Chapter 44

When I was seven, Ian taught me about spirals.

We were in the park playing football. Jack was at home doing housework—she'd only been there a couple of weeks, and I was still scared to be alone with her. I didn't know her, and Ian was the only one who'd ever taken care of me, besides a dozen babysitters whose names I couldn't remember. I didn't know how to let another person take care of me all the time, and it was scary having someone new in the house. She was nice, sure, but it had always just been me and Ian.

I stumbled as I went to block his gentle pass, and the ball grazed my toe and bounced away, rolling to a stop against the trunk of what I now knew was a sycamore tree. I ran to get it, but when I got there, I was distracted by a weird leaf spiraling down beside me. The membrane spun and spun and spun, and I watched until it landed softly in a pile of others on the ground beside me, hands still on the football to return to Ian.

"That's called a helicopter seed," Ian said, and I jumped. I hadn't heard him come up behind me. I never did. I knew why now. "Because it spins like a helicopter. See?"

He crouched beside me and picked up one of the fallen leaves, bringing it to my eye level before dropping it. I crouched with it, fascinated by the rotations.

"That's so cool," I said in awe, watching with wide eyes. "How does it go like that? It doesn't get dizzy?"

Ian smiled. "No. Leaves don't get dizzy, they can't feel like you and me."

"Then would I get dizzy if I did that?"

"I'd imagine so," Ian said with a small laugh, patting my head with a big hand. "It does something called spiral. That's when you…well, kind of like this." He picked up a stick and drew a growing spiral in the soft earth, getting bigger as he went further from the center.

"Like a seashell!" I exclaimed, remembering the seashells we'd found together on the beaches in Spain last year.

"Yeah, just like some kinds of seashells," Ian confirmed. "Spirals are everywhere, all around us. There's a lot of maths involved, but they're pretty cool, yeah?"

"Mm-hm," I agreed, standing up and dusting my knees off, nudging the football with my toe. I accepted the interesting fact at face value, unaware of the duality of the word.

Ian didn't teach me about the other kind of spiral.

I was twelve when I learned about that. One of the girls in my class had just been hospitalized—she had tried to commit suicide. She was drinking her mum's prescription cough syrup when her parents came home early. From what I heard, she didn't even know if it would work, but she was too scared to actually wound herself, so she used what was available.

Her best friend, in a play for sympathy, was showing off the diary she'd stolen at her best friend's request before the school or her parents could take it from her locker. I wasn't friends with those girls, but I read the posts on social media, pictures taken of the doodles and dark blotches of frantic, desperate pen strokes, the panicked scrawl of words like "I need help" and
"someone see me." One of those things resonated with me.

It was almost a footnote on one of the pages completely swathed in long, harsh strokes of black ink—it was obviously done consciously but involuntarily, like she couldn't stop herself. At the bottom, it said, "Everything is spiraling."

I remembered Ian's lesson in the park that day, but it took me a moment to reconcile the tranquil beauty of the falling leaf to the spiraling of a girl into her own darkness.

Then I spiraled into mine, and I understood.

It was the feeling of running down a steep hill that never ended—you were going far too fast to stop, but the only option was to keep running or fall, and there was no end in sight—the only difference was that running instead of falling let you maintain the illusion of control. It was the feeling of being helpless in your own mind as it fell a little more with each weight, with each happenstance and event outside of your control. It was the feeling of falling without a safety net or even a ground to make it stop.

It was the feeling of control ripped away despite a desperation to keep at least a part of it, piece by piece and inch by inch until you could only let the world move around you, or be tossed around in it, until the spiral stopped.

But the spiral never stopped, and you never stopped, either.

And one day, there would only be the spiral, and you would be alone to drown in the emptiness of the bottom.

At least the leaves have the ground to meet them—our minds, mine and my classmate's, were bottomless, and no matter how far I'd fallen, I could never seem to find the end. No matter how hard I tried.

I blinked into the mug of cold soup, staring at the film on top of it, the noodles limp and the vegetables soggy. I hadn't taken a single sip.

Now that everything I'd kept hidden for so long was on display, I felt seen in a way that made my skin crawl.

Lion, Tiger, Snake, and Bear were sitting in the living room with me, and it was so painfully quiet, only Bear typing at his keyboard breaking the silence. Wolf was speaking quietly to Fox in the kitchen, and though the voices were low, I could hear the anger. I didn't mean to make them angry. Eagle was still out getting their stuff.

Someone shifted. The noise of a sock dragging against the upholstered sofa was the loudest sound in the room.

"…I took money for the train ticket," I said eventually, my voice small and raw. It was something on the edge of my mind, something I had to say before I forgot, but so much less important than everything else. "I didn't return it. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back."

Heads had whipped almost comically quickly to me as soon as I started speaking, but I didn't look up to meet them, so I didn't see what kind of expressions they wore.

"…it's fine, Alex. No one's angry about that," Lion said evenly. His hands were clasped tight between his knees in my periphery. He sounded sad. "It was probably only a few quid anyhow, alright? Don't worry about that."

I nodded, though I still felt bad for wasting their money on a ticket I hadn't even used. I gave up and put the soup on the table.

"Do you want me to reheat it? Or do you want another mug?" Bear asked, fingers still over the keyboard of his laptop. Every one of them was a taut string with every sound that hit the silence, but I was loose and pliant and far too tired to be tense.

"No," I said quietly.

I knew I was being a pain. I knew I was being too quiet and too monosyllabic in my responses, and I knew that they needed me to explain, to talk, to something, but I couldn't. I couldn't.

I was just so fucking tired, and I didn't know how to protect them. When MI6 came—and they would—I wouldn't be able to run because of SCORPIA. They'd used me once and they'd use me again. It didn't matter how many times I said no—they would just threaten the people around me, and I would fold, because I always did. And eventually, I'd lose them too.

And what did SCORPIA want? What did they have to gain by keeping me in place? It couldn't just be so I'd be easier to locate. That just didn't seem worth a visit from one of their executive members. And who was Mathias, if that was his name? What did he want with me, with the others?

Why did I never have the answers?

I hugged a pillow close to my chest because I knew if I didn't hold onto something I'd spiral even further down.

I was powerless and pathetic and weak, and I was so, so tired of spiraling without a ground to catch me.

I was a pinball in my thoughts until the doorbell rang twenty minutes later.

Three minutes after that, the Sergeant was sat in the living room with a mug of coffee and half a dozen despondent soldiers, staring at me. I stared at the glass table and wished I couldn't see the others' reflections.

"I'm up to speed, but I want you to confirm a few things," Sergeant said plainly, leaning back. I knew I wasn't being respectful—the others were sitting pin straight with a commanding officer in the room, but I had my feet tucked under me and I was as small as I could be, hiding behind this fucking pillow, and I wondered how pitiful the Sergeant thought I was. I'd fix it if he asked me to, but I didn't have the presence of mind to be more than simply aware of it. "You're Cub."

I nodded.

He nodded in response, fully expectant of the confirmation. "I figured." He then turned to the left, addressing K-Unit, from what I could tell. "D'you dumbarses take me for some unobservant fuck frolicking in the Welsh mud? Am I a bloody garden fairy to you? Dyed hair doesn't change a face."

I could only blink. I didn't even have the energy to be surprised.

K-Unit looked properly cowed.

"MI6 has been using you to do their dirty work, and when it started, you were seventeen," Sergeant continued, turning back to me. "At the time, they were your legal guardians, after the death of your uncle, who was an MI6 agent. Yes or no?"

I curled my hand into a fist behind the pillow and nodded hesitantly. "I know it's…difficult to believe—"

"No, I believe you," he cut me off, leaning back in his chair with a heavy frown. "They didn't tell me why you were there for a week, Jaguar, but I'm high up in the military—I hear things I'm not supposed to. I knew there was something going on with a teenager, but I didn't know it was you. I wouldn't have let you train with us—or I would have tried to do something more to stop it—had I known this was what was going on."

I nodded to the ground. I could hear the apology in his voice, whether he meant to let it slip through or not. The fact that he new gave new meaning to what he'd said to me after RTI, as Jaguar, what felt like ages ago—his almost reluctant acknowledgment of my scars, his words about my ability to rely on the people around me. "I know. It's not…I never blamed anyone in the SAS. MI6 didn't tell anyone much."

"Who did they tell?" Tiger asked with a glance at the Sergeant to make sure he wasn't interrupting. Sluggishly, I met his eyes. I didn't understand the question. "Who knew about this other than the higher-ups and Jack?"

I blinked, looking down again. I felt especially weak, even more so than before. "Fox. He helped, when we were together, when he was seconded." I saw Fox tense in the doorway where he leaned, watching the scene. My words now were at odds with the words I'd said to him last month—that he'd sure tried hard to find me after the mission, and while to an extent that was true, I knew it wasn't his fault, and what I'd said was mostly in anger. "Jack knew. I told Tom—my best friend. And, uh…the former Prime Minister knew. He sanctioned it, I think, though towards the end he said they had to stop using me. And they told other agencies who used me—the CIA, the ASIS…and RAW knows, too, I think."

"The Prime Minister fucking allowed this?" Wolf growled, ignoring the last bit, and I saw matching looks of contempt in varying degrees in the others.

I shrugged to the ground. I wanted to shrink. I wanted to fold myself as small as possible and hide, where no one could ever find me again. I felt very young and very old all at once. "It worked. He had no reason not to, I guess."

"I can think of several," Sergeant muttered. At normal volume, he continued, "Sometime in the middle of all this, you got mixed up with SCORPIA, and they've already tried to kill you once. Both they and MI6 are trying to at least detain you."

Hearing it said sent a shiver through the numbness, and I nodded.

The Sergeant stared at me for a moment longer then rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his chair. "Bloody bollocks. What a cluster."

"Cub? Look at me." Snake's voice. Sluggishly, I obeyed, blinking at him with slow eyes. He was up and moving to my side in just a second, crouching beside me. "How do ye feel?"

I didn't know why he was suddenly so concerned. Maybe he was still nervous about the drug symptoms. I responded robotically, figuring I should at least try to put him at ease. "Weak. Tired. I'm okay, I think."

Snake carefully took my shoulders, and I thought this was kind of embarrassing in front of everyone and the Sergeant, but I was too tired to stop him. He stared at my eyes and my skin. In a second, he put a hand on my forehead, and I pulled away after a second, but he didn't seem to mind. "Ye're white as a sheet, clammy, pupils are blown wide…" He took my wrist and put cool fingers against my pulse point. The room was quiet, and I thought it was kind of awkward. I was half expecting someone to break a joke just to fill it. "Rapid and weak. Ye're in shock, lad, why didn't ye tell anyone when ye started feeling bad?"

I blinked, the words taking a moment to register, and looked at him. His eyebrows were drawn tight in obvious worry, and his fingers were right on my shoulders. I blinked again. "I thought…the drug…"

Snake was obviously displeased by that, his lips falling in a deeper frown, but he took my elbow with a careful hand and pulled me up regardless. I swayed, but his grip was firm and solid. "We need to get this under control before we worry about anythin' else. Come on, laddie," he said when I didn't move.

"But…I need…" I couldn't verbalize it. I was usually quick with words, steady in my delivery, but everything felt upside down. Everything felt sideways and out of control and like a spiral.

"You need to do whatever the hell your medic instructs," Sergeant said pointedly, raising his voice enough that I flinched. Snake tightened his grip gently. "Go. We'll talk about what to do."

A part of me wanted to fight. This was my life, and I'd had too many choices taken away from me. I wanted to at least have a say, or at least hear what was being said, about my future, whether anything could be done or not.

But Snake was right—I knew what shock felt like, and I could feel it steadily creeping in. I felt awful.

"…I—"

"We won't make any decisions without letting you know," Lion cut in, eyes steady. Steady where I wasn't. "Go."

Bear set his laptop down and followed us down the hall when I finally allowed myself to be tugged away, guided to Elliot's bedroom. Snake gestured emphatically to the bed, where I sank meekly, and Bear closed the door behind him.

"Warmth and fluids for right now," Bear said to Snake, grabbing a blanket from the edge of my bed and unfolding it, handing it to me. My fingers, barely thawed from the cold, worked disjointedly to tug it across my lap. I personally thought two medics was a bit much.

"Alex?" Bear said. I looked up. Bear's face was so blank. I didn't like it. "Drink, alright? Then you should probably sleep. Shock plus the drug hangover isn't good for anyone."

He handed me the water bottle I hadn't seen him pick up, and I took it blankly. I felt strangely disconnected from the world around me, like everything was trapped behind a fuzzy TV screen. Like there was a layer of static between me and me surroundings. I opened the bottle clumsily and took a sip, but even that turned my stomach.

"You need some more," Bear said, kindly but stern, nudging the bottle back towards me when I tried to return it to him.

"…I don't feel real," I said before I could stop myself, blinking. I blinked a lot.

Snake and Bear both paused, sharing a look I couldn't decipher, before Bear sank onto the bed in front of me, ducking a bit to meet my eyes. "What makes you say that?"

I took a breath, and it felt trapped in my chest, like I'd inhaled a balloon that wouldn't deflate. "Real people don't do things like me. Real people aren't like me, they don't…they get to keep people. They get to—they get to call people family and keep them, they get to have things and keep them, they get to go home and keep it…why can't I keep anything? I can't be real. This can't be real, because if it was I'd—I'd—"

I'd get to stay. I'd get to keep you.

"Okay, okay, shhh," Bear said gently, interjecting when my breathing became erratic and my words became too jumbled to make sense. I stared at the bedspread I thought was mine but I'd soon lose, the duffel bag peeking out from the ajar closet door, the things I'd started to leave out instead of immediately returning to my bag in case I had to make a getaway. The things I was about to have to leave again. "You're real, Alex. Just as real as me, and Snake, and everyone else. Nothing's going to be taken from you."

"But…but everything already has been," I argued weakly, looking at him for the first time, properly looking at him and looking at the grief in his eyes, the concern in his features, the overwhelming sense of helplessness we both seemed to feel at a situation neither of us could control. Snake watched quietly. I didn't know how I looked, because I didn't know how I felt. "My parents were, and Ian was, and Jack, and Sabina—my home, everything I owned, my childhood, I—I didn't get to keep anything but myself, and I lost all the parts of myself worth keeping. I don't want—I don't want to be alone again," I admitted, my voice cracking. Some primal desperation was overriding my desire to appear strong, to appear in control, and left was nothing but a child in a spiral of fear and despair. "Bear, please, I don't want to be alone again, I don't want—"

"I know," Bear soothed, but he didn't know. I didn't think he knew, anyway. "It's okay. It's okay, Alex, just trust us to help you."

I couldn't explain to him that this couldn't be helped. I could only feel these emotions while I had the chance, because once I went back, of my own free will or not, there would be no room for this panic, this fear, this desolation. There would be no room for this loneliness or hurt or sorrow, this grief and loss and pain. These things would kill me faster than any enemy on a mission, so there was no place for them.

But for now, in the safety of this room and with these people, I could feel this way. If only for a little while.

I let the emotions overwhelm me, and I drowned in a spiraling pattern that didn't end even when I eventually slept. In my dreams, there was darkness, and I fell, and fell, and fell. I fell even further into the hopelessness and knew even asleep that when I woke up, the darkness would persist.

And one day, eventually, darkness would be all I was.

…

Lion thought he was prepared.

He thought that from the hints he'd gotten over these few months from Alex, the things he'd shared and the things he'd noticed, that he was ready for whatever Alex had to share with them. He'd thought that after SCORPIA, after finding out about the terrorist organization hunting his friend, nothing would be a shock. That it would complete a puzzle he'd been collecting pieces from for months.

Now he realized that he'd been looking at a completely different puzzle.

The part about MI6 was almost expected. Bear had told him and Tiger what Alex had said in a fog from the sepsis, about escorting a prisoner and why MI6 would have him do something like that. It was odd, at the time, but they'd all initially assumed he was confusing his agencies as the infection clouded his mind. Then, it became more plausible as time wore on—the away he was so good around weapons, the way he second-guessed anyone and anything, his excessive caution…they could be signs of trauma, but they could also be signs of experience. Now they knew it was both.

Still, to be seventeen and tasked with facing terrorists and mass murderers, psychopaths…to be captured and tortured and still somehow succeed…

Alex Rider was remarkable, but he should have never had to be remarkable.

Lion was wholly unprepared for the sheer amount of trauma in one small boy—because that was what he was, Lion was quickly realizing. A boy who'd never even gotten a chance to grow up before he had to be a man. A tragic dichotomy of a child with too much to bear and a man who'd seen too much. Nineteen years old, aged from carrying the weight of the world a dozen times over and a child with fissures in his soul.

Now that he knew the background, the explanation for the traumatized kid they'd taken in, the pieces started falling into place. He started to see the reluctant spy, the awkward, young kid behind the colder operative, the division between the child and the agent and the way they would war with each other. The way the child would shrink, and the agent would stare you down with barely a flinch—that you could see. The way he would maintain his independence above everything, because when your life is in your own hands and you've gone without backup one too many times, you keep it in your own hands with everything you're worth, because suddenly, no one else can be trusted with it.

Lion thought he'd learned that lesson, but despite his father's cruelty, he'd never tried to kill him or Angelica. Lion didn't know what it was truly like to fear for his life until his first assignment, when he was twenty-three.

Alex had learned what that felt like while he was still in high school.

And it hadn't even been only danger—the scars on his body were enough to fill in the gaps, the things Alex had left unsaid for the sake of time and brevity. He recounted events, but not his injuries. He'd recounted the psychopaths and the killers, but not what they did to him. No, the unspoken words were carved into him, and they filled everything in that Alex couldn't say, and it was horrific.

At least, Lion was horrified.

Lion was a lot of things. Angry, and scared for Alex, and so worried about his mental health after this—he was doing do well for a while, so well and he was starting to look and sound like a better version of himself, like he was overcoming or at least accepting his trauma—and Lion was so viscerally disgusted with the intelligence agencies of his country.

Disgusted. Because how could they blackmail and use one of the children they were supposed to protect?

"Well, this wasn't what I was expecting when I woke up this morning," the Sergeant interrupted his thoughts, sounding about as tired as Lion felt.

His emotions had been all over the place—his discomfort with Fox last night, his fear for Alex last night, his worry through the night and his disjointed, raging emotions during Alex's confession to his terror when Alex disappeared, the rage he felt when he saw the man holding him at gunpoint on the platform and the rage that Alex could be so calm under those surely familiar circumstances, and now this—the anxiety of an uncertain future, and the helplessness that came with being one person in a political scandal.

"I know it was a lot to take in, but we need to figure out what to do," Wolf said to the Sergeant, looking grim. Lion watched in his periphery as Fox sat slowly in the seat that Snake had vacated. "Even if they've lost legal custody of him, there's nothing to keep them from blackmailing him again. Alex is so self-sacrificing that they could take a random bloke off the street and he'd give in."

"The immediate problem is that they tried to take him by force," the Sergeant said, fingers to his temple as he stared into space, obviously contemplating the situation. "I'd like to move him back to base, but if you disappear from here, that's the first place they'll look. It'll be easy to forge something to take custody of him for a crime, or a misdemeanor; they've done similar things before. I'm going to call in a few contacts and arrange a safehouse off the grid where you'll all be staying until we can gather a more concrete plan."

"All of us, sir?" Tiger asked, sounding confused.

"Yes, all of you. If they use blackmail as their primary means of control over him, you're the first ones he'll go after, dumbarse," the Sergeant bit out. All of Alex's fears suddenly made so much more sense, but Lion didn't have time to dwell on it. He wasn't upset by this—he would've requested to stay with Alex regardless. "It'll be completely through the SAS, and nothing will be on paper. MI6 won't have any knowledge of your whereabouts, and if they come calling, I'll give them the runaround."

"But that's just a short-term solution," Lion voiced, concerned by the lack of long-term vision of the plan. They couldn't all spend the next year in a safe-house.

"Yes, but it's a plan until we have a solid defense if they try to take him again. It'll also help with SCORPIA, if they're looking for him, too."

"They are," Lion responded, remembering that he hadn't told the others what'd happened on the train platform yet.

Before he could, though, Fox interrupted.

"…it's not going to be that easy," he said hesitantly. Lion was surprised to hear him sound so uncertain.

Sergeant Callaway glanced at him. It was the first time he'd spoken tonight. "Well, no, I'd reckon fucking not, Daniels. It's a teenager pinned between a terrorist organization that won't stay dead and an intelligence agency we can't kill in the first place. What part of this screamed easy?"

Fox fidgeted and looked more uncomfortable than Lion had ever seen him. "That's not what I mean. I mean there's something Alex hasn't told you yet, that I found out when I worked with him, that I don't think I was ever supposed to know. It's…going to be much easier to take him than you think it is. As easy as showing the proper documentation."

Lion glanced at him. Fox's eyes were devoid of any and all mirth, or humor. They were cobalt coals, extinguished by time and just barely smoldering with a grudge of anger that Lion could sympathize with, no matter his feelings on the man. Fox was dead serious.

Lion knew there was something else, but he couldn't possibly imagine anything that could make this situation worse.

"Out with it, then. I know Cub wants to keep this private, but we need to know what we're working with," the Sergeant said. Lion snapped his head over but didn't argue.

The last thing he wanted was to take another of Alex's choices, but they had to know what this was if they were going to be able to do anything about it.

Fox looked down. "I…I'll talk to him when he's feeling better. See if he wants to tell you himself. I think we should give him that much, at least."

It was quiet for a moment, but the Sergeant continued as if Fox hadn't spoken, launching into a more detailed explanation of their original plan and some mechanisms that would be working behind the scenes. Lion found himself surprisingly relieved by Fox's answer. He also found himself begrudgingly respectful of Fox's decision.

Lion's gut was rolling.

He had no idea how to fix this.

He'd spoken so confidently to Alex, telling him that he was safe, that they'd protect him, that they'd protect themselves. That he had a home here and that he always would.

He wouldn't regret those words, would never regret offering Alex a home and safety, but he was beginning to see that the realization of those promises would be much harder than they'd thought.

He just didn't want to let Alex down—not after everyone else in his life.

However, despite whatever difficulties there would be, he had resolved himself months ago, and now was no different.

The boy they'd taken in—the cold, angry kid with unresolved trauma who had slowly, slowly shown them the funnier, happier version of himself, one truth at a time—Lion would protect him. However he could, with whatever he had. They would protect him.

No one ever had, it seemed, but Lion wouldn't let there be another time.

…

"…so they seemed concerned for him?" Fischer asked from behind his desk, addressing the operatives in front of him—Q, C, and R. Quincy, Crawley, and Roshanna. Though they'd been tasked with retrieving former Agent Rider, Fischer had expected failure—even counted on it, and was glad his plans were moving accordingly.

"I'd say," Roshanna responded, rolling her injured shoulder. "They looked ready to go to war, and that was only two of them."

"The others were similarly concerned, from what I saw when I drove past them," Crawley commented quietly, staring at the impeccably neat surface of his desk, adorned with only a golden pen, notepad, and desktop completely free of dust or other blemishes.

This one had been more than a bit reluctant to participate, but luckily, his loyalty to MI6 and its directors superseded whatever flimsy moral inhibitions he'd expressed. Fischer nodded, smiling at the information. This would do nicely.

"Dismissed," he said, waving a hand and turning in his chair, studying the framed quote on his wall.

It was written in large black text, blocked letters against white parchment in an oak frame to match his desk, polished to the point of reflection. He saw himself in the glass as he read the words.

"He is the most powerful who has power over himself." –Seneca

Fischer disagreed with this quote, which was why it was framed on his wall.

He is the most powerful who has power over others. To be powerful is meaningless if there are others with less power around him.

Alex Rider was playing right into his hands, powerless boy that he was, and he had no idea that he was doing so.

Fischer knew that the stunt at the bar would fail. There were too man y variables out of his control. Rather, it was an experiment—a test for his SAS units. How far were they willing to go to find him, to keep him safe? How far would they search for him? How angry would they become? How much did they care about him?

In return, how much did Rider care about them?

How could Fischer use them against him?

Fischer smiled. He knew exactly what to do—he'd make good on his promise of three weeks, now just under two. All he had to do now was let the pieces fall into place…or give them a nudge or two.

He had disposable players ready to go, and should everything go to plan, Alex Rider would be begging them to take him back.

It would, unfortunately, require the sacrifice of one of his unit mates.

Fischer paid no mind. Sacrifice was part of life, after all—he'd be serving a duty to his country in retrieving one of their most invaluable weapons. Fischer wasn't sure who would fill this role, yet, but he was looking more for opportunity than anything. If anything changed, he would adjust accordingly

He turned and wrote a memo for his secretary to enact the first phase of his plan, then got to work planning a trip to Cookham. Perhaps it was time to meet his future charge in person, and…shed a bit of light on the situation so the SAS knew who was in charge.

Perhaps it was time Fischer revealed some of the secrets in Alex Rider's shadows.

A/N: Oof.

Discord Link for anyone who still needs it: /pqCtUSQb

Alrighty, so…here we go. Fasten your seatbelts, hold onto your hats, grab your emotional support stuffed animal, whatever you have to do, just…brace.

Thanks for everyone being so amazing and supportive as always! I love you guys so much, especially my awesome reviewers: SupernaturalCanary19, Finnix, CakeMania225, Leticia99, , OnlyABookworm, MillieM04, jhalverson227, Wraith and Demjin, Fox, Asilrettor, marthecaterpillar, Guest please, storyspinner16, Eva Haller, Guest, Guest, KMER79, Guest, Guest, Cortanacordeliacarstairs, Guest, Guest, NeleWW, Guest, and Guest!

Finnix: NO YOU. Hehehe me too. I LOVE MAC. They're named after my cat, lol. Oh ty for catching that! Also, yes, Bear has his scary connections XD Hehehehe Mathias does have a LOT of his own motivations. And ty! We haven't seen the last of Hollis ;) I LOVE SARGE. I love your long obsessive comments! Love you too!

Fox: NO I LOVE HIM AND I LOVE THAT HE'S ONE OF YOUR FAVES! Muahahhaa you're welcome

Guest please: I know I love them! Sarge is the bestest. Hope you figure it out, can't wait to chat with you!

Guest (I have a sneaking suspicion)…: I have a sneaking suspicion you are correct. Hehehe you're making a lot of good points my friend. Love Mac. THANKS I LIKE HIM TOO.

Guest (Thanks for the quick..): Thank YOU for the review!

Guest (I AM ASTONISHED): Omg hahaha thank you so much! Literally our child is far too good at this. Hehehe shit is about to go down, my friend. THANK YOU!

Guest (This would be the perfect time…): Lol we did a little bit of that here! But yeah I'm looking for a place!

Cortana: Omg thank you, I've missed you! This is such a sweet review! Hm….I'll post it again here and see if that helps! Thanks!

Guest (We need more now): Ask and you shall receive!

Guest (I just read Whumptober…): Oh…haha…that old thing…,lol I'll try!

Guest (Please post another chapter…): Merry Christmas!

Guest (can't wait for more): Here you go! Thanks!

…

Love you guys. Still working on applications and I'm going to try to work on my novel over the break, so idk how much I'll be working on this, but rest assured I am thinking about this story ALL THE TIME. You guys are so amazing! Join the discord so I can talk to you more!