Content Warnings:

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XIX. Shot, Chaser

One thing that has become very quickly apparent to me is that I’m unbelievably lucky Juno was a decoy. Because storming in there with no plan, with barely equipped backup and nothing but rage in my chest, was nothing short of suicidal. Martin would’ve made mincemeat of us. It was reckless. Idiotic. And worst of all, even now, I have no idea what else I should’ve done. That’s the part that burns - the cold shame of knowing I played a bad hand badly, and still can’t see a better move in the deck.

Since we left, I’ve been staring out the window of Jordan’s car, my jaw clenched tight, my brain spiralling. Studying every asset. Every tool. Every weakness. My thoughts move faster than my body can keep up with. The silence inside the car is suffocating in its own right - not peaceful, not comfortable. Just sharp. Taut. Everyone's too afraid to speak, and everyone knows it.

The obvious wildcard is Wayfarer - more specifically, his orbs. Reality-splitting orbs of temporal nonsense that could give us any edge we need. But when I catch his eye, he gives me a nervous smile and shakes his head like a teacher gently telling a child they’ve asked a stupid question.

"Not a good idea, Cassio," he says, his voice too gentle. "We’d be working with too fine of margins. And by the time we’ve figured out the best route, it could mean backwards time travel - which makes things messy."

"How so?" I ask. There’s more bite in my voice than I intend, but I’m not in the mood for vague bullshit.

He hesitates. Like he doesn’t want to say it. But the way everyone else is watching him, it’s clear he doesn’t have a choice.

"Because if you travel back and, in the version of events that unfolds, one of your friends ends up dead... can you honestly say you wouldn’t come racing back to warn yourself?"

My heart drops. My face goes cold. He says it so plainly - like it’s just a fact, not a weight - but he’s right. Of course he’s right. If something happened to Lexi... I wouldn’t stop. I’d burn every timeline to the ground if it meant getting her back. I don’t say any of that aloud. Just stare at the stitching on the seat in front of me and nod, once.

Still, it doesn’t feel like something I can rule out completely.

"What about Martin?" I say. "Could we just portal him into a different reality? Preferably a really, really shit one?"

He exhales and scratches the side of his neck, clearly running the scenario in his head. "It could work. But it would have to be situational. The range on the orbs isn’t precise - there’s always a risk someone else gets caught in the crossfire. Unless we have him completely isolated, it’s not worth it."

I groan, dragging a hand down my face, and feel Ava’s eyes flick toward me with distaste. She hasn’t spoken since we left, but I can practically hear her thoughts judging everything that’s being said. She’s like a pressure in the backseat - impossible to ignore. Distracting in the worst way. I can’t look at her for too long without feeling bile rise in my throat. And yet, here we are - sharing space like we’re on some kind of road trip.

I wonder how much of this - the orbs, the timelines, the whole interdimensional mess - is new to her. If she’s struggling to keep up. If it shakes her as much as it does me. But I quickly decide I don’t give a shit. This is the second time in 24 hours I’ve shared a backseat with a vampire I hate, and I’m not doing this for her comfort.

Then, her voice cuts through.

"He’s going to smell us all coming, by the way," she says flatly, as if she’s talking about the weather.

I purse my lip. That was our other advantage - the element of surprise. He might expect a shapeshifter, possibly a couple of Coalition pals, but another vampire out of nowhere might’ve been enough to throw him off his game, even temporarily.

"Anything we can do to mitigate that?" Jordan asks.

Ava shrugs, her tone smug and unconcerned. "Realistically, once you’re in there - he’s not going to be sniffing too hard. If I stay back, I could get behind him."

"As if we’re going to let you-" Jordan begins, scowling sharply, but I interrupt.

"Fine," I say. "Jordan, stop the car. Ava, get out and walk."

There’s a beat of silence before the car brakes with a short squeal. The engine hums, stalled on the edge of resistance. Jordan shoots me a look that’s half disbelief and half betrayal, but she obeys the order.

Ava climbs out with no argument, no theatrics. She just steps into the night with deliberate ease, as if she were stepping out for a smoke break, not slipping into what could very easily be her last act. There’s nothing in her face. No smile. No glint. It’s blank in a way that sets my teeth on edge.

"I don’t trust her, Cassie," Jordan mutters as she pulls away again. "She’s just going to run off and we’re going to have to find her again."

"She won’t," I say. "Trust me, she’s as invested in this as I am."

Jordan doesn’t answer. The car is quiet again, but the tension has thickened - less sharp now, more ambient. Everyone’s scared, but nobody dares admit it. My brain starts working overtime. Even with Ava slipping in from behind, it’s not enough. A straight brawl ends in blood. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. And probably someone I care about.

Jordan must sense it too, because after a long beat she says, "I can still call George, by the way. Get Tommy or some other agent over. This is becoming a serious threat."

It’s a tempting offer. Because as incompetent as The Coalition are, she’s right. They would be willing to throw numbers at this problem until it goes away. But selfishly, I can’t help but worry what happens afterwards. Because when the questions start getting asked, it’ll become apparent that I inadvertently helped create him.

And when they find out that Lexi and The Duck crew know about me, and all of this supernatural stuff, what’s going to happen to them? Worst case scenario, they get locked in a cell somewhere. Like Wendy. Best case scenario? Their memory gets wiped, which erases all of the progress that I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours. I might never see them again.

Oh. Hello.

"I have a better idea," I say, straightening in my seat as the adrenaline clicks into place. "I need you to drop me off at The Duck and then go back to my room. Wafer Man, you can open my door. Jordan, you can help if there’s any trouble getting in the building. There’s something I need you to get for me. One last wildcard in play."

Wayfarer’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas. "You know how much I love a wildcard, babes."

Jordan frowns, clearly choosing to zero in on the weakest point. "Leave you alone with him? Are you sure that’s wise?"

"He’s not going to kill me," I say, forcing myself to keep eye contact. "At least, not immediately. He’s doing this because he wants to humiliate me, Jordan. He can’t do that if I’m dead. Which means that I’m going to be the safest one in that room. I just need to stall him until you get back."

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t argue either. The tension in the car shifts again - more uncertain now, like the seconds before a jump from a too-high ledge.

"I can get Tommy down here in twenty minutes," she says. "That’s surely going to-"

"We don’t have time," I cut in, sharper this time. "But this is going to work."

I hesitate, then force the words out like a promise to myself.

"It has to."

"God speed, Cassio."

 

---

 

It’s 1am by the time we reach The Duck, and I climb out of the car - despite Jordan’s stubborn disagreement. From the outside, it looks closed: lights off, curtains drawn, the façade of peace. But I can feel it. Something is wrong. The shadows lean too deliberately, the air feels staged. Like someone dressed the pub for a funeral.

As the car drives away, leaving me alone on the pavement, I take a moment to breathe. To check myself. I’ve run through face options a dozen times - wondered if showing up as Isabelle might signal surrender, earn some tactical mercy. But no. Tonight, I am Cassie. And I stay Cassie.

I push the door open and step inside my happy place - and it’s exactly as sinister and fucked-up as I feared.

The room is lit by candles. Just a few. Spread across a long, makeshift banquet table built from shoved-together bar tables. The scattered glow throws strange shadows up the walls, casting warped reflections of chair legs and twisted bodies. The air is thick with the stale smell of rot and blood - or maybe just nerves. My throat tightens.

Three chairs are occupied.

One - set off from the others - holds what remains of Paul. Or at least, I think it’s Paul. His body slumps, neck folded unnaturally to one side like a broken doll. There’s fresh blood dripping in thin rivulets down his chest, matting the edges of torn flesh. Bone glints under the wound. I look away. It hurts too much.

He was a moron, said some stupid shit, and lacked common sense - but he didn’t deserve this. And I did this to him.

But I can’t dwell. Because front and centre, dressed like the climax of a deranged cabaret, sits Lexi.

She looks transformed. Painted and posed like someone else's idea of beautiful. Her hair’s been curled, face traced with eyeliner and pink gloss, a red silk dress clinging to her frame - too revealing, too theatrical. It would’ve been stunning, if it didn’t make my stomach twist. She looks terrified. Somebody’s plaything. Her eyes scream the truth even as her mouth stays locked shut.

Next to her, hand resting delicately on her shoulder like he owns her, is Martin. Clean-shaven. Polished. Dressed in a fitted black suit that belongs on a magazine cover. But beneath it, he’s still rotting. His skin has that off-tone sheen, too smooth in some places, paper-thin in others. The scars around his throat pulse faintly, a grotesque echo of how he died.

His smile is manicured. But I can see the sickness underneath.

"Good evening, Cassandra," he says smoothly, voice curled into the fake warmth of a dinner party host. "I’m glad you could join us. Please, take a seat."

I glance at the chairs he gestures toward - opposite him and Lexi - but don’t move. Not yet. I’m here to stall. I need every second I can steal.

"Not until you tell me what you did with the others. Rico and Elias."

His smile doesn’t drop, but there’s a flicker behind the eyes. "They’re locked in the back room," he says with a casual shrug, as if the question was quaint. "Please, Cassandra. I’m not stupid. Killing your friends would make you... difficult. If you behave, no one gets hurt."

"I don’t believe you."

He sighs and turns to Lexi. "Alexandra, could you please tell your friend that I’m telling the truth?"

Lexi nods - barely. A twitch. Her eyes don’t meet mine, but I can see it’s true. They’re alive. At least, for now. But she looks more scared than I’ve ever seen her.

"Good girl. So, Cassandra, I’ve made myself clear - do what I ask and nobody gets hurt. Now, I’m asking you to take a seat."

I grit my teeth and walk across the creaky wooden floor - each step seeming louder than the last, echoing like a countdown. The boards compress beneath me in ways I’ve never noticed before, as if the building itself resents my return. I reach for the nearest chair, dragging it out with a groan that feels somehow accusatory, and lower myself into it - eyes locked not on Martin, but on Lexi.

She looks fragile, her composure held together with string. Her hands are clenched tightly in her lap, her shoulders high, as if any movement might shatter her. Her makeup is smudged just slightly, like she rubbed her eyes and tried not to cry. She's holding it together for me, and it breaks my fucking heart.

"She doesn’t need to be here, Martin," I say, my voice taut. "You want me, don’t you? Let her and the others go. This is between us."

"Cass, I’m not leaving," Lexi says before he can answer - her voice surprisingly strong, even as it trembles.

Martin smiles at that, a slow, delighted curl of the lips. He chuckles, rich and indulgent, like he’s just tasted something expensive. "And rightly so, Alexandra. Because my dear Cassandra is wrong. This, very much, does concern you. You are, after all, the one that corrupted her. The one that took her from me. And so, I think it’s important that we are open with each other, don’t you?"

"Die," she spits, and I see her whole body tense as the word escapes.

He laughs, shaking his head, and turns his full attention back to me. "Besides, while she’s here - I know that you won’t do anything stupid. I know you, darling, and I know how... self-destructive you can be. She’s my insurance."

My fists ball beneath the table, my nails biting into my palms. In the chill of this place, even that tiny bit of warmth feels like betrayal. Wendy’s voice swims into my head: "You're only as strong as the most vulnerable person in the room." She wasn’t wrong. Read me like a fucking book on that very first night together. I bite down on my rage, hold it in my chest like a scream that might escape.

"Fine," I say, eyes never leaving Lexi. I can’t afford to blink, not even now. "What do you want?"

"I want to play a game, Cassandra."

"How very Jigsaw."

He scoffs. "Oh, please. I’m trying to be serious with you. You can put the quips to rest. No. The game that I want to play is one that you’ll be very familiar with, I’m sure. I bet you’ve played Truth or Dare before?"

I scoff again, but my jaw’s already tight. "Seriously? How perverted."

"Speak back to me again, and I’ll rip off one of her fingers."

He says it with terrifying calm, and the effect is instant. Lexi flinches - hard - and curls her hands under the table as if protecting them from view might make them untouchable. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no sound comes out. She’s trying to stay strong, but her eyes are glassy.

I feel the chair tremble beneath me as my whole body tenses.

"Fine. Let’s play."

"Good girl," he says, starting to pace behind the line of candles. His movement is stiff, like his limbs are still learning how to function - an uncanny mimicry of grace that makes my skin crawl. "The rules are simple. You get to pick truth or dare. If you refuse to do as asked, then I will hurt poor Alexandra. The game ends when I get bored."

So that’s it, then. We play until he gets bored and then he kills us.

"I understand," I say, forcing the words out. My eyes never leave Lexi’s face. I want her to see it - that whatever happens next, however long this lasts - I’m here. I will not let him touch her again.

I just have to stall long enough for help to arrive.

"Excellent. Well, Cassandra, let’s not wait any longer - it is getting late, after all. Would you like a truth, or would you like a dare?"

There’s only one strategy in this game. A strategy that everybody who plays it knows all too well.

"Truth."

He rolls his eyes. "How daring. You used to be so much more exciting. My Isabelle would’ve chosen a dare with the biggest grin on her face."

"She’s not here any more."

"Evidently."

For a moment, the temperature in the room seems to drop further. The candlelight wavers slightly, casting jagged shadows across Martin’s twisted smile. I brace myself, unsure if he’s about to lunge - but he doesn’t. He steadies himself, as if re-tightening the mask of civility he insists on wearing.

"But the truth is not easy for you either, Cassandra, is it? Because you’re hiding many secrets from your friend, aren’t you? Tell her about what you can do, tell her about-"

He doesn’t get to finish. Because Lexi breaks out into sudden, unexpected laughter. It bubbles out of her, sharp and bright and wrong. She leans forward to hide her face on the table, her shoulders shaking. The sound is hysterical, defiant - and all I can do is follow her lead. A few seconds of absurd relief crack through the tension, a brief collapse beneath the weight of grief and fear. I laugh, too - not because any of this is funny, but because if we don’t, we’ll break.

"Why are you laughing?" Martin says, posture snapping upright, thrown by the reaction. "Stop it, right now. Or else."

Our laughter fades into a strained silence, slow and uneven.

"We’re laughing because she already told me, dickhead," Lexi says, lifting her face, her voice sharp with venom. "And I don’t give a shit."

"Oh, really?" Martin replies, eyebrows lowering as he prowls closer. "She told you everything? She told you about how she can change her face? How she’s been lying to you, pretending to be a normal little tranny? How she’s been cosplaying for you, ever since you first went on a date together?"

Lexi nods. "Yes."

But her eyes flinch - just a flicker. Not enough for most people to notice. But enough for me. And, unfortunately, enough for him.

"Oh, she didn’t tell you about that last part, did she?" he says, voice dripping with triumph. "Did you think your first time meeting her was at this pub? That Cassandra was the first face that you ever met?"

Lexi turns to me, wide-eyed - panic surging behind her irises. Her expression is raw, as if her foundations have started to split open. The question burns through her with clarity: is it true? And the answer - written all over my face - wounds her before I can even open my mouth.

"Lexi..."

"Cass, what does he mean?" she whispers, her voice cracking like glass under pressure.

The sound of it hits harder than anything I’ve ever known. My throat tightens, a dull ache pulsing in my chest, as if the air itself has turned into smoke. Her voice echoes inside me - fractured and trembling, like the last plea of someone trying to stay above water.

"It wasn’t like that," I say, my voice barely more than a rasp. "We went on one date... way before we met for real. You taught me what being trans was and it opened my eyes. It helped me find Cassie. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Meeting you here was a complete coincidence, I swear."

"Why wouldn’t you tell me?" she asks, her voice barely audible. It doesn’t accuse - it mourns.

I try to speak, but the words catch like broken glass in my throat. Guilt swallows me whole. For a moment, I feel like a monster. Like maybe I really do deserve all of this. But I look at her - scared and confused and still clinging to hope - and I know she doesn’t.

Before I can say more, Martin claps his hands together with gleeful delight, the candlelight catching the scar matrix around his neck in a glint. He spins once, theatrical and twitching, like a cartoon villain who’s just opened a prize.

"See, girls, this is such a fun game, isn’t it? I’m having a blast. Are you ready to go again, Cassandra? Truth or Dare?"

So this is the game. Even if he doesn’t kill Lexi - which, let’s be clear, is still very much on the cards - his goal is to destroy us. Piece by piece. Maybe he believes that breaking Lexi will somehow win me back. Or maybe he’s just petty enough to gut me emotionally before he guts me literally. Whatever his reasons, I see the strategy for what it is. And I know the only one I can play in return.

"Truth," I say, the word clipped and firm, even as my stomach coils and my throat dries out.

Lexi flinches at that, barely suppressing a gasp. Her fingers twitch against her knees and she won’t meet my gaze - terrified, now, not of him... but of what I might say next.

Martin beams like a conductor before the orchestra, animated and near trembling with excitement. I can practically see him vibrating. He doesn’t have any more existential bombs to drop - not like the last one - but he has a whole archive of humiliations and scars to pick at from our time together.

And yet, somehow, he goes for something deeper.

He seats himself, leans forward, eyes flicking between Lexi and me. His tongue wets his lips, and then: "What happened to the last woman that loved you?"

The question hits like a bullet to the sternum. My hands curl around the underside of the table, gripping so tightly the cheap wood splinters against my fingernails. My jaw locks, grinding teeth. And in my chest - a thunderous, echoing pulse. Wendy’s name isn’t even spoken yet, but it howls inside me. Her face. Her laugh. The way I’ve just... let her vanish. I never looked. I left her to rot, and now that shame billows up inside me like smoke from a fire I never dared put out. My brain maps Lexi’s face onto her body.

Lexi is staring at me, and this time it’s not just fear. It’s something worse. Her expression is cracking apart - brows drawn, eyes glistening - and it’s like watching a glass ornament fracture in slow motion. Something inside her is giving way.

Martin, meanwhile, seems delighted. "Cassandra, did you hear me?"

"I heard you," I snap, the words sharp as shattered glass.

"Then be a good girl and answer."

I turn my face to Lexi, ignoring the monster across from me. She needs the truth - or what little of it I have.

"I don’t know. The people who took me... they took her too. And I’ve never heard from her again."

Lexi lets out a brittle sound, somewhere between a sigh and a sob. "Cass... that’s awful. I’m... so sorry. What was her name?"

"Wendy." The name leaves me like a confession. "But I’m not going to let the same thing happen to you."

Before Lexi can respond, Martin scoffs. He strides closer and places a hand on her shoulder. I see her body tense, go rigid - but she doesn’t flinch or pull away. Maybe she’s already tried that. Maybe she knows better, now.

"Can you promise that, Cassandra?" His tone is venom-laced honey. "You think your little government friends are going to be thrilled with all the secrets you’ve spilled? You think she’s safe just because you want her to be?"

"I promise you, Lex-" I start, voice trembling with conviction.

But I don’t get to finish. Martin lunges and throws Lexi like a rag doll across the room.

She hits the far wall with a sound that turns my blood cold. A sickening, wet crack - not loud, but intimate in the silence. Her body slumps to the floor, limbs crumpling. She lets out a faint sound - not a scream, not even a proper cry. Just a quiet, shuddered whimper.

I bolt from my chair.

Martin is laughing, but I don’t hear him. I’m already at her side, falling to my knees and sliding my arms around her. She flinches, but she’s conscious. She’s breathing. There’s no blood. No bones at the wrong angles. A nasty scrape winds down her arm like spilled ink, but she’s alive. She’s here.

"Are you okay?" I ask, holding her gently as she shakes.

"What are we going to do, Cass?" she whispers, voice ragged with grief and pain. She sounds so young. So small.

I hold her tighter, feel her heartbeat against mine. "You heard him, Lex. We need to keep playing his game."

"I can’t keep playing, Cass," she murmurs. "The things he’s saying..."

"I know," I say, swallowing every ounce of guilt I have, "and we can talk about all of it afterwards. I promise."

Martin’s voice cuts through the distance like a scalpel. "What did I tell you about promising things, Cassandra?"

I stand. Slowly. Deliberately. And turn. There’s no table between us now.

"Touch her again," I say, my voice like steel dragged through ash, "and you’ll have to just fucking kill me, because I won’t be playing any more of your games. How’s that for a promise, dickhead?"

He just rolls his eyes, the way a parent might dismiss a tantrum. "Oh, sit down - you petulant brat. I didn’t mean to hurt her. No need to be dramatic."

"I mean it, Martin."

He waves a hand toward the table like I’m a disobedient child and he’s tolerating me for now.

I glance back. Lexi has climbed to her feet, wobbling slightly, but standing strong - because she has to be.

"You good?" I ask.

"Good as I can be," she says, breath shaking.

I return to my seat. I don’t slump. I don’t relax. I plant my elbows, brace my hands on the table, and look Martin dead in the eye. He hasn’t beaten me. He won’t. He never will.

Lexi gives me a concerned look, and I try to meet it with something reassuring - something steady - but all I can manage is a weak nod. I can't tell her that help is coming. I can’t tell her that this is all just a stalling tactic. Martin needs to think I’ve surrendered, that I’m playing only to keep her breathing - not both of us.

"Good girl. Truth or Dare, Cassandra?"

"Truth."

Martin tilts his head and takes a step forward, resting a hand on the table far too close to Lexi. "You can’t pick it three times in a row, my love."

I swallow a protest, even as my fists twitch beneath the table. The last time I snapped back, Lexi paid the price. That can’t happen again.

"Fine," I say tightly. "I choose a dare, then."

His chuckle is soft, slow, almost erotic in its affectation. Like a villain savouring the final lines of a play. He drifts behind Lexi again, his hands settling on her shoulders like cold weights. She shivers beneath them, but doesn’t rise. Doesn’t speak.

"I want to see her bleed," he says, dreamlike.

"No. She doesn’t get hurt," I bark, the words sharp and dry on my tongue, already bracing for the worst.

"She won’t get hurt," he says, his lips curling into a smile like smoke. "I want to see her bleed. I don’t want her to bleed."

I frown, confused. "Martin, with all respect, what the fuck are you talking about?"

He lifts an eyebrow, giving me that patronising silence - the kind that dares me to solve his riddle. But it’s Lexi who speaks first, her voice low and trembling. "He means you, Cass," she whispers. "It’s like Rico said. You can look like me, can’t you?"

I shake my head, laughing a little too hard - brittle, embarrassed. "No, I can’t impersonate people. Not properly. It would be a crude imitation at best."

"That’s even more fun," Martin croons, releasing Lexi to glide closer. "We get to see how your pathetic little mind really sees her." His words linger like the stink of rot. "Do you see that faint trace of an Adam’s apple like I do? Her hairline? Her hands?" He grins, toothy and raw. "Have you been silently judging your little friend all along, Cassandra? Because I certainly have."

I’m on my feet before I even realise it. "Shut up."

Lexi’s voice cuts through the room like a wire. "Cass, it’s fine. This is what he wants."

"I don’t care," I snap. "Even if it’s bullshit, I don’t want him talking to you like that."

Martin purrs: "Then prove it, Cassandra. Turn your body into hers. Let’s see her through your eyes."

"No."

"I won’t ask again, Cassandra."

"It’s fine, Cass. Just do it," Lexi says, her voice trying hard to sound strong - but I can see how tightly she’s gripping the table, how her knuckles pale under the strain.

"I said no."

I can’t do it. Lexi can say it’s okay, but that doesn’t stop it being the ultimate violation. Yes, I’ve worn people’s skin before, but those weren’t people that I knew. Taking the form of a factory farmer is very different to taking the form of your best friend. And once she’s seen me like that, once she’s seen that it’s possible - how can she ever trust me again? I don’t know if I would be able to trust somebody if they had that power over me.

And there’s some truth to what he’s saying. Despite my love of Lexi Fontaine, I haven’t stood there and measured all of her proportions. I will be a crude imitation, and the specificity of that crudeness will reveal a lot about myself. Things that I don’t know if I’m ready to confront. Because I’m not scared of transforming and looking like a bastardisation of her - I’m scared of transforming and looking divine. Of showing Lexi how I really see her; a version of her that she’ll, ultimately, never be able to live up to.

I’m terrified she’d never forgive me for seeing her that way.

The candles flicker around us, bending toward some invisible wind, and for a moment I can see Lexi - really see her - back on that night outside the pub, when we cried in each other’s arms even as we swore we hated one another. Even then, we were there. Even then, we held each other.

I won’t ruin that. Not for him. Not for anyone.

I take a deep breath and look up at Lexi’s desperate face.

"I’m sorry, Lex," I say, before transforming...

But it’s not the transformation Martin asked for.

Instead, I bulk the muscle in my arms - flesh hardening, expanding, until I can feel the fibres tighten against my skin - and shove the tables toward him with everything I’ve got. The jolt up my arms is sharp, but controlled, and for a moment it feels powerful. Too powerful. I’ve fired early. I can’t beat him alone, and I’ve just sacrificed our one useful tactic: stalling.

The tables crash into Martin’s torso, the legs scraping violently across the floorboards. He stumbles, off-balance, but far from defeated. The candles on the table clatter to the ground - some snuffed instantly, others flickering where wax spills across the wood. The room stinks of smoke and rot. Martin snarls and then vanishes.

"Bad girl."

The voice slithers in from the other side of the room, and I whirl around just in time to see his arms locking around Lexi’s throat. Fuck. The air in the room sharpens. I lunge, but he’s too quick - his shadow-walking has placed him directly behind her.

Lexi’s face contorts in terror. She wrestles and kicks, gasping, but he holds her tight against his chest, his grin stretching with glee.

"Let go of her, Martin," I growl, circling. He paces too, dragging her with him - keeping her between us like a hostage shield. Every footstep on the warped floorboards creaks loud enough to punch through the tension.

"I tried," he says, tone now faux-patient. "I was going to let her go if you played the game. But... there need to be consequences."

"You won’t do it," I say, though my voice falters. "Kill her and you lose all control over me."

He scoffs. "I don’t care about you anymore, dear. Do you think you’re special? There are thousands of girls like you out there, desperate to be played with. You were fun while you lasted, but the fun part’s over - you’re broken now. Let’s go out on a high note and-"

He doesn’t finish. A blur of motion explodes out of the flickering dark - a fist connects with his jaw, and the sickening crack is followed by the unmistakable sound of Martin being hurled backwards.

Ava.

She emerges from the shadows like a spectre, the candlelight casting her in jerky, strobing frames. She looks barely human, her eyes burning, every motion seeming to skip a beat - like a corrupted reel of film.

Martin drops Lexi on instinct, snarling as he regains balance. She hits the floor with a thud, trembling, tears running down her cheeks, but she’s alive - thank god, she’s alive. I’m not fast enough to catch her fall, but I’m beside her in seconds, wrapping an arm around her, shielding her body with mine.

"Ah, I was wondering if you were going to show up!" he says, spitting on the ground. "Ampire, right? I must say, I’m a fan of your work, but these two are mine tonight."

"What?" Lexi whimpers, blinking at Ava in disbelief, clearly not understanding the events that are unfolding.

"No," Ava says, her voice like a blade, as she faces Martin. "You don’t hurt her."

I barely register Martin towering over her - because for one stupid second, I feel something like gratitude. Like we’re fighting the same battle, side by side. All the hatred I felt toward her dissolves in the face of shared purpose: save Lexi.

"That’s a shame," Martin replies with a sigh, then disappears again - reappearing behind Ava before I can shout.

"Watch out!" I scream, but it’s too late.

His fist crashes into her back, sending her flying across the room and into a table with a splintering crack. Ava cries out - shrill and sharp - but rolls quickly to her feet. She’s fine. Still standing. Still in the fight.

I turn away. I can’t afford to watch. Lexi’s still breathing against me, and that’s all that matters. I help her to her feet, arm tightly wound around her waist as we limp toward the back door - toward the illusion of safety.

But Ava’s voice cuts through the chaos.

"You can’t run," she says.

Her words freeze me mid-step. I close my eyes, dread sinking to the pit of my stomach. She’s right.

We can’t leave. We can’t beat him in the night.

The shadows are his kingdom - his weapon. As long as darkness remains, he’ll be everywhere. Around corners. Under tables. Behind our backs. Running only gives him more places to appear.

The room falls into a cold silence.

Ava doesn’t move. Martin doesn’t speak. Lexi breathes, shaking against me. We need light. How the fuck are we going to get light?

I glance up at the busted ceiling lights, then down at the flickering candles. A thought - just for a moment - passes through me: set the place on fire. But it’s stupid. The light wouldn’t be enough, and I’d be gambling our lives on a blaze I can’t control. No. There has to be another way. A smarter way. My hand, still wrapped around Lexi, twists until my palm faces me, and I focus. Hard.

There’s a solution here. I know it. I can feel it somewhere inside me - I just have to find the right configuration. My cells hum, restless. Waiting.

"You don’t need to fight me," Martin says, still circling Ava in a blur of shadow and tension. "My fight isn’t with you, darling."

Ava spits on the floor. "Then you should’ve left Lexi alone."

I can’t watch the fight that ensues, I’m too busy concentrating on myself on a cellular level. But in the corner of my eye, I see blurs - as both of them move around the room at impossible speeds, trying to grapple at each other, but slinking out of each other’s way just in time. It’s impossible to see which way things are going, until there’s a whelp and I look up to see Martin holding Ava in a headlock. Great.

"Fancy helping, Cassie?" Ava says, her voice making it clear how much effort she’s putting in to fight back against the bigger man’s clear attempts to snap her neck.

"One minute," I mutter, too focused to sound apologetic.

I hear her scoff - an eye roll, practically audible - but I’m close. So close. My palm illuminates, glowing a soft yellow light, and then a bright white one. Bioluminescence, bitches. I take a deep breath and spin around. This is going to hurt in a way that makes the iSight incident look like a bee sting.

"Cassie, I-" Ava starts to say, but stops, because I’ve already turned around.

And because I’m nothing if not extra - even in times like these - my eyes are already glowing bright white, shooting beams like torches into the room, lighting up a confused Martin, who evidently hadn’t yet considered that my abilities go beyond putting on pretty little faces for him.

"What the f-"

"Smile," I say, kicking myself immediately because I definitely will think of something cooler later. And then I go.

Every cell ignites, flooding the room with searing white light. It feels like burning and cracking, like my body is tearing itself apart from the inside out. It’s draining - unspeakably so - as if I’m consuming myself cell by cell just to keep the light going.

The darkness recoils violently, shadows screaming into the walls before vanishing altogether.

Martin squints, shielding his face, momentarily blinded. It’s all Ava needs - she breaks free, stumbling away from him with a ragged breath. The light doesn’t burn them, but it negates his movement advantage, meaning that when he and Ava re-enter a scuffle, she seems to connect many more blows than she did previously.

I would punch the air in celebration - hell, I would run over there and get some punches in myself - but I can’t do anything but hold it. I can’t even turn to Lexi, though that might be because I’m terrified of how she might be looking at me. It’s one thing to know that I can change faces. It’s another to know that I can body horror myself into something so inhuman.

"Get the boys," I manage, my voice flat and cold from the effort. No urgency. Just survival.

"Cass-" Lexi’s voice trembles with concern.

"Please," I say, eyes forward, body trembling under the strain. "I’ll be fine."

I don’t look. I don’t know if she listens. I just keep going.

My vision starts to blur at the edges. My skin screams as cells burn through what little energy I have left. Still, I hold. Still, I shine. In the distance, Martin and Ava resume their fight - no longer darting through shadows, but meeting blow for blow in full clarity. He tries to lunge, but Ava blocks. He goes for the front door - she cuts him off. He thinks about Lexi - I see it - but she’s gone. Or I hope she is.

It’s a stalemate. One I can’t hold for long. Martin’s playing for time just as much as I am.

They seem to step away from each other, giving a little bit of space for more shit-talking.

"I’m going to kill you," he snarls to her, no longer offering the option of escape. "And then I’m going to kill your tranny girlfriend. And I’m going to kill that freak over there. You can fight it, but you can’t stop it."

She lunges for him, and at the same time as she connects a satisfying blow - there’s the sound of a door clicking open and a high-pitched breath of relief from Lexi. I hear her guiding Elias and Rico out, both of them sounding weak - whether from fear or something more physical, I can’t look around to check. I don’t have the energy. Holding on is everything now. Not just to the light - but to consciousness itself.

The thrumming of light pulses around me like blood in my temples. My eyes keep drooping, teasing me with how satisfying it would be to just close them - just for a second. But I resist. The migraine in my skull deepens, pressure swelling behind my eyes, dulling every sense but the pain. The light’s dimming. We’re running out of time.

"Get out of here," I say, hoping they can hear me over the buzzing in my skull. I’m not even sure I’m speaking loud enough.

The glow stutters, flickering like a dying bulb, and I feel Lexi’s arm wrap around me this time. Elias and Rico join her, the weight of all three of them anchoring me in place - returning the favour from earlier. But it doesn’t help. Because the fight is happening inside of me, somewhere buried in my cells. My body is eating itself just to keep this light going.

"Cass, we’re not going to leave you," she says, her voice close, too close, trying to be reassuring - but it’s the worst thing she could possibly say.

"Go, please."

"Cass..."

"Out the back door. There should be a man coming from nearby. He can help you get away. Please..."

"Promise me you’ll be okay."

Another blink. The room swims in and out of focus. I steady my breath. "I’ll be fine."

She gives me one last tight hug, and then I feel their weight shift away. My body registers the absence, but my mind holds onto them longer. I clutch the image of them, still safe, still moving. I let the thought of them being hurt fuel me. Let that desperation become the thing that’s converted into energy.

I picture them - the people that I’ve helped. Lexi, the boys, Juno, Esmeralda, Rho, Natasha. Hell, I even picture fucking Sadie Cross. I’m doing it for them. I’m letting my body burn for them. And when I’ve burned through the fuel of love, I turn to something darker. I think of Margaret. Ishani. Graham. Sophie Moreau. I think of Mother’s Day and Soror and the goddamn entirety of the Coalition. I picture the girl I let down - the one I don’t remember but who I know I hurt.

And I let that hatred feed me too. Because I’m going to stop them all. As soon as I’m done stopping this prick.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, locked in this feedback loop of hope and spite, but it’s Ava’s sound that rips me out of it. A horrible, guttural noise of impact and pain. The world stutters back into focus just in time for me to see her get walloped in the head by Martin’s fist. She crashes into the wall like a doll flung from a height, and doesn’t get back up.

Martin stands there for a little longer, panting and posturing, his expression reeking of smug satisfaction. Ava isn’t moving. Not yet. She just lies there, next to Paul - probably still alive, but out of the fight for at least a few minutes.

My light begins to stutter. A final flicker, then nothing - cells snapping back into normality like popped balloons. The energy doesn’t return with them. There’s no payoff. Just numbness. My knees buckle and I collapse to the floor, all feeling draining from my limbs. My breath comes ragged and too shallow, my chest barely rising and falling. Aerobic respiration is useless when there’s nothing left to pull from.

I don’t know if Lexi and the others made it to Wayfarer. I hope they did. I hope she didn’t look back.

Once he’s satisfied that Ava isn’t getting up anytime soon, Martin turns his attention to me - the only presence left in the pub. The only threat.

"Well, that was exciting," he says, grinning, but there’s a subtle shake in his voice now, an edge of instability creeping in. For the first time, he looks like someone who’s been forced to sweat. Someone who’d assumed this would be easy.

"Go fuck yourself," I say, for the fifteenth time - this time, hoarse and ragged, every syllable cracked with exhaustion.

He sighs and shakes his head like he’s genuinely heartbroken. "We were going to have so much fun, Isabelle. We really were. How can you blame me for any of this? You gave me a bite at perfection and then snatched it all away to chase some nonsense fantasies. Was I supposed to just accept that? Was I supposed to move on? To pretend that there wasn’t still some part of you that wanted to be mine? I know you, Isabelle, and I know that you never stopped-"

"It’s over! We’re over!" I scream, the effort to raise my voice sending white-hot pain down my throat as I claw my way up onto all fours. My muscles scream, my spine arches - but I don’t get far. His boot presses down hard between my shoulder blades, slamming me back to the floor like a bug under glass.

"You’re right," he says, letting out a sigh that sounds almost peaceful. "It is over, dear. I’m going to consume your soul now. You’ll be a lifeless husk, unable to resist me anymore. Though I’m hoping that I can leave just enough of you to still be there - watching, unable to do anything but die inside as I kill all of your friends in front of you. What do you think about that?"

"As I’ve said, Martin. Go f-"

I don’t get to finish the sixteenth, because the pub explodes. Not literally, but close enough - the air tears itself apart in a roar of thunder and a flash of blinding light. My ears ring violently. The whole room lurches sideways as my balance shatters.

Martin crashes backward, slamming against the floor with a grunt of pain, his mouth bloodied. I blink away the afterimage, heart pounding. I already know what happened before I even see her.

Standing in the doorway - shoulders squared, face focused - is Jordan, her hands wrapped tightly around a shotgun that’s still humming from the shot. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t gloat. She’s here to end this.

She’s alone, which means Wayfarer succeeded. Lexi, Elias, and Rico are safe - or as safe as they can be. I feel the air catch in my lungs.

We make eye contact just long enough for her to toss something toward me - a small silver rod, no bigger than a pen. I catch it instinctively, the metal cool in my palm, and collapse again, adrenaline only barely enough to keep me conscious. My body screams for stillness, for oxygen, for sleep. But there’s no time.

Martin’s already up. Bleeding, yes - but not staggered. His grin is ugly and wide as he vanishes into the shadows and reappears an instant later in front of Jordan, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the wall. She chokes, her boots scraping the floor, the shotgun clattering to the ground beside her.

She hadn’t planned for a second shot.

I can’t watch this. She’s going to die. He’s going to kill her and I’m too far away, and I can’t move - but I still have one card left.

I bite down hard and shift.

It’s shameful, especially with Jordan watching. Especially after I promised myself I wouldn’t. But I’ve run out of strategies. So I become Isabelle - the one from Monday night. My body twists into her familiar elegance: silky black hair, high cheekbones, delicate pale skin. A face I’d long buried. A face he loves.

He’s not looking at me yet. But when I speak - with her voice - he freezes.

"Truth or Dare, Sir?"

The transformation has him. He eases his grip just enough for Jordan to crumple to the floor, coughing but alive. My breath is shallow. My knees shake.

His eyes snap to me, guarded and suspicious. "I’m not going to fall for your tricks anymore, bitch."

"Please," I whisper, channelling everything pathetic and breathless I can muster. I don’t need to act. I’m barely breathing. "What you said about the soul thing... it sounded... so fucking hot..."

He hesitates. A flicker of something dark and pleased passes over his face.

"It does, doesn’t it? Think of the potential, Isabelle. I could do anything to you. Make you watch me do anything. You’d be completely helpless, unable to resist. Unable to ever run away again. The ultimate dollification."

"Please, Sir, I can’t wait another moment. Let’s do it."

He smiles, eyes alight with cruel glee. His joy looks almost childish. "Very well."

And then he’s on top of me, pinning my shoulders down. Exactly where I need him. His weight sinks onto my chest as his fingers clamp my wrists, pressing me hard into the floor. But I don’t flinch. I can’t. This is the last play I have - and it has to work.

I raise the rod-

But he swats it from my hand with a sharp flick, laughing - louder than before, filled with a victorious euphoria. It clatters across the wooden floor and rolls against my legs.

"Do you think I’m stupid?" he sneers, pressing his knees against my thighs now, immobilising me entirely. "That I’m so desperate and horny that I’d believe such a U-turn from you? All you’ve achieved, Isabelle, is giving your friend over there an extra minute of life in exchange for a minute of yours."

Panic claws at my chest, but I hold it steady, letting focus override fear. I concentrate on my legs - on absorbing the rod into them, guiding it between layers of muscle and sinew. He hasn’t noticed.

"I don’t know what the aim of that trick was... what that little device of yours does, but I knew you were up to something. Do you know why, Isabelle? Because I’m smart and you’re dumb. I’m something and you’re nothing."

The rod snakes up my body now - cold, scraping, skimming the edge of vital blood vessels. Each pulse of movement feels like it could rupture me if I’m even slightly off. I feel it brushing against my windpipe. My jaw tightens, and I pray my expression stays blank.

"You’re nothing but a worthless failure. Too weak to be a man, too weak to be a woman. You exist only to please people like me, Isabelle. And I’m going to help you fulfil that purpose."

He leans in closer. His face is a grotesque portrait of blood and drool, scar-twisted lips curled in sick anticipation. His eyes blaze - not with fire, but with something worse. Pure evil. I’ve never seen him so fully unmasked.

"You’ve forgotten one thing," I manage, my breath staggered from the tightness in my throat and the sting of exhaustion in every limb.

He sighs. "And what’s that?"

"Everything," I choke out - and then shove the rod up into my mouth, just far enough for the tip to shine past my teeth.

I click it with my tongue.

A white flash floods the space between us, and he lurches back with a strangled noise of shock. The rod hums against the roof of my mouth - awkward, foreign, but oddly satisfying as it fires again. I yank it free and grip it in my hand, not even looking at him now.

Click. Click. Click.

Each burst of white light punches out into his face as I press the button over and over, filling the air with sharp mechanical snaps and my own hoarse, furious screaming. With each click, he loses memories. It’s the same rod that I used to wipe my memory after the Sadie kiss. The one used by the Trowkin in Stirling. The one that’s been sat on my bedside awkwardly since.

I don’t plead or reason or cry. I just scream. I scream for every moment he made me feel like nothing. For every second he tried to own me. For the parts of me he stole and for the parts I took back. I scream for everything he buried inside me.

Click. Click. Click.

The light throws long shadows across the ruined pub. I can’t tell how much he’s forgotten. I don’t care. He’ll forget me. He’ll forget Lexi. He’ll forget this. I’ll click the goddamn thing until there’s nothing left in his head but static.

Click. Click.

Two hours per press, I need to make him forget at least two years. Maybe three. Let’s aim for 10,000. I don’t care how long it takes.

 

---

 

Jordan’s taken over the role of clicking, because I think it was going to make me insane. It’s just the two of us awake now - Ava still out cold, the others not yet returned - though Jordan has assured me they’re safe. That reassurance is about all we’ve managed to say to each other. The silence between us has held, heavy and buzzing with the static of everything we’ve just lived through. We sit shoulder to shoulder, neither of us quite ready to be alone, watching the rise and fall of Martin’s chest. His body twitches slightly in place, utterly stunned, eyes glassy and vacant. Dazed. Lifeless.

The silence holds until Jordan breaks it, her voice low and cautious, like she’s afraid she might shatter something fragile inside me.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, and against all odds, I find a small smile crawling onto my face - one that almost feels real. "I am. We did it. And nobody got hurt."

She gives me a tight, weary smile of her own, then nods subtly toward the other side of the room.

"I think Paul would disagree, Maisie."

The name stings for just a second. I let the smile drop, my chest hollowing a little with the weight of the correction. "Fuck, I forgot about Paul. I didn’t really know him that well..."

Jordan’s eyes flick toward him, her jaw clenched, tears glittering there but not falling. "Me neither. He was quiet. Did what he was told. Actually did it quite well."

"Yeah." I nod slowly, swallowing my guilt without knowing quite what to do with it. It’s not that I’m glad he’s dead. Just... numb. It’s wrong that I don’t feel more, and I know it. But I’m too tired to dig into that right now. Even my sorrow feels distant, like it's echoing down a hallway I can’t walk.

We lapse back into silence, Jordan’s finger still clicking steadily, rhythmically. It echoes sharply off the walls of the pub, which still smells faintly of blood and burnt wood. The air is heavy with something that hasn’t dissipated yet - some aftershock, some tension that still hums in the floorboards.

Eventually, she speaks again. "So... what happens now?"

It’s not a casual question. She’s not asking about what we’ll do tomorrow. She means them. Martin. Ava. She doesn’t say their names, but I hear them just the same. One a monster who’s forgotten himself. The other a woman teetering at the edge of monstrosity, with a long trail of fire behind her.

The easy answer - the Coalition answer - is clear. Sedate them. Send them to Edinburgh. Let them rot. She’d sleep better that way, I think. Most people would.

I glance toward Martin. Still stunned. Twitching slightly, as though struggling to catch up with the world. He’ll wake up soon, unaware of what he is. Unaware of everything he’s done. He’ll be a blank slate - except it’s not blank. It’s cracked and volatile. And if we let him roam free, he’ll fall down the same holes that he did previously. Because how can a man like him not?

"He needs to be locked away forever," I say, my voice steady but low. "He was dangerous before he became a vampire, and he’s going to keep being dangerous. He’s beyond redemption."

She nods, but I can tell there’s tension buried in her shoulders - something unspoken, uncomfortable. That surprises me.

"And the other?"

I grimace. "That’s more complicated, Jordan. I don’t feel right just abandoning her."

"Forget the fact that she helped us," she says, though her voice wobbles slightly. "Remember the people that she hurt. What would they want?"

And I do. I haven’t stopped thinking about those faces - the trans women whose lives were cut short by her hands. Yes, Ava has brainworms. Yes, her motivations are so stupid that they’re downright laughable. But her actions had real, permanent consequences. Grief that’s still spreading. Pain that doesn’t disappear. Whatever led her there, she still caused it.

"She doesn’t deserve to get away with it," I say, the words jagged in my throat. It burns to say it. It’s not what I want - but I can’t pretend otherwise. My chest aches with guilt, my body heavy with the weight of something that feels like mourning, like anger, like justice twisted out of shape.

So what does she deserve?

"She needs to be put away," I continue, each word measured and hard-won, "but not forever." I brace myself, half-expecting Jordan to push back.

She shifts, the tension in her shoulders rising. Her mouth opens just slightly, but I don’t give her the space.

"She needs help. Proper help. And then she might be an asset to us."

"Maisie," Jordan says carefully, watching me like I’m a wounded animal. "You know that neither you nor I have the power to make that decision. It’s going to be Graham’s call, and with Moreau in the wings..."

"We can try," I say, jaw tightening. "Maybe it doesn’t work. Maybe we look stupid. But we have to try. As much as I loathe her, she’s been failed in the same way that I’ve been failed, and I can’t stand by and let her rot."

The bitterness in my voice surprises even me - resentment that lives just beneath my skin. I think of the corridors of the Coalition facility, of bright lights and handcuffs and whispered slurs. She and I, we’re both the collateral damage of a world that only tolerates us when we’re useful.

Jordan exhales slowly and nods, her face still uncertain. She’s not convinced, but she’s out of alternatives.

"Fine. We can try. I can speak to Graham and-"

"I’ll do it."

That gets her attention. Her eyebrow rises, curious. "Okay..."

She shifts the subject. "And back to him. Are you really okay with him getting such a harsh punishment? If he doesn’t remember doing it, does it really count?"

I can’t help but give a deflated smirk as I look down at myself. I might be the only person in the world qualified to give an answer to that. About whether doing something heinous and not being able to recall it is an excuse.

I nod my head slowly, but the answer is steady. "Yes. It still counts."

She nods again, but I know she sees it - the way I wince as I say it. That this isn’t just about Martin. That the question scraped open something deeper.

She reiterates her earlier question. "Are you okay?"

I manage a tired smile, small but real. "I will be."

 

---

 

The sun is coming up by the time I see Lexi Fontaine again. Jordan took the two vampires - neither of them fully conscious - and left me in the darkness of The Duck, where I floated in and out of sleep. The floor of the pub has never been a particularly pleasant texture - grimy and sticky in places, thick with the scent of stale alcohol and faint blood - but at this level of tiredness, I was grateful for any surface at all. At least it wasn’t the floor of The Vers.

My body aches, worn out from the light show, and the aftermath is pulsing in every cell. I can’t even imagine trying to do that again - at least not for a long time. Everything inside me feels scraped raw. Used up.

I vaguely become aware of somebody spooning with me at some point, but I’m too far gone to bother thinking too much about it. It’s warm. It’s safe. I just let it happen - until I slowly surface from sleep, my consciousness dragging back into place like a reluctant swimmer breaking the surface of a still pond. One eye open, I speak out to the mysterious person whose arms I lie in.

"Hello?"

The very awake voice of Lexi startles me. "Sorry, the others didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t think I could leave you here. You looked sad."

Her voice is playful, but gentle - and there’s something about it that soothes me, even as I groan.

"I’m not sad, I’m sleeping," I mutter, almost laughing as I make a half-spirited effort to shake her off of me.

"Don’t you have a second job to go to?"

It should sound like an accusation or a jab, but it comes across as infuriatingly genuine. That tone of hers - so deeply Lexi - jolts me a little more awake. I shuffle over, turning to face her. She looks as wrecked as I feel: eyes ringed with shadows, skin pale with exhaustion. But there’s a smile on her lips - small, real.

"How are you so okay with all of this?" I say, incredulously. "It’s really not normal for you to be so okay with this."

Still lying down, she rolls her shoulders forward - an almost cartoonish shrug. "I just want you to be okay, Cass. That’s all that’s ever mattered to me."

"Well, stop," I say, a little sharper than I intended. "No, seriously, Lex. Stop it. I don’t want you to suppress your own emotions for my sake. You deserve to be upset, you deserve to be pissed at me. You don’t need to have this saviour complex - it’s not your responsibility to fix me."

She scrunches her face and takes a deep breath, clearly taking that in. The silence feels charged, like something holding its breath. When she finally speaks, it’s with real weight.

"Fine. I am pissed at you, Cass. I don’t understand why you’d lie to me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again... and I’m scared. Because I feel like we almost died tonight and I wasn’t prepared for it. If I was in danger to the point that you needed somebody to watch me at all times, you should’ve fucking told me. You’ve made me feel pathetic, small, and like I’m just some fucking side character in your life, when I thought we were so much more than that."

"I’m sorry."

"No, stop saying sorry and do something better - change. No more fucking secrets. No more lies. You tell me everything from now on or we’re done. Forever."

I meet her gaze. Don’t flinch. Don’t look away. I let the words hit, let them sting like they’re meant to. I nod. Slowly. But I can’t stop a faint smile creeping through, lips parting with quiet gratitude.

"Thank you," I mouth.

She nods back, her voice gentler now. "I do mean it, though."

"I’m glad you do, Lex. I fucked up."

"Yeah, but it all worked out, didn’t it?"

I nod again, and ease back into my original position, letting her wrap her arms around me in a way that doesn’t require eye contact. Just the two of us on the manky floor of The Drowned Duck, tangled in each other’s limbs. We don’t say anything else. We don’t have to. The line’s been drawn, and whatever comes next is ours to decide.

Outside, the sound of morning traffic rolls through the cracked windows - soft and steady, like a reminder that the world has kept turning. Reality is catching up with us. But for now, for just a moment longer, we stay still.

"What’s going to happen with Ava?" she asks.

"I don’t know," I say, sighing. "I’m going to try and ensure that she gets the help she needs, so that she can eventually reintegrate with society. But I don’t know how that proposal is going to go down with the bosses."

I feel her nod against my shoulder, but she stays quiet. There’s a tautness in the air between us, something mournful.

"She’s not your fault."

"She is," Lexi says. Her tone is low, but her body’s stiff, and I can feel how close she is to breaking. "Because I knew that she was broken, and I was helping her get better. And I abandoned her when she needed me the most, after one big slip-up. If I hadn’t left her..."

"Lexi, none of this is your job."

"I can’t abdicate that responsibility, Cass," she says, a sharp breath catching in her throat. "Maybe it wasn’t my duty to keep dating her, but I could’ve been there for her. Kept her from doing something stupid."

"You were hurting too."

"Yeah... But I can be stronger next time."

I shift slightly, just enough to glance at her expression. Her eyes are red, and her jaw is set. Even now, after everything, she’s taking the weight of the world onto her shoulders. I try to lighten the mood - half-joking, but careful.

"Are you planning on there being a next time?"

She laughs, though there’s still wetness in her eyes. "Honestly, you know what my dating life’s like; I’ll be surprised if genocidal vampire turns out to be the floor of how low we can go."

I laugh too, and the sound warms my throat, even if it’s tinged with something sad. Dating as a trans woman fucking sucks. And then, somehow, I say something that surprises even me.

"What about Tommy?"

She scoffs, her head rolling back against the floor. "What about him?"

"You seemed happy with him. It was only really my antics that drove you apart."

She shrugs, but the motion looks heavy, like she’s shrugging off the whole past month. "He was ashamed of me. You saw how he was with that Jordan woman. It was a disaster waiting to happen."

"Yeah, he’s a prick, but he genuinely did seem like he wanted to do better."

She exhales slowly. "I suppose I could probably fix him."

"Hm, this feels very antithetical to everything else I’ve said tonight."

"Girl, forget tonight - it’s 7AM."

I blink in shock. "Fuck me. I do have a second job to get to."

She giggles, and pulls me back into her arms. "Stay here a bit longer. You deserve it."

"I do," I murmur, letting my eyes close as the sun continues to rise outside.

The air around us is warm now, shot through with golden light. The pub is still a disaster zone - tables overturned, blood like dried rust on the floorboards, melted wax pooled where the candles burned low. But Lexi holds me like we’re safe, and for now, that’s enough.

We let silence take the wheel for a little while. Not because we’ve said everything that needs to be said - but because we’ve said enough for now. We’re too exhausted to keep peeling back emotional layers.

Eventually, Lexi’s voice cuts through the quiet, like a threadbare attempt at normality.

"So, your girl’s finishing her tour this weekend?"

"Yeah, last show’s in Vancouver on Sunday."

"Think she’s going to announce a new album?"

I can’t help but laugh. "Lexi, I really do appreciate you making the effort to pretend you care."

"Bitch, I can’t escape it!" she says, laughing back. "It’s all over my TikTok feed and I could not be less interested. I swear, you’re the only trans girl into her - it’s just cissies all the way down."

I shrug into her arms. "She’s got to do something for the last show, either an album announcement or something else special. How can you not go out with a bang?"

 

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