The uncomfortable silence that lingered for a short while was soon drowned out by a few comments from Barnes. Evidently his confidence had grown since my little fall at the muddy slopes, and once the awkward air was taken away with the gusts of wind and heavy downpour, he thought himself free to voice any random thought that popped into his head without a filter. After an hour of traipsing through the woods, soaked to the bone, we spotted a light nearby.

A quaint lodge sat wedged in a clearing, hugged by the surrounding pines and illuminating the area in yellow. I squinted my eyes in the darkness to read the sign: Pine Inn.

An inn. Surrounded by pines. Called the Pine Inn. Creative.

It was preferable to trekking in the rain all night. If I could not contact Alistair for miles, it would be dangerous to carry on in the dark. I was shivering, as was Barnes, and my shoulder stung as the wet fabric of my shirt stuck to the open wound.

Without permission I was not inclined to give, Barnes hit my arm playfully, pointing to the Pine Inn sign.
"What do you think people are doing in there?" I prepared for the vulgar joke. "They're pining!"
That... was not was I was anticipating.
"What?" Barnes frowned. "Don't you get it? Pine-Inn. They're all sat pinin' by the fire."
Igot it. My humour didn't.

I sighed to pull myself back from the edge. It worked. Slightly.

The worn, wooden steps moaned as I approached the door. Water collected in the dips at the centre of each step, the texture becoming so slippery I feared falling again.

Just as I reached for the door handle, I froze, eyes catching the glint of Barnes's handcuffs.

I couldn't excuse dragging a handcuffed man into an inn in the dead of night. My badge that could have authorised the action burned in the crash with... everything else, and I had no signal to contact Alistair for a back-up action.

"Hands," I ordered, refusing to look in his eyes.
He held them out without question, brows knitting together.
"I can't have people eyeing you up when we walk in there," I explained quietly. I unlocked the cuffs with the tiny key in my pocket. They dropped and I caught them, shoving them in my pockets with a jingle

"You run," I hissed, "and I shoot you on sight. Remember that."
Barnes looked from his freed wrists to my frowning eyes, the look shooting me in the chest.
"Yes ma'am."

I looked away swiftly.

Matching the steps, the door opened with a creak. We were met with a rush of hot air from a large open fire and the idle chatter of a nearby group. The scent of burning logs waved through the lobby, dragging with it sweet hot chocolate and warm cinnamon, diminishing the earthy stench of rotten wood we had just escaped from.

After telling Barnes to stand by the door, I approached the front desk, smiling kindly to the middle-aged receptionist. She was busy writing something in her diary, oblivious to my presence in front of her. I craned my neck to view the office behind her – there was no-one else in sight to check us in.

I waited for a minute. Then I got bored of the French-tipped nails clicking against the plastic pen.

I coughed. The receptionist looked up at me through her emerald, square-rimmed glasses. She chewed her gum loudly and rested her pen on the desk, then going on to straighten every other item of stationary: the pencil, the diary, even the rubber. She sighed in exasperation but let herself smile.
"Can I help you?" she asked. A French accent brushed her tone but she was entirely fluent. I thanked the lord for that; I could hold a basic conversation in the language but, according to Gabby, my accent was atrocious. I'd been humiliated enough that day; I didn't need to expose anyone to the disgrace that was my attempt at a French accent.
"Yes." I straightened myself up. "I'd like a double room."
"You could at least say please," she grumbled, flicking through her diary.
I bit back a curse. I would not be lectured on manners by someone who couldn't even maintain a professional front. She didn't haveto sigh and ignore me.
"I could," I finally said, holding a glare at the receptionist.

I flinched as Barnes chuckled behind me, towering over me at the desk. I told him to stay by the door and he disobeyed the order. My jaw tensed but I held the front I wore for the receptionist.

"I'm terribly sorry," said Barnes, edging his tone with the charisma I had been made aware of by Collins and Alistair in my initial brief. "My wife can be very rude sometimes."

My internal temperature exceeded the danger zone. He knew I couldn't retaliate without causing a scene. The bastard did this on purpose.

I kissed my teeth. "Darling,I thought I told you to stand by the door." I touched his arm with all the willpower I could muster. "Honestly! My husband can be very embarrassing sometimes. He once woke up outside a hotel room wearing nothing but his elephant-print underwear. Fuchsia and everything. How humiliating for him."

The receptionist's eyes widened in amused horror as she stared at Barnes. His mask fell and he glared. I raised my brows. Try me.
I squeezed his bicep. "Why don't you go wait over there, my dear?"
He shook his head and smiled. "No, sweetheart,I think I'll wait here. With my loving wife."
"Ahem!" The receptionist coughed. Maybe to prevent the divorce of a non-existing marriage standing in front of her.

"How many nights?" she asked.
"Just one," I replied.
"Fine. Twenty euros."

With a nod, I handed her my credit card. She shook her head.
"We don't take cards here."
"Oh." I reached in my pockets. It was rare for me to take money on a short mission. What need would I have had for money while retrieving a rogue agent? To my relief, I had just over twenty pounds hiding in my drenched clothes. "Will this do?" I asked.
She turned her nose up like it was poisoned. "Either you pay in euros or you leave."
"I don't have any euros on me," I insisted. "We need somewhere to stay tonight. There isn't anywhere else and there aren't any currency exchange—"
"Still no."

She spoke to me as if I was the dirt outside that surrounded the inn. I had it in my right mind to bite back, but I was stuck. We couldn't force her into giving us a room – that would have caused more problems than it solved – but we couldn't wander aimlessly through the dark and the rain. Not to mention how on edge I had been since Scotty—

"Right." Barnes leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk while hushing his voice. "I'll make you a deal," he said. Two minutes earlier, I would have yanked him back by the crook of his arm and told him to let me handle it, but how much more damage could he possibly have done?
"I don't make deals," the receptionist snarled.
"You will with me," he replied. "Everyone does. Now." He cracked his knuckles. "You are going to accept the money my lovely companion has kindly offered you, or I will be filing a report to Mr. Manager over there." Barnes pointed towards the oak door with the gold plaque.
"What for?" Her tone quivered with guilt and I almost smiled. How tempting it would have been to find out what secrets she really had!
Barnes smiled wickedly. "For assaulting a customer." With alarming calmness, he pointed to the red, bruising mark on his rain-speckled face from the punch I had thrown at him hours ago. Her mouth dropped open and, with whole honesty, mine almost did.
"B-but I didn't—!"
"Argh! My chiselled jaw!" Barnes exclaimed, stumbling back. "Why would you harm such a charming customer?"

He wasn't that charming, but I stayed silent. For him, that was smart. He had the receptionist shaking in her office chair.

She scoffed, a vein throbbing in her forehead as she scrawled something down in her diary.

"Fine," she spat. She held out a key-card, not bothering to meet either of our eyes. "Take it. Room seventeen. Oscar will show you where it is. Don't talk to me again."

Barnes and I shared a glance, mirroring each other's smirks. He pushed himself up from the desk.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
"Leave me alone," she snapped as I took the key-card.

Barnes stifled a laugh as we approached the stairs.
"She was nice," he muttered. My lips twitched, amused.

A young man dressed in black with a silver badge reading 'Oscar' swaggered towards us.
"Excuse me. Room seventeen?"
"Please." I let myself smile back at him.
"Just up the stairs," he said. "I'll show you where you're going."

I thanked him and the three of us headed up the groaning oak staircase. Oscar explained on the way that he would wait for us to try the key. After recently changing the archaic locks to key-cards, many had been faulty, and some customers had issued complaints of being unable to access their rooms.

As stated, Oscar patiently waited for us to try the lock. I fiddled with the card, turning it to fit the slot. While debating which way it went it, my rain-spotted hands got in a muddle and the card slipped from my fingers.
"I'll get it!" Oscar insisted.
"No bother. I can do it," I assured, bending down to reach for the card.

Something jingled and my pocket grew lighter all of a sudden. I frowned, wondering for a moment what I could have possibly dropped to make that sound. I left my house keys with Alistair for safe-keeping, and I was almost sure that any spare change I had wouldn't have made a noise that loud as that as they hit the floor. Then it suddenly dawned on me.

The handcuffs.

I gulped. The atmosphere around the three of us bubbled and rose like the molten lava of an active volcano. I stared at the cuffs, hoping that Oscar hadn't noticed them.

The awkward cough gave away that he had.

Gently I took hold of the handcuffs, careful to not make another clanging noise against the floorboards, then shoved them back into my pocket, the metal scraping my hand. I turned aside. Think we're police officers. Please, please think we're police officers.

Then Oscar, wide-eyed with his jaw hanging open, said, "You're into that too?"

The size my eyes widened to may have exceeded the limits of human biology as my features morphed into shock. My horror only grew when Barnes wrapped an unwanted arm around my side.
His bruised face tightened. I couldn't tell if he was going to cry, laugh, pass out, or all three. "Well..."

I gave him no time to answer. With an elbow to the gut, I unlocked the door without haste, blocking out the howls of laughter from Barnes as I rushed inside to escape.

***

Barnes took a short while to calm down when he followed me inside. His cheeks had turned a faint peach colour, tears threatening to roll.

I'd had enough. I sat on the edge of one of the hotel beds, making another failed attempt at contacting the agency.

"It wasn't as funny as you're making it out to be," I muttered. The only internet the hotel offered was through private access; only the staff had use.
"Oh, but it was," Barnes snickered, his voice faltering as it threatened to break into laughter again. "Your face! It was like seeing a stone statue crack."

I bit back a comment. Barnes's amusement faded out to barely a flicker of a smile as he stood by the door, watching me for any hint of a conversation. I turned my attention to the wall. An oil painting was the only form of decoration filling the gap. It pictured the surrounding forest of the hotel; the prickly pines, the emerald clearing, the brisk night sky speckled with stars and a single comet, its silver tail tinted with orange lighting up the area.

I heard it again. The whoosh. The explosion. The flames that burned the pines to the ground. My throat grew sore.

"I'm going for a shower," I said through a sigh, jumping to my feet quicker than intended.
"Want me to join you?"

My stone-cold glare was his only answer. For my own confidence while out the room, I handcuffed Barnes to the post of the second bed – the one I hadn't claimed as my own – and, to my own surprise, no jokes came from his mouth.

***

With the sound of rushing water and a cloak of steam, I took a moment in the shower to just breathe. I choked on the hot air but still turned up the temperature, longing for the heat to loosen up my shoulders and wash off the dirt and blood that stained my skin. I winced as the gaping wound in my shoulder burned, biting back a cry as I cleared the area. It had been a while since the injury and it didn't look pretty. I didn't have any antiseptic to cleanse it properly; the soap and water had to do.

Accepting I couldn't do any more, I let out a sigh. Everything was a mess. A colossal, frantic, tangled mess my fogged state of a brain couldn't weave a way out of. This mission was due to last no longer than a day. I shouldn't have been standing in a shower in the room next to the target. Barnes should have been imprisoned, I should have been home, and Scotty should have been...

Alive. Scotty should have been alive.

I had grown up with the knowledge that life was not fair. But it was only when I was standing there, my forehead pressed against the tiles with water running down my back, did I feel life's sadistic humour closing its fist around my neck.

Scotty was the third born of a family of five siblings. Being the second born boy, he was an outcast in the Williams family. His older brother looked out for only the youngest, while his sisters ignored him completely; his parents didn't have the time for him. Living in the countryside made him more isolated than most. He was nothing more than a little farm boy not strong or talented enough to continue his family's business, but not motivated enough to do anything worthwhile, and joined the Air Force to prove a point. The day Alistair handpicked him for the agency was, in Scotty's own words, the day he sparked back to life. The cocky prick knew he was good for something and damn was he great at what he did.

And now that all went to waste.

Because Alistair wanted Barnes alive....

No – that was our job. Scotty and I both knew that. If Barnes had told us he was being tracked down, maybe my best friend would have had a chance to show his family what I knew: that he was more special than any of them ever realised.

Or maybe that was the point. Maybe the stunt of going down with his aircraft was to prove his honour, show he had a place in the world that wasn't with them: being miserable on a farm he felt lost in.

Now he was gone. Everything we had torn and discarded as quickly as Stacey crashed into the trees.

I clenched my fist against the tile, knuckles turning white. He may not have orchestrated Scotty's death, but his own behaviour had secondhandedly led to it. When I launched at him in the woods, I thought I was in shock but it wasn't just that. I knew what had happened: that Scotty would have survived that helicopter journey if not for Derek Barnes.

And I hated him for that.

Tears sprang as my thoughts spiralled, twisting and falling into the dark corners of my mind. I let them fall freely, watching them hide with the hot shower water. At least Barnes wouldn't catch the moment of weakness. No-one could.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh before turning off the water, wrapping a warm towel from the radiator around my soaking body. I approached the mirror, running a hand over the steam-covered glass to reveal a hazed reflection of myself.

I looked horrendous. Despite having washed off all the dirt and dried blood, I still resembled a walking corpse with my sore eyes, red cheeks and nose, and the open wound on my shoulder. I angled to the side, examining it more closely. It was deeper than I anticipated and looked more like a stab wound than a graze from a branch. The crusty lining of the blood had been cleared away but now the pink skin surrounding the injury had softened, turning it vulnerable to bleeding once again. As carefully as I could, I poked the skin and my shoulder roared with pain, my neck prickling. I bit my lip, holding in a whimper so Barnes could not hear, then tossed the towel over the railing, pulling on a pale blue bathrobe. I had nothing else, so sleeping in the bathrobe while my clothes dried overnight was the best option.

Barnes was right where I left him: lying flat on the bed with his muddy shoes on the white sheets without a single care. Selfish. Always selfish.
"Your turn," I croaked with a scowl.

He frowned as I undid the handcuffs, leaning over him to reach for the post I had locked him to. I was close to him. Too close for my liking, stroking his face with my hair.

"Have I done something wrong?" His words brushed my neck, every syllable rushing down my spine. I couldn't bear to even look at him.

The cuffs dropped from his wrists and I backed away.
"Miss Knight." He smiled, swinging his legs off the bed in a casual motion. "Hello? Are you ignoring me, now?"

Stop. Pushing.

Biting my cheek, I checked the lock on the window. We were secure, but I was boiling over. I could feel him smiling at me. My skin buzzed with heat.

I gasped as Barnes tapped me on the shoulder, turning me around.
"Amber?"

How dare he. How darehe use my name again. After everything he had done. As if he had the right.

Before I could even think, I had thrown Barnes away. The crook of my arm dug into his neck, pushing him into the wall. The painting behind him crashed to the floor and he clutched my balled fist and elbow, wide-eyed.

A noise escaped his open mouth. "What was that for?"
"Everything," I snarled through my teeth.
"Was the hook in the forest not vengeance enough?" he spat. "Or do all you overpaid Senior's beat your prisoners too?"

He did nothing to ease the anger. The hot, burning anger that boiled over with every flash of that image; the crash, the fire, the explosion. I was furious in the aftermath. My swing at Barnes was done in blind grief. I was irrational, stupid for doing so. But now I had been left to my thoughts – now that I combed the evidence as the water and steam surrounded my thoughts...

"They were after you," I hissed. He needed a warning. To know that his actions would be punished according to the agency's law. If he tried anything that put my life at risk, I would not hesitate. I would not let my life be given up for his. For Scotty. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have been attacked. And now my best friend has sacrificed his life so that you can live. You!" The emotion was pouring out, words falling from my tongue as my eyes stung. He pushed and he pushed when I tried to be quiet but I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Scotty died because he is – was– the best agent I ever knew. He gave his life because Alistair wants you alive."
"Then maybe you should be talking to Alistair about that." His voice held an edge, face so close I saw his lips pressing together. He was choosing his words, careful of what he said.
"We wouldn't have even been out here if your selfish self hadn't gone rogue."

A shadow crossed his face. He shoved back against my arm but I would not budge. He was strong, but I was furious, and that made me stubborn.
"You think I wanted to leave the agency?"
"Why else would you stab Alistair in the back?"
He snorted and shook his head. "You lot are all the same. Every single one of you Senior Level agents lounging around on that top floor are nothing more than Alistair's dogs. Stuck on a leash and waiting for praise."
He had no idea what we were like. It explained how easy it was for him to kill two on his escape from Alistair. I forced a bitter laugh. "Because you got to know Senior agents before you killed them."
He leaned in closer. "I killed two agents out of self-defence and trust me, I did not do that lightly."
"Of course! So you're not just some heartless killer."

He tried pushing me away again but I fought back, hurting my arms with the force it took to keep him pinned. With a grunt, he let go of my arm and gripped the collar of the bathrobe, pulling me so close our noses touched, scowls mirroring each other's with a new breed of anger. Icy, bitter anger that snatched the air from my throat.

"You don't know the first thing about me," he whispered.
I barely even breathed the words. "I know everything I need to. I know that you're a liar and a traitor to everything I stand for. I know you are the reason my best friend is dead." I dared to look at him. To look from his taut lips to his dark eyes. "And for that I know that I hate you with a relentless passion."

He didn't even blink. His face relaxed, the scowl dropping to a more neutral expression I could not read as his eyes stayed locked on mine, fingers uncoiling in front of me to let go of the robe. For a moment I thought I saw a flicker of empathy but... it couldn't have been.

Each of us let out a sigh as I lowered my arm.

Barnes looked to the floor, running a hand through his hair. "Right." His jaw clenched as he reached for the bathroom door handle. "Then I suppose we're clear on where we stand with each other."
I folded my arms, pulling the collar of the bathrobe higher up my chest. "Crystal."
"Fine."

The door slammed, shaking the walls, the mirror and my bones. From the crack in the door, I could see Barnes's shadow still, reaching out through the crevice, almost touching my bare feet. I opened my mouth then clamped it shut just as quickly as the shadow darted away, water turning on from the shadow.

Air pushed out my lungs as I fell back onto one of the beds, springs groaning beneath me. I watched the light stretching beneath the bathroom door for a moment then rubbed my eyes. I needed sleep but how much could I get with a traitor in the room, trained to kill? Practiced in killing agents, not to mention. He insisted he did not do those actions lightly, yet Alistair's voice of reason reminded me that he was a liar; a manipulator that would make me feel guilty for his choices.

I would not feel guilty. Everything that happened that day was on him and no-one else.

My mind was a clouded mess. I needed sleep to sort it out and I could only do that if I was sure Barnes could not leave.

The lamp on the dresser flickered. It was an ugly thing – the colour of wet mud with a willow green shade – and the bulb gave a pointless dim, orange light that lit up nothing but the chips on the oak dresser it sat upon. The light went out... then switched back on again.

I had an idea.

***

I jolted awake to a thud from the door and snatched the gun from underneath my pillow, pointing it in the direction of the sound.

I smirked to myself.

Barnes had fallen into my trap.

Before he had finished up in the bathroom, I had unplugged the broken lamp, stretching its thin wire across the door while making sure to keep it low enough to avoid detection but high enough to trip him over if he made any escape attempt. The lamp itself was held in the wardrobe, while the opposite end of the wire was tied around the leg of the dresser. It was a childish notion – one that Scotty would have loved to see – but it helped me sleep. Even if it was just for an hour.

I climbed out of bed, feet curling as my skin touched the cold wood, with my gun still pointed at Barnes. I strutted over, relishing the sight of him facing the floor in complete defeat, dressed in a matching bathrobe to my own.

He rolled onto his back as I towered over him, showing me his bloody nose.

I tilted my head. "Who's falling for who now?"
"Very funny." He groaned, pushing himself up by his elbows. "You expected this?"
"I'm almost certain anyone would have expected this," I confessed.

He brushed the tip of his nose with his knuckles, sighing at the spot of blood that had been drawn. His eyes darted from the barrel of the gun then back to my ice-cold stare.

"So," he said, "what happens to me now?"
I bent down, still glaring. "You're going to get up, sort out your nose, then go to sleep like a good little rogue agent."
He snorted. "And if I don't want to?"
My brows knitted together. "What are you, ten? If you want to stay awake all night, that's fine by me. I'll only have to stay awake to watch you."
"Then you'll be staying awake all night because I am not sleeping in a room with you."
I scoffed. "Well I don't want to sleep in a room with you."
"Fine."
"Fine!"

Barnes huffed and tried to push himself up, groaning as his joints began to tense. Without thinking, I held out a hand and he took it, letting me drag him to his feet.

He frowned. "You were taking too long," I excused. He only nodded and headed to the bathroom in silence as I perched myself on the corner of the bed.

Barnes emerged a few moments later with a ball of bloody tissue and a look to kill. I snickered, turning away and pressing my lips shut as Barnes heard my amusement. We stayed still for a moment, until Barnes sat down on his own bed for the night.

Wiping the smile off my face, I looked at him from across the room, glancing over my shoulder. He looked back but said nothing as I swiftly turned away.

I didn't know what possessed me to ask, "Has the bleeding stopped?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Just about. It wasn't that bad. Really."
"I didn't mean to bust your nose open."
"Was that an apology?"
"No."
"Good to know," he weaved into a sigh.

A minute passed. Only a minute of straight silence was enough for him. "This is boring as hell."
"Then go to sleep."
"No."
I turned around. "Why not?"
"Because I don't trust you," he hissed.
"Likewise!"

He shook his head and leaned back on the mattress, resting his head on the pillow and crossing his legs over. I did the same, deeming it more comfortable than hanging off the corner.

Barnes glowered. "Why are you copying me?"
I really wasn't. "It's comfortable."
"It's still copying me."
"Why would I want to copy you?" I frowned.
"Many reasons."
"Such as?"
"I don't know. You're the one that wants to copy me."
"I don't."
"Then why are you doing it?"
I groaned "This is childish."
"I know. Copying is such a childish thing to do." He shook his head and tutted.

I yawned. With a huff, I turned on my side. He did the same, making a point to fluff up his pillow first. Scowling, I tucked in my knees, slipping a hand under the pillow. He did the same. Again.

He was doing it on purpose. "Now you're copying me?"
"It's comfortable."
"It's annoying."
"Isn't it just?"

I turned over, shifting around the bed to make myself comfortable without having to face him. It was so much more appealing to look at the wall. So peaceful. So relaxing. So...

He wanted this. If I was relaxed, I would have given in to exhaustion and he could escape.

I flipped back around.
"Are you trying to make me turn my back on you so I fall asleep and you can sneak out?"
He groaned, voice raising in pitch as it stretched out. "Can't I just give you my word that I won't leave?"
"What good is your word to me?"
He propped himself up on his elbow. "Agent. It's obvious we're both exhausted, worn out and injured. I want sleep, you want sleep. You have a gun, I don't. So please, pleasecan we just go to sleep."
I blinked, eyes growing heavy. "If I hear one creak towards that door—"
"You'll shoot me. Got it. Understood."
I sighed in defeat. "Alright."

It didn't take much light to show the smile from across the room. With a quiet 'thank you' he turned around, adjusted his pillows and pulled the quilt over him, tucking it under his chin.

"Goodnight, Agent."

I clutched the covers close to my chest, not returning the sentiment as I stared at the tips of my fingers in front of me, contemplating.

I spent only minutes locked in my thoughts before I drifted back to sleep. A small mercy, but an appreciated one.