not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

A chill ran through May at the accuracy of his accusation.

"You just lit up our hiding place like a beacon. If the assailant has any wits about them, they'll be here within a minute," he continued to growl, fury lighting his glare.

"Or, they're already here, and would have caught you completely unawares if we were in the dark."

Truthfully, May hadn't thought it all the way through, but as she spoke her thoughts aloud she had a realisation.

If I can lure the other assassin here, then I can stop them from ever being able to make an attempt on his life again…

"How is it better to see them coming?" Hayden's voice became quiet. "If they find me, in the dark or the light, I'm dead either way."

May began walking around the room, striding past windows and trailing her hands along walls, skimming past the paintings.

"Fear not, Mister Hayden." That she was still clinging to her 'reporter bit' was a joke at this point, but she didn't know what else to call him. She had sworn to never utter the name Drew informally again. "May Maple has your back."

For tonight, at least.

"Somehow, that doesn't instil confidence," he retorted snarkily.

"Are there any secret passageways in this room, like in your bedroom?" she asked, focusing on the task at hand instead of letting him draw her into another verbal sparring match.

"You don't have the clearance for that."

As much as it ground her gears, she forced herself to let it go.

"Why didn't you keep any of your security team?"

The more she thought about it, the more suspicious it was to find him completely alone. It had to be completely against protocol for them to abandon their charge, even if he wanted them to.

He hesitated.

She glanced over her shoulder at him as her hands traced past yet another painting. He looked uncertain, his form appearing small against the backdrop of picture frames larger than him.

"You were on your own," he began awkwardly.

Awkward wasn't an emotion she was used to associating with the mossy-haired businessman.

He cleared his throat. "You're a fangirl, a reporter, whatever you claim to be. You have no idea what you stumbled into tonight, what's truly going on. As much as it pains me to offer you reprieve since you chose to break into my home—" his eyes flashed with annoyance—"you don't deserve to get tangled up in this. You were brave to try and face the threat against me when we heard that scream. Most of my fans would have run in the other direction without a real thought for me. So I gave my security team the slip and went looking for you."

An uncomfortable kernel of warmth popped deep in May's gut. This was the boy she remembered—the boy who gave a damn about the people who cared for him.

He's not that boy anymore, she told herself fiercely. You can't let him get under your skin so easily. Not after what he did.

"Additionally," he continued as she walked closer to him. "You know too much for me to let you out of my sight before you sign the NDA."

The kernel in her gut shrivelled with sudden, biting frost. This was the Hayden she knew. Ever the clever, calculating businessman. He couldn't risk her escaping his mansion and printing what she knew about him staying in his home instead of hotels, redirecting all his fans to the one place he fought to keep away from them.

His eyes offered no glimmer of warmth: they were cold, isolating emeralds with edges as sharp as shattered glass.

"You know, Hayden," she began as she stalked up to him, her voice carefully neutral. "I was almost starting to see the human side to you. But it's always just business with you, isn't it? You probably don't even care that a woman was murdered in your name tonight."

An emotion akin to pain flashed across his face, but it was gone before it could become real.

"Ever the reporter, seeking out an angle for your next story," he snapped.

Ice hardened in her veins.

Find the assassin, get rid of them, kill Hayden myself, she chanted in her mind.

"Ever the arrogant arsehole," she hissed.

It was when she reached Hayden and they glared eye-to-eye with barely an arms length between them that Beautify trilled in alarm, its cry high with fear.

May immediately grabbed Hayden and threw him behind her, ignoring his grunt of protest.

Just behind where he had stood a second before was the slightly smaller form of a hooded, masked figure in the act of plunging a dagger through the air Hayden had unceremoniously vacated. If not for Beautifly's warning, Hayden's blood would be turning the cream carpet red before May's eyes.

The would-be assassin let out a soft hiss and turned to flee.

Assassins were not confrontational creatures. They were taught to kill with stealth and precision, to not draw attention to themselves. If this assassin thought it could kill them both, then it would, for to leave not only the target alive but also a witness was an unforgivable mistake—but this assassin seemed young and green, much like May herself yet with none of the fervour burning through May's bloodstream. This hit was purely a contract, nothing more, to them.

It was not worth the effort to try and kill someone so ready to fight back, and so the assassin opted to flee while their identity was still masked.

May couldn't let them get away. Not only was there a possibility they would strike again, but they had now seen her face. If it was someone who could recognise her and trace her back to Cacturn Press, then they could not be allowed to leave this room alive.

The problem was, May had no weapon of her own. Her dagger was all the way back in her temporary lodging at Cacturn Press where she had left it inside her packed bag, assuming that she would be leaving town uneventfully later that night.

Without thinking, without a plan, May lunged for the assassin and managed to grab their sleeve.

The assassin yelped—a rookie noise—and began to flail. Fists and knees were flung at May, punches and kicks flying in all directions.

May gritted her teeth and dodged as many as she could while holding onto their sleeve with a death grip, but several hits landed and it was all she could do to not cry out in pain.

Hayden was somewhere behind her—if he had any sense at all, he'd leave and call for security. But if he did, then her mission to kill the assassin would only become harder. She needed to act now.

May had the assassin's dagger-hand fully secured, but their other limbs were an effective ward preventing her from getting closer.

Beautifly trilled from behind her, and an idea blossomed.

"Beautifly, use Silver Wind!"

The assassin had a weapon—but May had a Pokémon. Most assassins forewent the aid of Pokémon in their careers. For one thing, it took years to train and hone their abilities to suit the missions of an assassin, and for another, most were hard-pressed to find Pokémon willing to put up with such an awful choice of career. But May had been training with her Pokémon since she was ten and they had an unbreakable bond. Whatever mess May got herself into, her Pokémon claimed as their own. She had given them the choice to leave, once she signed on with Harley. None of them had.

A lump rose in her throat as Beautifly's perfectly timed Silver Wind beat into the assassin, throwing them back against the wall with a force they would not quickly recover from.

May leaped forwards and pulled the dagger from their hand. She almost regretted that they had not brought a gun, which would have made for a less personal—and more merciful—kill, but many assassins chose not to use guns for their loudness tended to attract too much attention.

She didn't give herself time to think—time to chicken out of it. Harley had made her do drills of killing dummies with daggers (among other weapons) so she knew exactly what to do.

She didn't hesitate.

She raised the dagger, and with one swift, silent prayer to Arceus for the life of an assassin who may very well not have had a choice in their profession just as she had not, she sliced down in an arc, cleaving deep into the assassin's neck.

A strangled gasp from behind her reminded her that she was not alone. She had forgotten Hayden was there, and now she turned away from the convulsing, hooded body, to face him.

"You're safe now," she said quietly, her voice a little hoarse.

Her first kill. The first life she took as an assassin was not as an assassin, but in defence of another person, someone she was to assassinate herself, and it was not calm and peaceful with poison, but messy and bloody and horrendously painful. Behind her, the assassin blubbered words that couldn't quite form as blood bubbled out of their throat and their lips. It would take a few minutes for them to die—and May would feel every single second of it.

"You killed him," Hayden said, his voice sounding distant and numb.

"Whoever they are, they will not endanger your life again." Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears.

"You killed him," Hayden repeated, a look of vague horror on his ghostly-pale face.

Something inside May snapped. She had just saved his life—and marred her own soul forever, never able to come back from this action—and he had the gall to look horrified? To be afraid of her?

"You would be dead if I hadn't," she yelled, her voice too loud. It echoed around the empty room.

His eyes widened, white encircling his irises. "I-I know," he stammered.

It would have been gratifying to hear him stammer, if she wasn't so immersed in the horror of the act she had just committed.

He took a shaky breath and stood up. It seemed to take him an age to straighten his rumpled nightgown and sort out the shocked expression on his face.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Not, you didn't need to kill him, or, why did you kill him, or, why didn't you wait for security to come, or, you're a murderer now.

A simple thank you left his lips.

"Have there been attempts on your life before?" May demanded.

He bowed his head in answer.

"You don't need to worry anymore," she said, feeling rotten to her core. Her job now was to convince him he was safe—so that he would never see her coming.

"Who are you?" he asked, raising his eyes.

There was about two meters of space between them, and he made no attempt to come closer. But his voice was strong, and his eyes narrowed slightly in a calculating style.

"My name is May," she said, realising it might have been prudent to give him a fake name the first time they met in Basculin Bar. He might not recognise her from their past as children, but if he so pleased he could search up her family and cause a great deal of harm.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But too late to change it now.

"Not that. Who are you? A reporter? An obsessive fan? A fucking mercenary for hire?" His eyes flashed with—anger? Some kind of fierce emotion that pinned her to the spot, making her feel small.

You never used to swear. The thought whispered in her mind, and she pushed it away. That seemed to have changed for them both.

"I'm a reporter," she answered evenly. "And you are Drew Hayden. If you were to die, I would lose a great source of my future income. You're the hottest topic ever to grace our news station, and I can't afford to let you… well, cease to be a source of news. Getting an interview with you would kickstart my career, and give me a way to finally provide for my family." She winced slightly—she shouldn't have mentioned her family, but his glass-green eyes seemed to be eating up her words, so she continued the performance of her lifetime. "Mister Hayden, I won't air any information you don't willingly give. I'm not in the business of ruining people. Despite what you think, I'm not rooting for Rustboro Robotics… I might despise you personally, but professionally, you have the stronger business model. I believe that you have the potential to one day dominate our world, and I want to see it happen." Her eyes glanced behind her, at the still pulsing, cloaked body. Disgust at what she had become rattled through her, but she couldn't afford to show weakness now. "I will do anything to see you succeed, Mister Hayden. That… assassin… got what was coming to them. It was their life or yours, and I made a choice…and I would make it again. So, you can exile me from this house if you wish, but I will always have your back, okay?" Her voice softened at the end, as if she were lowering her shields to show real emotion. In reality, bile was rising in her throat, and she couldn't have added an edge to her tone if she'd wanted to.

For the longest moment, she and Hayden stared at each other, both processing what had just happened.

"The police will be here any moment," Hayden said at last, his eyes flicking between May and the gradually stilling body behind her.

May nodded. "I should…"

"Not be here." He offered her a very slight, wry smile.

She nodded again. "I…" But her words muffled themselves.

In the pause, she forced herself to turn around. She needed to know.

With shaking hands, she removed the assassin's mask. Under it, a plain male face she didn't recognise twisted with agony.

"Goodbye," she whispered, suddenly desperate to leave.

She returned Beautifly to its pokéball, unable to utter words of thanks.

She felt every single footstep as she crossed the room, passing Hayden without another glance. The silence between them was thick.

"May," he said just as she opened the window and slipped one leg out.

She froze, her brain whirling at his use of her real name, and she glanced at him from hooded eyes.

He approached her with a deliberate stride. He stopped in front of her and flicked his hair out of his face with a casual gesture.

"For Beautifly," he said as he handed her a rose that seemed to materialise from thin air.

She stared at it in astonishment.

"For… Beautifly?" she echoed, making no attempt to take it.

He nodded. "Without Beautifly's warning, we might both be dead. Give it this rose, so that it knows how thankful I am for its quick thinking."

"Where…" Her voice faded. She swallowed and tried again. "Where did you get that from?"

He shrugged, a knowing smile curling his lips higher. "Roses are beautiful, don't you think? It is not for us to question their presence."

Infuriating bastard. She fought to keep her expression neutral. Once upon a time, roses had been Hayden's calling card with the ladies, commonly reported in gossip blogs. She herself had been on the receiving end of a fair few of them. Now, those roses rotted in shallow graves, probably long disintegrated. It was apt that he had a preference for the rose—a flower which bloomed beautifully for a month, but died as quickly as it had come alive.

If only to uphold the pretence that she liked him, she accepted the rose and tucked it into her belt.

"And May?" Hayden asked before she could make her escape. "Call my media manager for an interview."

Her lips parted soundlessly. She hadn't been thinking about her own need to assassinate him when she killed the other assassin. She hadn't been wondering how to engineer her chance of getting him alone again. But now, the opportunity was presented to her on a sparkling emerald-eyed platter.

It was all she could do to nod before she swung her other leg out of the window and dropped without another backward glance.

She barely made it to the ground before the bile in her throat could be no longer contained.

She emptied her guts all over the sandy stone path by the mansion wall, and then she was gone.

Author's Note: So, we have a better idea of what May is capable of now... maybe she will assassinate Drew after all?

Just kidding-May and Drew are endgame, of course. But I promised a dark story full of twists and turns, so here it is. Please let me know what you think in a review.

~ Jay