Cinder Fall lounged in her pilot's chair, breathing in the stillness of her sterilized surroundings. Time alone was a luxury she could rarely afford. This was her chance to unwind in peace, a treat she did not get to enjoy very often.

Interacting with others was torturous. Having to listen to pompous, whiny ingrates all the time took their toll on her well-being. Ambition was what kept her going most days. That, and the occasional respite.

This was one such occasion to relax. The Bullhead had landed outside the walls of Vale. Far enough from the city to escape scrutiny, but not too close to tempt suspicion from observers.

Nearby was a cabin that had been co-opted from a travel agency. It was to be their layover after a successful robbery. A place to lay low and hide the stolen Dust. There was enough space to house twenty and a fully stocked kitchen to ride out the inevitable police manhunt.

Tragically, the thief would not be able to use such accommodations. None of his associates had made the trip back. As such, the cabin would be noticeably sparse. Only a handful of individuals would be using the lodgings that night. Tomorrow, they would abandon it due to having nothing to hide.

There were silver linings to this debacle. First, none of the crew had met Cinder, so there was no reason to waste her time silencing them. Second, none of her funds had been spent to reserve the cabin. And third, she got a mini vacation.

She had spent the extra hour on her own flying around the outer city. This had been unnecessary. No one was tracking her. Radar jammers ensured that. Unnecessary, but satisfying.

Alas, all good things must end. She had landed a minute earlier and was already missing the freedom of the open sky. With a sigh, she stood and mentally ran through her excuses for the late arrival.

Having to explain herself ran counter to her beliefs. She should not have to give reasons for her actions, but she would have to in this case. It had been her responsibility to provide a safe extraction for the heisters. To say nothing would have been damning.

"Remember." She purred as she straightened her dress. "Act shocked."

II. Stone Cold

Cinder could not help but have a spring in her step as she walked down the broken ramp. Her gait was almost at a prance. Light laughter accompanied the floating sensations in her chest with every step taken.

Pulling those feelings back was difficult. The afterglow was gradually waning from her system. She hoped any flush was not noticeable. Selling the image of the saddened leader delivering heartbreaking news would be difficult in this state.

Her dance did pause when a couple of individuals met her near the bottom of the descent. They had patiently been waiting for her. Their appearance sobered Cinder up enough to slip the mask of indifference back on.

The welcome party consisted of a young woman with green hair leaning against a similarly aged silver maned man. Judging by the scowls, the assistance had been begrudgingly offered and accepted. Them being together in such a way was an ill omen. Whatever had remained of Cinder's good mood evaporated.

"Emerald. Mercury." She addressed them with a cool tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Never one to mince words, Mercury was the first to answer. "The midget stabbed her."

Her golden irises flicked to Emerald. The extent of the damage was not readily apparent, but her body language spoke volumes. She was clenching her side. Those reddish eyes were shut in pain. There was also a sheen to her chocolate skin. All strong indicators of significant injury.

"What led to this outburst?"

"We don't know. Everything was fine. We were all sitting around swapping stories-"

"You mean." Emerald gritted her teeth. "You were talking nonstop while the rest of us were ignoring you."

Mercury glared at the convalescent while continuing. "Then her Scroll beeped and out came the knives. Almost finished Em off if I hadn't gotten involved."

"She caught me by surprise."

"And whose fault is that? We are neck-deep in a robbery. What made you think this was a good time to paint your nails?"

"I wasn't painting my nails!"

"Fine. Whatever you were doing instead of paying attention."

"Why you-"

While they squabbled, Cinder pondered. Something was amiss about this narrative. The timing of the defection was too coincidental. A message must have been passed along. How that had happened was a mystery.

Perhaps, she thought, Roman had a dead man's switch on his Scroll. He could have configured the device to send a notification when his Aura dipped to zero. Such a thing, while indicative of a paranoid brain, was feasible.

There was a problem with this theory. Cinder had not thought he had brought one with him. Scrolls were risky to carry while conducting anything untoward. Even burners could be used to track movements. The Council had begun mandating that such electronics carry the capability for law enforcement purposes.

What other explanations were there? Surely, he could not have survived. The man had many things in common with a cockroach, but he was not indestructible.

Mercury interrupted her thoughts. "Where's Torchwick? Or his crew? Did we not get any Dust?"

He leaned to the side to see into the Bullhead. This caused Emerald to press further into his side. She did not appreciate these movements but could do little more than hold on.

"I'm afraid we had to part ways." Cinder discarded the fable. There was no longer a need to hide what she had done.

"Oh." Emerald understood the meaning. "Do you think she found out?"

"That fits." Mercury added. "She was pretty attached to him. Remember the fit she threw when you ordered her to stay here?"

"Yeah. I bet she got a text telling her what happened."

If stating the obvious was a setting, then it would have been their default. To be fair, Cinder had not hired them for their brains. In fact, she hadn't hired them at all. Both were bound to her in ways that were stronger than money or trinkets.

They were tools to be used for her ends. Useful in ways that were indispensable in the present, but still tools. The time had come to use them as such.

"Regardless of circumstance, this needs to be dealt with. Mercury." The young assassin uneasily straightened at the direct address. "I believe this is a matter best left to someone of your particular skill set."

"It will be done."

He sat Emerald down upon the ramp and immediately began the short hike back to Vale. The Bullhead went disregarded as too noticeable. There also were probably clues in the environment he could use to track their little runaway.

It was too bad.

Recruiting Roman's pawn had been the plan. Her Semblance would have been a boon to their operations. If the Firestarter could have spun his death to be the fault of someone else, be it Beacon or Vale-at-large, that would have bound them together in a mutual cause.

No matter, she decided. What was done was done. All that was left was the cleanup.

"Should I go as well, to make sure he doesn't screw it up?" Emerald asked as Mercury wandered down a beaten path.

"Are you capable of standing on your own?"

Emerald cut herself loose from the supportive incline. She was able to stay upright for a few seconds. This did not last. The verde woman let out an anguished cry as she tried to move forward and tripped.

Cinder could have caught her. She elected to watch her fall instead. Once more, a small thrill spread through her core. Withholding support was nearly as good as causing distress.

With Emerald on her knees, Cinder was able to see the injury. It was a deep cut to her flank. There was some blood, but not too much. The attacker had missed the major arteries. While debilitating, the injury would heal if it was treated soon.

Unfortunately, the burden fell upon Cinder to render aid. There was literally no one else. A broken tool was useless, and she had already discarded one. Purposefully losing another on the same night would be self-sabotage.

"Come Emerald." She lowered herself to the other's level. "Let us fix you up."

"Yes ma'am." The downtrodden girl feebly smiled.

Her arms encircled her mistress's waist. As opposed to how she had been with Mercury, she accepted the touch. Craved it. Hands roamed far and wide, under the guise of seeking purchase. Yet another necessary burden for Cinder to endure.

/ / /

It was past midnight in Vale. While most of the populace slept, a visitor to the city was wide awake. He wondered if he was dreaming, but all attempts to wake up had amounted to little more than pinched-red skin.

The room was mysterious and terrifying. A swinging overhead light flickered. Frigid air circulated freely. Gleaming and rusted hooks lay discarded on the wooden floor. Jagged shadows clung to the walls while the smell of salt and dead fish permeated every surface.

At the center of this, Jaune Arc stood beside a freezer.

He had lifted the lid of the metal appliance to deposit his gruesome burden. Inside the chest, nestled between freezer burned loins and tails, lay a humanoid shaped bundle. Sheets stolen from a clothesline had been wrapped tightly to obscure its contents.

All plans to find a more dignified disposal had been abandoned. He instead had come to this discrete building near the wharf. The place had looked abandoned, but this was disproved by the availability of electricity and running water.

The walk over had been tense. What Jaune had been carrying would have led to a very awkward conversation if he had been discovered. Miraculously, no one had crossed his path. Dirty alleyways had hidden him the whole way.

Now he was by himself, grappling with the particulars of the night so far. This was his first night in Vale and the beginnings of a new life. His first step towards becoming a hero. Yet here he was. Putting a corpse into cold storage.

Corpse, as in deceased. Finished with life. In no way capable of communicating with the living.

"Roman is dead. Gone." The teen recited aloud. "Dead and gone."

He felt the need to repeat himself. To reassure his frayed nerves and break the daze. A reminder of the impossibilities he was confronted with.

"That's how it looks, anyway." His dark passenger added.

Jaune glanced towards his reflection in the metal lining of the chest. His eyebrows wiggled up and down. The movements were not his own.

He slammed the lid and stumbled away from the freezer. Leaning against a fillet table to steady himself, his mind swam while trying to understand what was happening. There was only one answer that made sense. It had finally happened.

"I've lost my mind." He clasped his head with both hands.

His mother had warned him about eating too much Pumpkin Pete cereal. Like an oracle, she had foretold the dangers of the sugary treat. Her claims of how the excess sweets would rot his mind had gone unheeded.

What a fool he had been.

"Oi! You alive in there?"

The voice would not leave him alone. It had followed him, guiding him through unfamiliar side streets. Telling him which routes to take. The shock of the experience had caused him to listen with little resistance.

"It's humor you see. I know you have to be."

Had following the advice been a mistake? Was he feeding the delusion? Would ignoring the voice cause it to go away? Or would that make it angry?

Jaune began to feel lightheaded.

"Whoa! Don't hyperventilate. Why don't you talk this out with your dear Uncle Roman?"

"I don't have an Uncle Roman." He could not help but reply.

"You do now."

Jaune shook his head. Roman Torchwick was housed up there, living rent free. It was hard to imagine a more abnormal event.

"How do I know you are real? That I'm not..."

His lips, along with his own voice animating them, moved to finish the thought. "Talking to yourself?"

All Jaune could do was nod lamely. There was a hum between his ears. Not a sound of understanding, but more like how an adult might humor a child.

"Let's see if I can give you more than my dulcet tones to keep you company."

Not liking the phrasing on that line, Jaune braced for the worst. He tilted his head to look in every direction. There was nothing on his six or at his two. Nothing above or below either. The shack was empty.

Then he blinked.

Another person was in the room. The sudden appearance caused a skip in his chest. They had literally popped out of thin air.

The man was around the teen's height, dressed in a black jacket with cream trousers. Bright red hair was cropped short, except in the front where it was fluffed. A white bowler hat sat askew atop his head. All around, the guy was an odd sight to suddenly emerge from out of nowhere.

"Tah-dah!" He said as he spun in place. "You can see me, right?"

"W-when did you get here!?"

Jaune did not take his eyes off the stranger while trying to block access to the freezer. He could not allow him to look inside. There was no way to rationalize his actions so far without seeming guilty.

"Good. Wasn't sure that would work."

"Who are you?"

A wicked grin grew. "You're a little slow on the uptake, aren't you?"

Taking deep breaths, Jaune put the pieces together. He focused on the familiar face. Those intense greens. The smile. A name appeared.

"Roman?"

"At your service." The resurrected bowed.

Horrified, Jaune turned to the freezer. He opened the lid to double check. The body was still there. It had not moved a muscle.

When he sealed the opening once more, Roman was waiting for him. He stood on the other side of the chest, glancing at his nails. The blond fell on his rear and began to crawl away. The dandy stepped through the metal and stalked forward.

"But you're…"

"Dead? Indeed. We've established that."

Yes. They had. There was, again, only one answer to all of this.

"Great. Now I'm hallucinating."

"That would be rational. Insane circumstances do make for insane people. You could go check-in to a booby hatch. A shrink might be able to sort you out."

Jaune was conflicted. He was not sure if he should be taking advice from a delusion. But they were advocating for him to see a psychiatrist, which could be considered excellent advice. Was this a case of reverse psychology?

That would be ironic.

"Or, and hear me out on this, I am real." The figment continued before there could be an objection. "This property is one of a dozen or so that I have a financial stake in. Ask yourself: how would a hallucination know about it?"

He hated to admit it, but Jaune could see the logic. A fake Roman would not have found this shack by chance. In fact, the apparition had led the teenager through Vale as if he had done this very thing a million times before. A new conclusion was formed.

Roman Torchwick was a part of Jaune.

That left him with even more questions. "How did this happen?"

He wanted to understand. To have a measure of control back. Everything Jaune knew about the world was being turned upside down. Vale was seedy, huntsmen had soul powers, and apparently the dead did not stay that way.

"I haven't the foggiest. One moment I'm fading away, the next I'm all cozy and snug inside you. Could be a god playing a joke. Could be some strange cosmic fluke. Could even be your Semblance."

The teen nodded along, even as he became more confused. What was a Semblance? Was this another thing that huntsmen were supposed to know? How far behind was he?

"And where-" Jaune shivered as he picked himself off the ground. "Where inside me are you? My brain?"

"More like your Aura. I think." He shirked. "It's hard to describe. I feel like I am everywhere but also nowhere. I can extend myself out of your body, but I can't touch anything."

To prove his point, he reached towards the fish cleaning table. His hand phased through the faucet as he tried to twist. There was no reaction at all.

"See?" Roman bent over the sink and stared downward. "No reflection either. I'm guessing you are the only one who can see or hear me."

Except, that was not completely true. "You were talking through me earlier."

"Huh. I guess I can manipulate parts of your body to communicate with people. Neat."

Blue eyes widened in fear. "You can control me."

Cotton was dragged across Jaune's tongue. Disturbed at how easily the entity had used his body, he felt his terror peak again. The possibility of being turned into a puppet, unable to control his own actions, was horrifying.

Roman rolled his eyes. "If I could have taken over, don't you think I would have by now?"

Jaune was far from reassured. That was like a spider telling a fly not to be afraid while trapped in its web. Roman sensed this apprehension and started negotiating.

"Fine. Cards on the table." He held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Of course I would rather be the one in the driver's seat. However, if the only other option is oblivion, the current arrangement works just fine."

"It doesn't for me! I didn't consent to any of this!"

All Jaune wanted was to help someone in need. Now his soul was entangled with another. A well-known criminal, to boot.

"Calm down, kid. There is no reason for us to be enemies. Not when we could be mutually beneficial to each other's goals."

"...what do you mean?"

"There is much I could teach you. I'm not a huntsman, but I've had to outsmart my fair share of them. And isn't that what you are trying to do, my little faux huntsman-in-training?"

The hairs on his arms stood up. "What!? I'm not-"

"At the time, I didn't think much about you attending Beacon. Slowly bleeding to death makes one overlook such things. Yet you do not know anything about Aura or even have a proper fighting form."

"Maybe I'm a late bloomer."

Roman snorted. Jaune's cheeks heated up. The rationale had always been used for him when he was little. Now he realized what a dumb excuse that was.

"For real. How'd you get them to accept you? Bribery? Nepotism? A honeypot?"

"I don't even know what that last one is."

"C'mon. Tell me! I won't rat you out."

Because he literally could not do so. Jaune dug his heel into the floorboard. The secret had been weighing him down. It would be nice to let someone else know. Someone who would not judge him. Roman had probably done worse.

"I, uh, might have lied on my transcripts."

"Forgery! Fantastic!" The Arc winced at the label. "See? You and me? We are similar. We won't let anything get in the way of our dreams."

"Not anything."

Fudging the details on his permanent record might have been wrong, but it was not like that had hurt anyone. There were limits to what he would do. If Beacon had not accepted him, he would have found another way.

"That is what I offer. All my experience and knowledge will be yours. I'll help you 'fake it 'til you make it.' In exchange, you'll help me take care of unfinished business."

"Like what?"

"Vengeance." His voice became deeper. Angrier. "There are people out there that have crossed me. I got a whole list. Help me get even, and I'll make you a huntsman. That is a guarantee you can take to the bank."

The teen was inclined to believe him on both counts. The thief's rage was sincere. There was also much more to learn about Aura. Roman did seem knowledgeable on the subject. Jaune was already in a better position than he had been at the start of the day thanks to their interactions.

He was hesitant, though.

His grandfather had always cautioned against alliances of convenience. Promises that could not be kept were not promises at all. The word of an Arc, he warned the children, should mean something. There was a line he did not want to cross.

"What do you intend to do to the people on this list? Kill them?"

"Honestly, not sure we could." Roman surprisingly answered. "The boss we would be crossing is too much for either of us to handle. No, I'd settle for ruining her precious schemes. The kind a true huntsman would want to stop."

A huntsman like Jaune wanted to be. "This sounds too good to be true."

"You're right. This can't be a coincidence. Call it destiny, fate, or plain old serendipity. We were brought together for a reason." The red head came closer with his hand extended, the final pitch made. "Let us make the best of it."

Jaune eyed the implied contract suspiciously. He knew accepting the aid could be the biggest mistake of his life. Roman was a criminal. Given the teen's goals, complete trust was almost impossible between them.

If what Roman had said was true, then Jaune was wholly unprepared for Beacon. Any additional insight or training would come in handy, no matter the source. The risk seemed worth the reward.

Besides, they were stuck together. At least for now. He might as well get something out of the arrangement.

"Okay. Deal." He went in to shake.

His own hand went through the gesture. He gaped his mouth in shock. The apparition grinned at the blunder.

"That was supposed to be symbolic."

"I-I knew that."

/ / /

Fire.

That had been the last message Neo had received. Roman's last communication. It was a part of a secret code they had worked out months ago. If anything went wrong, he would send that icon to indicate that they were burned.

It was not difficult to figure out who had caused the burning. Their employer had made no attempt to hide their disdain for him. Open threats poured out at the slightest hassle.

They had agreed to work the jobs because the alternative was death or leaving the kingdom. Roman was convinced he could rob his way out of servitude. Despite this confidence, they had worked out a contingency.

When she received the warning, she was supposed to get clear of any hostile forces. That part had been child's play. Her parting gift kept Cinder's squad busy while she slipped away from the encampment and back into the city.

What came after was much more difficult. She drifted around, constantly moving on the off chance she was followed. All the while, she watched her Scroll.

Roman would send another message once he was free. It would contain an ice cream cone emoticon followed by the name of a city landmark. They would then reunite at an adjacent building.

She eagerly awaited his response. He was Roman Torchwick, after all. Master thieves did not go down so easily.

As time passed, her faith began to waver. A half-hour went by without a peep. She had considered calling the number but decided there was no point. He would not have kept the random Scroll he had used.

Another thirty minutes went, and despair settled in. Roman had been clear in his instructions. If she did not hear from him within an hour, she was supposed to assume he was dead.

In this worst-case scenario, she was to take off with their saved-up money from all the heists they had pulled over the years. The nest egg was considerable and could easily buy a new life anywhere on Remnant. Anywhere but in Vale, obviously.

It was simple. The kind of strategy that did not require a lot of forethought. That was what made it so effective.

There was only one problem. She could not go along with the plan. Not without knowing for sure what had happened.

The search began at the scene of the robbery. Her heart sped up when she saw an ambulance. Roman's hired goons were being treated beside the vehicle. They had been roughed up but were otherwise alive. The man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Her next stop had been the getaway spot. The police were ahead of her and had already cordoned off the area. A few overheard conversations whilst blending in among the officers revealed that Roman had reached the Bullhead. They had lost sight as the aircraft headed south-west.

Back towards the cabin.

The rest did not take a genius to figure out. Roman would have been all alone with that psycho. That as much confirmed his fate.

Except, he was able to send out the alert. That indicated he had a chance to escape. There was a slim chance he had jumped from the Bullhead. Doing so under duress could have left him incapacitated in a way that did not allow him to send another message.

With this pipe dream, she began traveling the expected flight path. She checked every nook and cranny, using her Aura to feed a tireless hunt. After five blocks, she began to tire. Ten more and she was breathing hard.

Eventually, after losing count, she had to take a break. Passing a storefront, a window showed her panting, diminutive form. A mismatched pair of pink and brown eyes looked back. Scared. The grip on her parasol tightened.

Was Roman being held captive? Did she dare go back into the lion's den to find out? Or did she take the advice to start anew?

It would be easy. With her abilities, she could blend in anywhere. Engaging her Semblance, the peepers shifted to the same shade of brown. The vanilla life she had abandoned was waiting to be stepped into again.

She slapped that old face. The illusion shimmered away. Determination was left behind.

If Roman was gone, Cinder would not get away unscathed. Neo would make sure of it. Even if that was a fool's errand. Even if it would be the last thing she would ever do. Retribution would be theirs.

She would just need to be smart about the approach. Now was the best time to retaliate. They would never expect her to double back after escaping.

There were many possibilities. She was torn between setting the hideout on fire or disguising herself to get close enough to slit throats. Her ideas on future carnage were cut off by noises from an approaching group.

In the middle of the street were three men. They playfully pushed and shoved each other as they stumbled aimlessly. Beet red complexions and ragged clothes gave them away as a part of the city's transient population.

She was ready to ignore them. Such losers were usually beneath her notice. That was, until one of them caught her attention.

He was the biggest one there, both in terms of height and girth. A stained t-shirt with a yellow smiley face stretched around his hairy belly as he jogged up front. Soapboxing on the curb, he leaned forward using a cane.

"Look at me! I'm Jacques Schnee."

The boozehound began a little jig, jutting his hips side to side. To cap off the show, he threw the rod into the air. It spun awkwardly before bonking his head. The other gutter rats laughed at his hardships.

"Yeah. You're a real sophisticate." A lanky man with sandy hair jeered.

The other, a creep in glasses, hiccuped. "Don't be late to the ball. They're going to need a clown."

"Bah! Who asked you jerks anyways?"

"You did!" They answered in unison.

"Schmucks."

This was the scene she walked straight into. A direct confrontation seemed best. That and she had some aggression to work out.

Sandy was the first to see her. "Who's there?"

"A girl, genius." Glasses reprimanded, before asking. "What are you doing out so late, sweety?"

She pointed at the walking stick. The one holding it barked in laughter. He juggled the item between his hands. The lack of coordination he displayed earlier was not much better. He nearly fumbled the thing several times. Her eyes followed each movement intensely.

"Ah, like what you see? Want a better look?" The smiley face man held out the cane.

Neo did. She really, really did.

"Maybe I'll let you." He slurred. "If you make it worth my while. This ain't the only big rod I got. A nice spit shine might make me more generous."

"What are you doing?" Sandy asked. "She looks all of twelve."

"Old enough in my book." She approached him. "That's it. Now why don't you get down on yer knees and-"

A ferrule-first thrust to the diaphragm broke off any further vulgar suggestions. He roughly coughed before falling to his knees. The cane dropped out of his hands and into hers.

Moving it closer, she began a cursory examination. The weight was about right. A trigger in the handle gave away that it was a weapon. To be sure, she ran her fingertips down the shaft and found the Dust loader.

This was Melodic Cudgel.

Suspicions confirmed, she returned to the trio. Smiley was still down, hacking up a lung. His droogs watched with slack jaws.

When their inebriated brains caught up, they tensed in preparation. They were seemingly ready to involve themselves. She then pulled a blade from her parasol. That changed their tune. The two made an about face and walked the other way.

Back to Smiley, he had started to rise. A flash kick sent him back down. She placed her foot upon his chest to deter further motions.

"Ow! You stupid-"

A press downward caused him to retch. Fake teeth tumbled out of his kisser. The golden fillings rolled down the concrete and into the sewer drains. When he regained use of his faculties, he chose his words more carefully.

"What'd you want?"

Many things. Money. Explosives. A painted pony named Flambé. Crowding out those material needs was her partner-in-crime. She held the cane out before him.

"Take it! It's yours."

No. It was not. Wrong answers deserved a punishment.

She ran her blade across his eyebrow. A squeeze to the incision got the juices flowing. He hissed as a pool began to form on his forehead.

"I don't understand! Do you want to know where I got it?" She nodded. Smiley became incredulous. "Then why didn't you just ask!?"

That was a rude question. All those etiquette lessons had been very clear. Pointing out other people's disabilities was not to be done in polite society. She repeated the punishment on his other brow.

"Ah! Me and the boys found it near a freight line. I swear!"

Swearing had also been discouraged in those classes. More definitive answers came forth with each additional cut. By the time she felt satisfied, the crimson mask was pouring.

Smiley was in a daze. The alcohol and blood loss left him woozy. He slurred a plea for mercy.

"Please. That's all I-"

A boot to the head sent him to dreamland. She made sure to wipe her dagger on his shirt. A red streak was left across the happy face's right eye.

Using her big toe, Neo tipped him onto his side. If he vomited, it was now less likely he would suffocate. A corpse would bring undue attention, especially with Glasses and Sandy left as witnesses.

All done, she sheathed the misericorde within Hush. The sibling weapons were grouped in the same hand to free up the other. While glad to have the cane back, she became even more worried about Roman. He would not have intentionally left Melodic Cudgel behind.

With renewed vigor, she hustled in the direction Smiley had designated. The outside of the shipping company provided no additional clues to the thief's whereabouts. It was only when she took to the rooftops that she found anything interesting.

Behind one of the warehouses was a knocked over pile of boxes. Copious amounts of blood splattered the cardboard. Twenty or so were crushed inwards from the top. Something had landed on them.

Digging through the mountain, she became desperate for more clues. At the very bottom, she found undeniable proof. A singed billycock lay between the more pristine containers. She donned the felt-like hat, comforted by its presence.

Roman was out there. Somebody had taken him. Whoever they were, wherever they were, she would find them.

And make them pay.

Author Notes: This story is still not in full production. I just felt inspired by the reviews to write a follow-up to the last chapter sooner than planned. Hope y'all enjoy!