I wake around two in the afternoon the next day. My early morning near death experience feels like a distant memory, cleansed by the rays warming my arms through the hotel window. Though the sun promises a new day, I refuse to believe its lies. It's only downhill from here; I can practically taste the next bitter task already permeating the air.

Tabitha sits on her bed, looking at some plastic thing under the microscope. Every so often, she slides it out and adjusts the surface. I sit on my own bed, nursing a cup of coffee between my palms and taking occasional bites of a blueberry muffin Tabitha saved from the breakfast buffet that morning.

"I told you there would be opposition," she says, glancing up at me for a moment.

I sip my coffee. Two deaths in one night is a lot to take in. I can barely process the bullet holes, the blood seeping into their clothes, the eyes that will never see again. Two more deaths, two more bodies, two more graves to be dug. How many more will be killed, tossed out of the way like their lives are meaningless in this grand game?

My eyes shift to Tabitha. I never realized she had a gun. For some reason, having a gun makes her seem ten times more dangerous. It's one thing to be born with the power to kill — if someone is born a weapon. It's another thing entirely if someone seeks out their own weapons, becoming as sharp and deadly as a bullet.

"Why do so many have to die?" I blurt out. Tabitha arches an eyebrow, but she doesn't look up. Frustration and anger and sadness, this overwhelming, yawning pit of sadness for all those caught in the crossfire, for Daniel and the random man and woman from the hotel, wells inside me, bubbling over. "You're going around, killing people like their lives mean nothing. I don't know what you're after, but it can't possibly be worth all these deaths."

Tabitha's eyes narrow. I gulp, suddenly remembering a key detail: she can weave my death at any moment.

My employer rises from her seat, her flowing, black floral gown draping from her willowy limbs. She slowly approaches until her bony shadow hangs over me and her sunken eyelids glower from above. "Not worth it, ey? How about the deaths the order has caused? How about all the family members the Heads killed simply because our kind can't be locked away in a safe, our usage carefully controlled by the five people who run the entire organization? Does that sound fair to you?"

I rapidly shake my head.

"It doesn't, right? So I'm taking matters into my own hands. I refuse to sit back and watch any more poison weavers, if there are any left, be slaughtered. It shouldn't matter if we have a more deadly gift than the others. We have a right to exist, too, and shouldn't be picked off because of our birthed powers."

"Then... why not kill the Heads?" I whisper. "The ones who caused all this?"

Tabitha laughs, a crazed, unrestrained laugh. "And put them out of their misery? No, no. That's far too painless. I want them to live out the rest of their days contemplating their choices. I want them to go to bed and wake in the morning every day remembering every single name they sent to the slaughter. This, Cleo, this is all about revenge. Revenge is all I've lived and breathed, every waking moment, every wretched night, for the past five years, ever since..."

Tabitha cuts off with a sharp intake of breath. I watch her, barely breathing myself. My fists cling to the comforter underneath me. Tabitha continues, though her voice rings with false restraint. "Ever since I discovered the order's sins, I vowed that I would repay them. And now, because of you, my nightmare is about to end while theirs is just beginning." My employer backs away, parking herself back on the bed.

My veins thrum with adrenaline, blood, and fear. Most of all, I'm afraid that I may actually agree with her, that she may actually have a reason for doing what she's done.

But surely there must be another way. So many deaths, so many lives. Those people who were killed at the hotel weren't the ones ordering the death of Tabitha's family. They're pawns, just like me. We're all trapped in this dark, deadly web, unknowing subjects who fell into this tangled plot.

"And it's done." Tabitha holds up the fine sheet of plastic. A smile has returned to her face, like nothing happened between us.

I don't trust it.

"This is your ticket inside the building. Just place this on your finger, and the door will open right up for you."

"You changed the fingerprint in the system?" I sigh, resigned.

"No, of course not. I created a false finger with Daniel's fingerprint on it."

That makes sense.

"And you can use Daniel's microchip to unlock the doors," Tabitha says.

"What if someone realizes that I'm not Daniel?"

"Run."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. This would almost be comical if my life weren't at stake.

"When are we going to the headquarters?"

Tabitha thinks for a moment. "When I was there, most people were out by around five in the evening, preparing for operas and going out to dinner and such. That's when we should head over."

"And where is the vault? Do you have a map?"

"Of course not. It's a very secret organization."

A scowl crosses my face. "But I've never been inside said organization. How am I supposed to find my way? How do I even get into the vault once I find it?"

"Good point..." Tabitha murmurs. She grabs her laptop from her bedsheet. "I imagine the password is memorized by all the Heads. And even if it were written down, it'd be almost impossible to find it." She looks up. "Well, we're just going to have to wait for someone to go inside of the vault."

"And if they don't?"

"They will. They always have new pieces coming in from all over the world."

"Fine. But that still doesn't solve the problem of how I'm going to find the vault in the first place."

"Oh, don't worry about that, darling. I'll show you." I open my mouth with a retort, but she silences me with a sly smile. "I've decided to come with you."

🕸 ✩⋆｡°🕸｡°⋆✩🕸

Tabitha determines that we should arrive around four-thirty in the afternoon. She claims that less people should be around the headquarters while also allowing us to get in position before the vaults are opened. I hope she's right. After all, I get the sense that it's been a while since she left the order. I still wonder why she left them. Maybe she was discovered for having malicious intentions and was kicked out.

The order's headquarters are located within the heart of a small forest about an hour and a half away from Seattle. By the time I walk from Tabitha's rental car to the square, glossy wooden building looming amongst the trees, I'm panting. My arm muscles scream at me for carting a heavy suitcase through the undergrowth. I can't tell if I should be angry at Tabitha for making me carry it so far or if with myself for not exercising my arms more often.

I pause to catch my breath at the edge of the clearing, staring up at the order's base. Dressed in a black trench coat and turtleneck with shades over my eyes and a hat pulled over my face, Tabitha has succeeded in transforming me into the shadiest-looking person on the planet. The one thing I have going for me is that with a few makeup contours and well-placed wrinkles, I could truly resemble a middle-aged man. Not Daniel, but it is still progress from looking like a nineteen-year-old female.

I muster enough strength to pull the suitcase the rest of the way to the front entrance. Two translucent doors part as I approach, and a woman emerges, wearing a baby pink evening gown that shimmers against her dark skin and carrying a large, leather purse. She smiles and nods to me when she passes by. I force myself to smile back, even though my palms are slick around the suitcase's plastic handles.

Does she realize I'm an imposter?

The thought loosens from my brain after several beats. If she did, she probably would've stopped you or gone back inside to alert the others.

A small, silver box sits on the door, right next to the handle. There's a slight divot inside it, about the same size and shape of the microchip. I remove it from my pocket, glancing around for the fingerprint marker. There isn't one.

That's odd. Tabitha said one would be present.

After a few more seconds of looking, I simply place the microchip inside the divot. The door lights up with ten finger spaces. Ah, so there it is. I place my fingers on them. Red letters flash over the screen, saying, 'match not detected.'

I snatch my hands back as if they'd been burned. What? Not detected? I can't make sense of this. It should have worked. The door should have opened. Tabitha got all the fingerprints from the shirt and made a complete set for me to place on the door.

I want to smack myself. Actually, I want to smack Tabitha for not considering this in the first place. Every finger has its own unique print. You have to match the correct fingerprint with the right finger outline on the door in order for it to open. It can't tell that the index and pinky fingerprints are there if they are on the wrong fingers.

The finger outlines are still there, glowing on the door. The only way I can think to go about this is to test each print until it's a match. I just hope it doesn't lock me out if I get the wrong combination too many times.

And so I start, pressing my thumb in the thumb's spot. Upon looking at it, it seems much smaller than a thumb ordinarily would. Perhaps it's the pinky? I try it in the pinky spot, and a green dot flashes on the screen. One by one, I try each finger, guessing where it should go based on the brief outline of it that shows up on the screen. After trying each one, green letters flash.

Match detected.

I exhale in relief. The doors slide open to a man and woman, wearing black uniforms. Though neither have any labels on the outside of their clothes, the hardened expressions on their faces scream 'security.'

"H-hello," I stammer.

"Hello, Daniel," the woman says. "It appears that you had some trouble signing in."

"Just a bit. I sort of... injured my hand yesterday and had some trouble removing the bandages."

"Really?" the man says. He glances me up and down. Fear makes my heart beat even faster than it already was.

"What's with the suitcase?" the woman asks.

"I-I was on my way to the airport. I just need to drop something off before I go."

"Hold on." The woman steps away for a moment, disappearing behind one of two giant stairwells that curl around the inside of the foyer, one on either side of the entrance. I rock on my heels while the man watches me.

"So... how's your day been so far?"

The man narrows his eyes slightly. "Fine. Yours?"

"Good. Until now."

The minutes tick by. All the while, my heart is pounding, and my brain is frantically sorting through my options. I could try to leave, but that would seem suspicious, and the security officers might stop me. I could try to knock them out, except that Tabitha has not taught me to do so (nor do I want to learn). Running and hiding inside the building might trigger some sort of alert...

A thump sounds around the corner. The man frowns, turning toward the stairwell, but nothing seems out of order. Granted, neither of us can see what's behind the stairs. The man seems torn between checking out the source of the noise and watching me. Ultimately, he stays put. Several more minutes pass. The man checks his watch, then draws his gun, slowly backing up toward the stairwell.

He stiffens. His eyes go wide, and a sick, choking sound comes from his lungs. Then, he collapses onto the floor.

I swallow. Though my limbs feel leaden, I grab hold of the suitcase and race toward the stairs. Took long enough, Tabitha!

The wheels of the suitcase skid over the polished floor. I can't stand how loud it is. It echoes in the giant foyer, off the wooden floor and sky-high, domed ceiling. Even though no one else is around, it's only a matter of time before someone else appears.

I disappear into a single-stall restroom at the edge of the foyer. Locking the door, I unzip the suitcase.

"That was way too close!" I gasp.

"Darling, you were marvelous!" Tabitha says, poking her head out from the top. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to take care of the security personnel. These fingers can only weave so fast." Tabitha flexes her long fingers, and a shiver runs through me.

I'm just sorry more people had to die.

"Now all we have to do is reach the second floor. That's where the vaults are." Tabitha ducks back inside the suitcase.

"There's no way I'm carrying you up two flights of stairs."

"Use the elevator."

"There's an elevator."

Tabitha scowls from inside the suitcase. "It wouldn't hurt to use your brain a little more, Cleo. Of course they have one."

"Fine. Fine." I rezip the suitcase, careful to leave a gap at the top for Tabitha to peer through, just in case we come across more guards or personnel who question my presence. "How long do you think we have?"

"Until the security officers are found. So basically, until someone walks through the lobby."

Great.

I poke my head outside the bathroom. Still, there's no one around, so I slip into the foyer, hurrying back toward the entrance. I walk all the way to the other side of the room until a man appears in the hallway, strolling toward me. He wears a black tuxedo and hat. I gulp, resisting the urge to run past him, into the gaping elevator doors in which he just came from.

I step inside the metal box. As the doors begin to close, a cry rises from the foyer. A jolt of fear courses through me, but the doors have already closed. I'm protected from the order's wrath... for now.