They will not die

"And?" Blunt took a breath, trying to guess what was going on in the girl's mind. "What did you say?"

She was looking at him from under her eyelashes, spying on her superior, wondering what the best response was, the one that would get the vein in Blunt's forehead to burst with anger. But Mrs Jones saw through her mischievous, rebellious persona. Everyone who knew Hera also knew that since the departure of Alex Rider she had changed. This first to notice was Smithers, upon meeting him she had referred to him as the "toy-maker" and he had found her energy an exhilarating change to the usual spies he met. The day Alex left, however, he never heard that name again. He had reported the behaviour to Mrs Jones who in turn asked for a full psychiatric report with came to the conclusion that they all dreaded; Hera was broken. There was a part of her missing now, the part they used to see when she would become excited to go on a new mission. No longer was she excited, no longer did she bring life to MI6 like she did when she was a child. Everyone had instantly adopted her when her father brought her in at the age of eight, but now it was as though they watched their own daughter fall, get her heart broken and carry on regardless. Rider's departure had torn her to pieces, and she tried to pretend she didn't care.

It was the moment Mrs Jones finally realised how they had treated these…children. They were not agents, they were not adults and yet they treated them as such and expected them to behave as such. But Mrs Jones saw the spark go out in Hera that day and she had had to swallow the lump of guilt in her throat ever since.

"And?" Hera repeated and sat forwards in her seat, giving Blunt that usual hard stare. "If I had said yes, I wouldn't be telling you, would I?" She asked and Blunt almost became flustered. "I may dislike you Blunt, but that doesn't mean I don't know where my loyalty lies." She smiled at him, a familiar and almost forgotten smile.

"You'll do it then?" Mrs Jones asked in a timid voice.

"Is it just observation?" Hera asked, not taking her eyes off Blunt.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"For as long as we think is necessary." Hera contemplated as Mrs Jones said this.

"Hera," Blunt began and she rolled her eyes as he used the most fatherly tone he could, "you've been on four missions this past month with no breaks." He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting him, "Mumbai was not a break, I know you see assassination as easy work, but still." He cleared his throat, "you need this." He left the sentence hanging in the air.

"I know what you think of me Blunt." She murmured, not really talking to him but to herself, "when Alex was here I did these things because I enjoyed them. Now I do it because I have no other choice." Her two superiors purposefully withheld any reaction on their faces, not wanting to give away any emotion that the talented spy could read, "I'll do it." She confirmed as Mrs Jones handed her the mission briefing. Her blue eyes skimmed the writing on the page and they saw her confused expression before she spoke. "Is he allowed to know I'm following him?" Mrs Jones nodded.

"Rider isn't the kind of agent-"

"He's not an agent."

"-Who likes to be patronised." Hera looked back at the writing and smiled slightly. "However, knowing you are observing him, knowing someone is after him may cause irrefutable damage to our relationship with him." Hera looked up at her with scrutiny. "Do not meet with him or attempt to explain the situation. If he finds out, contact us immediately." Hera stood up and walked to the door, she turned back as Alan Blunt called her name.

"Make sure he's safe." He said quietly and Hera smiled.

"Of course I will." She replied and left. In the room neither Blunt nor Mrs Jones moved or said anything for at least a minute. They were thinking the same thing. Mrs Jones rubbed her forehead, she seemed to be changing her mind.

"What if they..." She wasn't sure if she should voice her worries.

"They what?" Blunt was growing impatient with her; she looked at him and shook her head, meaning it was nothing to worry about. "Find out more about the company that contacted her." Mrs Jones nodded and stood up. "What was the organisation's name?" He asked as she walked past him, she glanced back with a small, knowing smile. "Scorpia?" She nodded and Blunt took a deep, shuddering breath. "They will not die." He muttered as she left.

Alex was falling asleep at his desk. This mathematical proof was far too demanding for a Monday morning and his lack of sleep just meant he couldn't think straight. His study room was in the basement of the house, luckily Ian Rider had put in slim windows that gave view to the surface of the street and Alex could just about make out his road and the front doors of many houses opposite. He watched as a man on a bike cycled past and his brow furrowed; that man had cycled past at least three times in the past ten minutes. This road was very long; cycling at that speed from one end to another would take at least twenty anyway. That would mean the cyclist was circling a very small radius. Alex sighed; why did he always think so much about insignificant details? Suddenly a neighbour testing a new bike was noteworthy.

While the basement was Alex's favourite part of the house, it was slowly beginning to feel like a prison. He studied here as he was finishing his A Levels a year later than his peers. A room he once found solace in was now a place he sat and stared at relics from his past. On his desk alone was a yo-yo…a pack of gum…mementos of his time with the British government. The floor consisted of grey tiles, the ceiling had low lights and Alex swiveled round on his chair to face the massive flat screen television at the end of the room. He stared at it intently, wondering if he should dare to do what he was thinking. The TV was a form of communication set up two years ago between himself and MI6. Sound activated meant it was incredibly risky to use but if he simply said three words the system would turn on and he could contact them. He looked back to his proof on the desk; life was so boring now his MI6 days were over. He had hated it, sure, but nothing afterwards could quite compare to the adventure. He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. This must be what addiction was like; he was practically talking himself into to himself that he should talk to them, what could one little chat hurt?

He couldn't do it. Instead, he stood from his chair and ran up the stairs to the ground floor of the house. Once in the hall he threw on a jacket, picked up his house keys and walked out of the house.

The day was still beautiful, it was still morning and the sun was lighting up his world. The green leaves offered little shade from the summer heat and as Alex walked through the gates of his uncle's house he saw the cyclist go past again. Alex thought nothing of it and continued on his walk to the school Sabina worked at. He was bored and knew she was free for a few hours in the morning so taking her away for an early lunch would be a much needed distraction.

Hera tried not to, but she couldn't help it. She stood still just staring at his figure in the distance. She hadn't seen his face but knew it was him; she remembered his walk, his gait, the way he ran his hand through his hair. She was stood on the roof of a house almost directly opposite Ian Rider's house. In a white dress printed with pink, blue and yellow flowers she lowered her sunglasses and took of her sun hat. Watching with something she did not what to call happiness, as he walked away from her. The ribbon around her hat licked her legs as they swayed with the breeze and she looked down. As she did she caught sight of the cyclist and was unimpressed; she could make out the weapon in his backpack. As though killing Alex Rider would be that easy. Slipping on lace gloves, she reached down, unlocked her briefcase which contained a simple pistol. Reaching down again she pulled a silencer from the briefcase and attached it to the gun. That's all she needed.

Hera took aim. It was a moving target but she'd had so much experience that it made no difference. She cocked the gun and let the exhilaration run through her as she pulled the trigger. The shot was of course silent but as soon as she shot she ran across the rooftop and jumped to the next building. She had guessed the gap correctly and landed slightly, rolled over from the momentum and then flattened herself against the roof to get her breath back. As soon as the cyclist was hit his men would have come and collected the body before tracing the angle the bullet came at and they'd go straight to the roof she was on. So she jumped to the next house to buy her some time.

She kept as close to the floor of the roof as possible and made her way to the door. She opened it and ran down the stairs, she had left the concealed door in her kitchen open and as she ran into the kitchen she threw her gun inside the compartment. She ripped off her dress to reveal a dark blue one she had on underneath and threw it in as well. Before closing the door with her foot she removed her hat also. She ran through the house and opened the front door before putting on a look of shock and ran out to meet her new neighbours. Everyone was looking up to the roof she shot from and she joined them. A little old lady walked up to her.

"Hello dear," she said and Hera smiled at her.

"How do you do?" She asked and pointed up to the roof, "any idea what's going on?" Hera asked innocently and the old lady shook her head.

"No, dear." The lady said and pointed to the vans gathering. "A cyclist seems to have fainted! What a lot of fuss!" Hera almost snorted with laughter at the woman's description of what was quite a dramatic scene. More people were gathering and men, looking like a SWAT team in black combat gear, emerged from a black van and ran into the house. "Listen, you've just moved in haven't you?" Hera, who was keeping her eye on the men looked over to the lady after a few moments and nodded. "Well then we must welcome you to the street!" And the gathering people began to welcome Hera and make plans for a party in a few days. She found it strange that these people could experience something as shocking as murder and then start planning parties! Looking through the crowds, Hera could see Alex looking at the chaos and make his way over. The little old lady confirmed Thursday evening was a good day and turned to tell Hera. But the girl with the blue eyes was gone.

"Mrs Rum," Alex said as he approached her and noticed she looked flustered.

"Oh, hello Alex!" She exclaimed and looked past him.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she practically pushed him out of the way.

"Where's she gone?"

"Who?"

"That girl, pretty little thing." She commented and nodded knowingly. "I'll go and see her with some cake. She's just moved in." She informed Alex who couldn't understand why she was thinking of such mundane things when someone had been killed. As the woman walked away she turned back to him as a thought crossed her mind, "eyes just like yours, dear." She called back to him and Alex simply stared at her. It couldn't be. Could it?

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