Yet another gunshot filled the basement as Jackson lurched sideways, his hand still gripping the pistol. Victoria cried out, collapsing onto her stomach. All the while, Jane’s hand repeated its motion over and over, like a broken locomotive. Again and again, she stabbed, a wet squelch with every jerk of the blade into Jackson’s throat.

Joss was shouting wordlessly, rifle raised in his shaky hands, eyes darting around the room.

There was nothing within Jane’s mind. Only a singular command, repeating ad nauseam inside her cranium. Stop Jackson. Protect her loved ones.

Jackson had dropped the pistol in panic, instead shielding himself with both arms, just barely able to fend off Jane’s swings. Red lines crisscrossed his forearms as they deflected each blow.

Jane realized she was screaming, a breathless roar that embodied a hatred she didn’t even know she had been feeling. Jackson was bucking beneath her, struggling to escape, but found it impossible under her onslaught.

And once again, Watson’s arms were around her, pulling her off, shouting her name.

The knife, she realized, had broken at some point. The thin metal had splintered apart as it hit bone, and she had been stabbing with what was left. No wonder Jackson was still alive.

“Jane!” Ryder’s voice cut through the red in her mind, like lightning through water. Dazed, she turned to him, eyes wide, hands shaking. She could not see herself, but a familiar stickiness in her hands was telling. She was covered in blood.

“Jane, it’s okay.” Ryder didn’t seem to care about the blood as he enveloped her in his arms, squeezing tightly. The shattered knife fell from her hands, clanging against the stone beneath.

It was surreal, Ryder’s comforting embrace around her as Jackson’s every breath gurgled from the floor. A slowly spreading pool was surrounding the crime lord, both of his hands pressed against a multitude of shallow wounds on his neck. Clearly, Jane had missed anything vital.

Around Ryder’s shoulders, Jane could see that Watson had Joss at gunpoint against the wall, the teenager’s arms raised above his head.

“You guys know we got an army up in here, right?” Joss said, snidely.

Jane could not see his face, but the smugness was evident in Watson’s voice. “I was counting on it.”

As if on cue, the alarms went off once more in the compound, the basement sinking into the red-hued emergency lighting of the security systems. Ryder let go of Jane, startled.

A wet laughter was coming from between them. Jackson was pulling himself into a sitting position, both hands still stemming the blood flow from his neck. “Let me guess, Allyson, federal law enforcement?”

A smile crept over Watson’s face as he turned. “You’re god damn right. With the info on that watch, we’ve got all we need to take you down.”

Jackson returned the smile, his teeth specked with blood. A ball of ice rolled through Jane’s stomach as she glanced lower, at his hands, both of which were clasped around his wounds.

“No. The watch. There’s no watch. Where’s your watch?!” Jane shouted.

Watson’s face fell as he stooped and pressed Jackson against the wall, hands rifling through his pockets with urgency. “No…”

A multitude of gunshots erupted from the floor above them, the sounds of shattered glass and flash-bang grenades erupting through the basement ceiling. The sounds of battle. Jackson’s men were clearly putting up a fight.

More squelching laughter from Jackson. “You see, you four attacked me in my own home. You have nothing to charge me with. No evidence. I’m just an innocent politician. My men will deny any connection with me. In the eyes of the law, you’re the criminals here.”

“Uh- guys-” Victoria spoke up, voice barely audible

It was Ryder who seemed to notice it first. With a gasp, he crouched, eyes wide. “Guys, Victoria’s hit.”

Victoria lay half-propped against a wine cabinet, cradling a slowly bleeding hole in her shoulder. She winced as Ryder pulled her hand away to look at the injury.

Watson’s hard scowl was only deepened as he watched Ryder examine Victoria’s wound, his eyes following the blood running down her arm.

More gunshots. More shouting. The sound of boots slamming against the floor. The federal agents would find them soon.

“But- but Beatrice said-” Jane sputtered out, fear gripping her. She was only then realizing how bad the situation looked.

Jackson smiled at her, a touch of pity in his eyes. “Such a shame. You’re brilliant at what you do, Mackenzie, but terrible with people. The watch was a test of loyalty for Beatrice, one that she failed. I will kill her, once this is done.”

The footsteps were so close now. They had only seconds until the federal government came down the steps and arrested them.

Victoria, wincing through the pain, glanced up in confusion. “Dad, it’s gonna be okay. We still have the evidence on his guys, that should be enough, right?”

Her father’s face was all the response she needed, yet he gave voice to the fact nonetheless. “No… it’s not enough.”

Jane clenched her fists, her fingers sticking to one-another. All this suffering had been for nothing. Jackson would get away. The despair seemed to mingle with the blood on her skin, numbing her limbs and slowing her movements. There was nowhere to go.

Watson’s expression had grown flat. There was a realization behind his eyes, a dark understanding. He sighed, resignation in his posture, a strange peace in his voice as he spoke. “Victoria. I have to do this. There’s no other way. I’m sorry.”

It seemed Jackson, experienced killer that he was, knew what was coming before anyone else did. His eyes flew to Ryder, a sudden fear marring his words even further than his wounds did. “Wait! Wait! Son, please, don’t let him do this. Please. Think of your mother, what would she say? Please! I’ll confess. I will! I’ll- I love y-”

His desperate words did not matter. No hands were raised to help him, no words to protest. A final terrified roar escaped Jackson’s chest, the mask of careful control shattering at last.

And in a single smooth motion, Watson executed Jackson, putting an end to his grip of terror over Alexander.

This time, it was Victoria that wore the EMT blanket. Her arm was set in a sling, a thick wadding of bandage over her bare shoulder. Her blonde hair stuck out at odd angles, flecked with blood and drops of paint. With a wince, she leaned against the ambulance’s wall, eyes fluttering shut. “What do I do now, Jane?”

The night had come to a shuddering end, rays of orange sunlight peeking above the Jackson mansion like a halo.

Jane lowered her head. “I don’t know. Eventually, one of his guys is gonna give up and admit they worked for Jackson, right?”

After a few short interviews, the cops had come to the conclusion that Watson had lead a rag-tag group of criminals into the Jackson household in some sort of political assassination. Jane and her friends had vehemently denied that Watson was in any way guilty, but the forensic evidence said otherwise.

Victoria drew her knees up to her chest, ignoring the pain shooting through her shoulder. “I hope so.”

“He’s gonna be okay. He’s tough,” Jane said, for once the one injecting false levity in her voice.

Victoria wasn’t buying it, but she nodded all the same, her eyelids drooping. “I hope so…”

Ryder stood a little away from the ambulance, hands in his jacket pockets. Around him, members of federal law enforcement were scurrying about, rushing to secure the scene and document evidence. Squeezing Victoria’s hand, Jane rose, and approached Ryder from behind.

“It’s gonna be a chilly morning,” he said, not once looking away from what was once his home.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“It’s always freezing here. We should move to Aruba, or Hawaii, or-” Ryder abruptly stopped, realizing he was rambling. With a sigh, he shook his head, smoothing his hair back.

“Ryder-” Jane began, heart heavy.

“I know. It’s okay,” Ryder said, jaw clenched. It was as if he knew what she was going to say. “He deserved to die. It’s like Watson said. There was no other way.”

“Wow, dude, that’s cold.” Beatrice was leaning against the side of the ambulance, unseen and eavesdropping.

Jane whirled on the girl, hackles raising. “What are you doing here?”

The brunette raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Surviving. Jackson’s dead, and I heard you guys need a witness.”

Victoria had risen from her seat in the back of the ambulance. Her expression was one of utter suspicion. “Why would you do that for us?”

For a single moment, Beatrice gazed longingly at Ryder, the ghost of a love she'd lost. It was all the answer Victoria needed.

“I’ll make a deal for my parents in exchange for a confession. I was Jackson’s secretary,” Beatrice said, breaking her melancholic stare.

A uniformed officer had approached from further down the road, clipboard in hand. “Miss Ruth, I presume? We’d like to interview you now.”

Beatrice waved at the trio, a smug expression on her face. Even after everything, somehow, she had still come out on top. “That’s my cue. Good game, all of you.”

“It’s really over,” Jane whispered, watching Beatrice strut away, the reality sinking in.

There was nothing else to say. In a way, Jackson had been right too. Jane was truly terrible with people.

“Yeah,” Ryder replied. Even in the dark of the early morning, she could see it. Tears in Ryder’s eyes. It really was over.

For a single moment, between the god rays, Jane could see her father amongst the garden. Red hair shining, he smiled, beaming with pride.

Her father had been wrong. There was one system with no point of failure.

Victoria hobbled up to the edge of the road next to them, favoring her uninjured side, her free arm going around Jane’s shoulders.

And, for a single moment, together they watched as the sun rose.