Dark woke up to find the bed empty.

    His chest sank a little, and he sighed to himself, sitting up against the headboard. Sunlight streamed in through the ceiling-high windows, catching over the messy silk sheets that pooled around Dark's legs. Absently, he ghosted a hand over his lips, reminded of Wilford.

    He didn't leave, did he?

    Dark quickly brushed the thought away. It was highly unlikely, and besides, there was no time for thoughts like that. Not when Celine was still out there, and Mark still in danger.

    Dark clambered out of bed and got dressed in his usual, all-black attire. He headed down the stairs, and with each step closer to the bottom floor, dread snagged in his chest.

    He heard voices.

    Dark reached the last step, finding the others sitting in the living room. Jim was on the floor, typing away furiously on his phone. Host leaned back on the couch with his eye closed and eyepatch discarded. And there, standing over Jim's shoulder, was Wilford, his hair a mess and his top buttons undone. A perfect picture that Dark would have admired fully, if he didn't walk in to hear their conversation.

    "A standoff?" he was saying, running a hand over his mouth.

    Dark came up to Wil's side and ran a hand along his back. The mafia boss glanced up at the sight of him, and although stress lined his face, he warmed.

    "Morning," said Wil softly, smiling. "Sleep well?"

    "Yeah," said Dark, dropping his hand. Wil made a sound of disapproval at the motion. "What's going on?"

    "Couldn't sleep," said Jim, "so I've been writing articles all night. And morning."

    "Imagine if Freddie Lounds were still alive," scoffed Wilford, crossing his arms. "She would've made this an even bigger nightmare for us."

    Host shifted on the couch. "What Jim is doing," he said, eye still closed, "it's risky."

    "But it's working," said Jim. "The public knows Celine is the real enemy now."

    "That won't keep Wil from getting arrested," said Host with a curl in his lip. "The moment the FBI see him, they'll create some story to get him behind bars"

    Wilford smirked at that. "Detective Abe tried that once, when he used to play dirty," he said. "Even if he tried again, it wouldn't work."

    "Wouldn't it, though?" chimed Dark, catching their attention. "The only true evidence, really, is when I was poisoned. But that can't prove it wasn't you who did it."

    "That's against the point," said Wilford, waving his hands. "Right now, we need to focus on finding Celine, so we can find your little bodyguard. God, I can't wait to put her in the wringer."

    "Posted!" shouted Jim, setting the phone down. "Medias going crazy over this stuff, boss. I think we'll be alright."

    "Well..." breathed Dark. "What now?"

    A silence fell over them, and Wilford huffed.

    "Might as well get you better prepared." He turned to Dark, met his eyes, and rose a taunting brow. "How good are you with knives?"

———

A knife drove into the desk, standing tall.

    "You disappointed me, Rios," said Celine, running her nails along the handle. Her gaze cut up, and Agent Rios stood before the desk, swallowing. "You were supposed to be in charge."

    "I understand, Mrs. Larose," said Rios. "But Cindy was in control of the route—"

    "What's done is done," said Celine, raising a hand. "What I want from you, now, is the next phase of the plan."

    Rios straightened herself.

    "Agent Nelson isn't suspicious of you, is she?"

    "No, ma'am," said Rios. "She trusts me."

    "Good," said Celine with a nod. "Then get started." Her lips curled into a tight smile. "My patience is running thin."

———

"I hate to break it to you," spat Mark, tugging his binds, "but everyone knew Actor Mark slept around. So what if he was with Mr. Edwards?"

    Blank paced around the half-furnished penthouse, plastic tarp rustling under his heels. He tapped his foot against a wooden crate out of boredom.

    "To be honest, I could care less," admitted Blank, finding interest in his nails. "But Celine finds it very personal. Imagine someone you trust, someone you care for deeply, doing the one thing behind your back that they swore they would never do."

    He shrugged. "Markus was her husband. And he cheated on her with filth."

    Mark scoffed, turning away. Sure, Celine had every right to be upset. It was her husband, of course. But she had no right to wreak havoc on all these lives, had no right to kill people for it.

    Silence fell over the room, and Blank sank onto a crate, glancing out the ceiling-high windows around them. Mark squinted at him, taking in his spindly frame, swamped by that ill-fitting suit. He tipped his chin up.

    "Why do you do it?" asked Mark, like an afterthought.

    Blank glanced at Mark through the corner of half-lidded eyes. "Do what?" he sighed, tired of this back and forth. He wanted to use his weapons, he wanted to see Mark afraid, to see him bleed. But no. Celine had ordered him otherwise.

    "Why do you listen to Celine?"

    Blank scoffed under his breath, turning his head back towards the view. Rather than answering, he stayed silent, calculating the next line of questioning. One thought later, and he assumed Mark's next question. When it came, his guess was incorrect.

    "Does she have someone you care about?"

    Blank's eye twitched. He was rarely wrong, especially with something as predictable as conversation.

    "You could kill her, if you wanted to," said Mark, eyeing the other. "Shit, you could have planned all of this without her. So why?"

    Blank glared out the window.

    "Why do you do it?" pressed Mark.

    Quiet.

    "Why do you let her tell you what to do?"

    No response.

    "Why do you let her treat you like shit—"

    Blank's eye twitched.

    "—when all you do is do her dirty work?"

    "Because—" Blank snapped, standing. The words lodged in his throat, and he caught himself, surprised with his reaction. God, that bodyguard could really get under his skin, couldn't he? He shoved his hand in his pocket, fingers digging into the gun there. He wouldn't let that happen again.

    Without a word, Blank left the room. He would worry about Celine's reprimands later.

———

The precinct was busy, flowing with conversing officers and detectives. Agent Rios weaved through them, feigning breathlessness, as she approached Agent Nelson's room.

    "Nelson," she said, dipping into the room. "I have intel—"

    The conference table was covered in evidence, but at the end of it, flipping through files, wasn't Agent Nelson. Instead, Detective Derekson sat with his feet kicked carelessly up on the table, a smirk on his face.

    When their eyes met, his smirk widened.

    "Well, if it isn't the dog," he drawled, swinging his boots off the table. "Come to bark at me some more?"

    "You shouldn't be in here," said Agent Rios, her voice lowering. Her fingers twitched around the phone in her hand. She needed to see Amy, now. Had to put the plan into action before it was too late.

    "Shouldn't I?" drawled Derekson, standing. "I told ya, sweetheart. A real man's gotta crack down on this case."

    Rios scoffed, turning away. "I'm getting Nelson."

    Derekson grabbed her wrist, and just as she whirled around, furious, he pulled her in.

    "Get your hands—"

    Derekson barred the door with his body and grabbed the phone from Rios' hands. Fury lit through her, but it was too late. Even as she struck him to the ground, he had read the message. Seen the address.

    The phone clattered to the ground. Derekson groaned on the floor, clutching himself, and Agent Rios picked up the phone. She drove her heel into his groin for good measure and stormed off before anyone could crowd around them.

    Celine was already unhappy.

    They couldn't afford another screw up.

———

Dark was just swinging the knife when he heard it.

    A message from his phone.

    Wilford, mid-disarm, saw the distraction on his face and stopped.

    "What is it?" he slurred.

    Dark handed the knife to Wilford and crossed the living room, picking up his phone from the coffee table. The moment he opened his cell, the dread in his chest sank deeper.

    The room went silent, and Wilford joined his side, concerned. Jim hovered nearby, listening in while he sat near Host. He was typing away on his phone, conjuring the latest headline.

    "It's Celine," said Dark, opening his messages.

    There, like a promise, was one line:

    'Post one more.'

    "Post one more," breathed Wilford, brows furrowing. "You think she means..."

    "Alright," said Jim, letting out a triumphant breath. "I think this should be the last one."

    Wilford and Dark turned to him, and time slowed.

    Post one more.

    It wasn't an order.

    Jim's finger hovered over the 'Post' button, and it clicked instantly.

    It was a threat.

    "Jim, wait—" started Wilford.

    Too late.

    Jim looked up innocently, confusion filling his face when Wilford snatched the phone out of his hand.

    "How do you delete it?" cursed Wilford, tapping through the phone. "How do you unpublish it, Jim?"

    Host wearily opened his eye, noting the change in the room. Jim floundered.

    "You—you can't," he said. "I mean, technically, but—once it's posted, it gets shared to other sites—"

    "Shit," cursed Wilford, tossing the phone onto the couch. Dark sucked in a breath, and he stepped back, vision closing in.

    Post one more.

    That dread came back to him tenfold, and he ran a hand over his mouth. His phone chimed again, and he lifted it slowly, eyes meeting the newest message.

    'Two hours,' it said.

    Two hours? Two hours until what?

    Dark met Wilford's eyes, and the look on his face made the mafia boss still.

    Of course, thought Dark, face paling. It all came down to Mark. Celine's bait to draw them out.

    "What?" said Wilford, pulling the phone towards him. "What is it?"

    Dark took a deep breath and exhaled.

    "It's a countdown."

———

Celine leaned against the kitchen counter, dismantling and cleaning her guns. She had to be sure they were in pristine condition. Had to be sure that when she fired, it wouldn't fail.

    She had waited so long.

    As she slid her weapons back together, she thought of Dark, standing on the roof. Thought of his expression, which she would savor, long past his death.

    As she lifted a gun up lazily, she imagined Dark's face between the sights.

    "Bang," said Wilma, pulling Celine out of her trance. The woman had barely heard the sound of her heels approaching. When she glanced over, the woman was at the doorway, her hair in wild curls around her face, and her body clad in a stunning dress. "Getting ready, huh?"

    Celine lowered the gun, watching Wilma as she came up close. The scent of her perfume met her senses, along with the dazzling aura that followed her.

    "It's a big night," said Celine quietly, running her eyes over the other's frame.

    "I've gotta admit," said Wilma, "I'm a bit nervous." She leaned over and grabbed a gun, testing the weight of it in her hand. Her shoulder brushed against Celine's. "All this time, I've dreamed of seeing my brother again. And now I will."

    She smiled to herself. "You know, I convinced myself he'd died at one point. That the reason he didn't take me with him was because he literally couldn't." She set the gun down and sighed. "It's easier when you think they're dead... you know? 'Cause when you know they're alive, it just... hurts. Worse than before. Because you know they could come and see you again, but instead, they choose not to."

    Celine set her weapon down and faced Wilma, running a hand up her arm. The gesture made her look up through her lashes, chin tipped up.

    "It is," said Celine softly. She brushed a lock of hair behind Wilma's ear, running her eyes along the curves of her face. "You never did tell me what happened between you two."

    "He left me," said Wilma with a shrug, leaning into Celine's touch. She closed her eyes and sighed. "He never stopped talking about making things better for us when we were kids. Turns out, he just meant himself. The moment he found an out, he took it and left me behind. I was just an afterthought."

    "Well, in a way, I'm glad," said Celine, fingers tipping Wilma's chin up. "It brought you to me."

    A blush spread across Wilma's features, and she swallowed. When she met eyes with Celine, warmth rushed through her body, making her feel vulnerable under that stare.

    "Men, right?" Wilma joked.

    Celine smiled, and before she listened to the pull between them, she parted from Wilma, turning back to her weapons.

    "Two hours," said Celine, sliding two guns into her shoulder holster. "That's how long I gave them."

    Wilma ghosted a hand over her lips and snapped herself out of it. Focus, she told herself.

    "What if they don't come in time?"

    A feline glee stole Celine's features, and she smiled.

    "Then the bodyguard dies," she said, "and I get to enjoy the look on Dark's face when he sees the body."

...

Sorry for the inconsistent updates lately, all. I've been busy with college, work, and life in general lol. Anyways,

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo