Dark, heavy eyelids surveyed the bricked building, thoughts running in that mind much heavier than the droopiness of her eyes that threatened to betray her. Forty long hours had passed, and the closest thing Nina had felt to a bed was the heaps of garbage she had laid trembling on. The neon yellow and blue cars that once occupied the acre she stood on disappeared, the ground protected by their presence now drenching with the silent drizzles of the New Year's rain. 

Nina checked the time; it was 10 p.m., and the light from her phone blinded her eyes, illuminating the black trenchcoat that hung tightly around her clothed skin. She pulled at its corners, attempting to loosen its hold over her. Instinctively, she rubbed her shoulder blades, hunching further into the large oak tree, anointing herself as a bodach in the shadows.

As though marred by her presence, the tranquillity of nature was short-lived; The police station in Nina's periphery was a clamorous mess of screaming, pacing and thumping fists on the wooden, office desks. Despite the vigour, the station was fairly empty. It appeared that all possible resources had been deployed, targeted towards a criminal on the loose. 

Perhaps they are looking for me, she wondered, the blunder at Wenthouse Avenue still fresh in her mind. 

She had replaced her sienna hands with a coat of black, the cheap cotton gloves protecting the identity of a criminal printed on her fingers. As she watched the movements of the three policemen who remained in the main room, her thoughts crept into the man in the alley. She knew not his name, let alone any details to track him down. Her only sliver of hope remained the call he made to the police station upon seeing Thomas and she now craved the sound of the thoughtful taps of a crutch on the station floor. 

Alas, he wasn't there. 

Her heart steadied, intending to reason with cautiousness. She shifted her feet, looking back at the headlights and stop signs, the buses and cars that crowded the streets late at night. Her toes curled, itching to return to the safety of being hidden, but her brain halted the discretion in her heart. 

He must have been here, Nina thought, her mind racing. The police must have taken him in, especially if they couldn't see the body. They must have brought him in.

Nina crouched slowly, her wet boots gulping the pattering rainwater as she tore them off her feet. The chill of the puddle-soaked earth seeped into her skin through her white socks, now brown and soggy. Without the boots, her shredded white pants came into direct view, the mutilated holes near her thighs revealing a long dark line that coursed the entirety of her leg, competing with her visible veins. Quickly, she pulled the trenchcoat around her thighs, shoving her boots into a thicket. The rustling leaves a whispered secret under the protection of the rain. 

Her sloppy footsteps, muffled under the texture of her socks, moved in thoughtful anticipation. As her pace quickened, she moved further away from the station, the streetlamps far more welcoming than the grim station. Woefully, Nina wasn't one to run away from her problems. 

"The best way to hide," she muttered, pulling out the gun from her waist, "Is to create something more worthy of being found."

The amber light of the traffic signal fluttered, cars and bikes racing to get past the signal before the sign turned red. Nina positioned herself behind a wall, her fingers coiled around the trigger, steady rock. She pulled the gun forward, squinting her eyes as the world drowned underneath her gaze. Her eyes fixated on the spinning wheels of a Citroën which neared the end of the signal's passage. 

The light flickered one last time but the rebels on the road didn't dare slow down. With Nina's shuddering exhale, her shoulder recoiled as the second bullet flew from the gun's embrace, throttling the air that resisted its path, puncturing a fissure on her target. The sound of the gunshot came late, sending everyone into a frenzy as the car careened on the road, unable to stop under its lightning speed. 

Cars spun wildly, crashing into each other like bumper cars, as bikes slammed into the ground, riders flying over handlebars. Horns blared, tired skidded and glass shattered as the safer drivers avoided the chaos that ensued before them. People shrieked in terror, a chorus of screams erupting as the world descended into utter bedlam. The signal turned red, but no one stopped, the chaos consuming everything in its path

As blaring honks stifled the screech of the weapon, Nina slipped into her trusted corners as salty sweat intertwined with the droplets of rain. She tucked her gun back into its place, watching as the three policemen rushed out of the station, batons in hand as their faces appeared to be laminated with trepidation. Nina knew they would surround the perimeter soon. 

But Nina was already in. 

Nina's heart didn't race with the noise that surrounded her. The metal seared her skin, but she didn't release the warm comfort. Her face didn't melt into a state of discombobulated guilt, and neither did her eyes return to the chaos of her creation. A cold, calculating expression shielded her from the childish voice of an eighteen-year-old girl, berating her for being a monster. Everything was according to her plan, which did not call for remorse.

The rain poured down, sanctifying the asphalt ground from the crimson stains that coated the glass fragments. Yet with each step, the harsh droplets pricked her skin, cleansing the ground she tainted with her presence while attempting to remove her from existence, completely. However, the thought of the world putting Nina down only brought her more exultation; despite nature's efforts, it wasn't her blood that reeked in the mud beneath. Her blood would never spill again.

The new year begins in a snowstorm of white vows; they are often forgotten in the calm. But Nina's vow had been made under the darkness of the shadow and ichor.

To never bleed outside the walls of Durham County Prison. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

A seed grows without sound; a tree falls with a huge noise. Destruction has noise but creation is quiet. The beauty encompassing a flower's seed springs eternal hope; a lovely bloom growing through a crack in the concrete blossoming into a promise. However, the quiet underneath the petals was often vile and virulent. Much like a damned soul. 

The wreckage outside the precinct crescendoed into a cacophonous disarray. Nina's swampy socks sloshed over the marbled floor, leaving behind the trail of her destruction. But her mind was silent, learning about her surroundings, shaping an idea, guided by the voice of silence. 

The distant ticking clock directed her heart towards her mind, the rustling papers cooed at her, yearning for her touch, and the abrupt vibrations of a phone shook the wooden table it was placed upon, unable to notify its owner for it had been silenced. 

Nina worked best in silence. The tranquillity of the world escorted her away from the seeds of her soul. And in silence, one could hear silence. One could watch. Think. Learn. 

Remember. 

The phone stopped, dead in its tracks, cowering under Nina's presence. Her dark eyes searched the locked room, and her ears peeled for words, spoken by a man foolish enough to fall under the police's wrath. The bulky phone, its metallic black hue absorbing the light, sang a song similar to metal hitting concrete. 

She stepped forward, her arms reaching out to the phone from the alley. She was confident it belonged to the man — the tiny scratches right beside the first camera lens, the screen protector that seemed to be peeling off, and the shattered glass shards that glinted like splinters of ice in the faint light. The man didn't take care of his phone, but it was his. 

He had been in the station at some point, as predicted.

And then, he left, she mused, her fingers rapping over the wooden table. She glanced outside the doorframe, her eyes unable to zoom far enough to dissect the status of the officers. Hurriedly, she allowed herself to gaze at the other papers on the table, searching for anything else that might lead to him. 

They did not let him go, that's certain, she thought, rummaging through the papers, If they did, he would have taken his phone with him. He left it behind which means he broke out alone or someone else got to him first. 

Nina froze. Rainwater from her palms soaked through the snack bills, but beneath the smudges, a photo emerged. A man's piercing green eyes stared into Nina's consciousness. She flipped it over cautiously, reading the words scribbled on the back.

Arthur Green, age fifty-six, gunshot to his chest, Shadow Alley. 

None of this should be real. 

She scanned the picture again, taking in all his defining features; green eyes, coarse hair, plump and fifty-six. If not for the proportions, he would be a doppelganger of Thomas Rtuger. 

And he died yesterday... The same day Thomas appeared again!

A daunting sensation of fear hung in the air, suspended by the palpable longing for silence. She stepped aside, moving her frame behind the doorframe, suddenly aware of her vulnerability. The man in the alley left, not because someone got to him, but because he got to somebody. 

Or so it appeared. 

We were both supposed to end up here, Nina realised, unwilling to let her mind falter, No one would ever be able to see Thomas but Arthur Green is very much visible. Someone tried to recreate it... Thomas' death. 

Nina gripped her phone tighter, the barrier of silence breaking. The pandemonium outside rampaged over her, trampling her courage to the ground, strangling her brain as her heart worked in an overdrive. Thoughts spun in her head like a logicless puzzle, thundering over her like a storm that could capsize even the greatest of ships. Someone was definitely trying to frame them... Thomas was living like an undead man... They tried to take the alley man in as a criminal. 

They tried to paint her as a criminal... Again...

But who? A thought echoed, hammering over all the other thoughts that swarmed her mind. Focus, Adler! 

Nina's fingers released the phone, her hand relaxed as the calm washed over her body. The broken glass stared up at her like a shattered mirror. She crouched beside it, her fingers tracing the jagged edges as the significance of the phone unravelled before her eyes. If the police believed him to be guilty of murder, they must have gained access to his phone. 

She switched the phone on, the black lock screen displaying the current time — 10:19 p.m. Her cotton gloves glided smoothly over its surface, swiping up as the contents of the phone came into full display. Nina recalled the man tracing a pattern before he called the police, but it had been removed long before her arrival. 

A notification flashed on the screen — a missed call from Mom. Nina's grip on the photo of Arthur tightened, her eyes fixed on the phone as her right hand took over, scrolling through the call history with a sense of purpose. If he had reached out for help, the answers must be hidden in these digits, these numbers, these secrets.

Only one other call had been made, at the break of dawn. A favour from a gentleman.

Grant Bancroft. 

The mention of Grant's name was like a match struck against the flint of her memory. The spark ignited a firestorm of recollections, transporting her back to a time when the cold walls of the institution had felt like her entire world. Ruby's taunting sneer and the stench of disinfectant wafted back, threatening to consume her.

She had been triggered before but pushed back the formidable images that flashed before her eyes. But the name hammered a nail in her chest, fracturing her heart. She let the memory shadow her. She let it destroy her. 

"Do we have a problem, Adler?" Ruby mocked. 

Nina, curled up on the cold stone floor, raised her eyes to meet the cold, blue ones before her. The walls, once reeking of flesh and blood, were now spotless thanks to the fumigant. With a sneer, Nina's swollen eye twitched as dust entered it, and she bit her lip, reopening the wound. Blood cascaded down her neck, a stark contrast to the sterile surroundings.

Nina remained silent, biting back her words as she turned away from Ruby, unable to meet her gaze. Her skin squirmed beneath her vision, bile churning with the tears that welled up in her throat. She yearned to shed her skin like a snake, slithering into a new persona and leaving this tormented one behind. Nina fondled her lips, wiping the excess blood that threatened to tarnish the ground, only to wince under her own gentle touch. Her hands slipped away, falling beside her torso, but far from touching it. 

"This is how things will be around here," Ruby went on. "Disobey me again, and I will shove a coin underneath your eyelid and tape them shut."

I wish you would shut your mouth first, she said in her head, unable to voice them out. Neither did she want to. 

"Believe me, I have plenty of coins," Ruby sneered, nudging Nina with her bare feet. "Grant Bancroft has made sure of it."

Nina rolled her beautiful doe eyes, her gaze slipping away from Ruby's cold feet as if repelled by their chill. Her face twisted in disgust, but she swiftly masked it, her expression neutral once more. It was a necessary act, one she needed to survive. Ruby's constant chatter about Grant to anyone who'd listen had become tedious, but Nina remained indifferent. Her sole desire was a life of solitude, free from the grasping hands and prying eyes of others. And especially, free from Ruby's pernicious presence.

"Please leave me alone," Nina said, her voice betraying her true feelings — fear and shame. 

"Then how are we supposed to pass the time in this hellhole?" she asked, cackling as she dunked Nina's head and stepped away into the crowd. 

She didn't know it then, but Grant Bancroft was a name to be known. A name to be feared. Instead, under her eighteen-year-old rage, she hissed a curse, her voice low and menacing, a pledge to settle the score — I will harvest your lungs and use them as a sponge to scrub my shoes. 

Not an entirely empty threat. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Water squelched on the doorstep, the heavy boots crashing against the wooden frame, jolting Nina out of her stupor. Her grip on the phone tightened as she sprang into a sprint, darting into an empty room. Her heart raced in her chest, pounding in her ears. She cursed herself for getting distracted again, her mind racing with the consequences.

The pounding in her chest synchronised with the chaos outside, seemingly bubbling to a pause but it was only the beginning. Her mind trembled, unable to comprehend why the officers returned if the chaos still ensued outside. She peeped through the glass in the door, trying to weigh the severity of the situation. All that was perceptible were chiffon white shirts that hung loosely over two torsos. Two men stood, their gaze intently fixated on the footprints without feet that muddied the clean white floors. 

Fuck, Nina muttered. 

Spontaneously, Nina touched her hip, drawing comfort with the blend of her black gloves into her black gun. Her eyes scanned the dark room, looking for any point of soundless escape. The men mirrored her stance — arms on their belts, caressing a protrusion that hung tight. 

They weren't the police; possibly much worse. 

"Where are the officers," one of them questioned, nudging the other's gaze onto the mess on the table. 

Nina's hand rested over the doorknob as she shoved the phone into her pocket, eyes unmoving from the gap in the door. The blonder man walked towards the table she dilapidated, a mixture of water, sweat and fear lingering over its edge. 

"It doesn't matter, look," he said, pointing at the mud that collected underneath the table, "Someone has been hiding out here. Grant is usually right about these things, she must be here."

There was silence in her shuddering breath; in silence, her fingers grasped the doorknob, shifting the weight of her body to it, disabling access to the room if the men should ever try it. Her mind raced, faster than her heart, as she tumbled over the syllables of Grant's name. The weight on her shoulders increased twofold, the metallic phone encumbering her with secrets. 

These were Grant's men; they had come to find her, she knew it in her conscience. 

"We need to watch our backs," the man said, "If she's here, it means she did in fact steal the gun."

The men looked at each other, eyes locking in mutual understanding. "Start looking, we need to take her to him. This has to begin tonight."

Begin, Nina mused, not end. 

Nina retrieved the phone from her pocket, swiping through unsung apps, her fingers moving in disease as she searched for anything that could make sense of the situation. For all she knew, the alley man called Grant Bancroft this morning, possibly for aid, and now he was after her. 

Which means he must know where the crutched man is, her face settled in realization as she lowered her gun, releasing her weight from the door as her shoulder eased from the strain. 

Nina's eyes narrowed as she considered the options that lay in front of her. Shoot these men and escape the station with no other clues than a phone and a picture, risking the possibility of ever finding the man and escaping the endless cycle of death and blood. 

Or, she could gamble on these strangers leading her to him, risking potential uncertainty.

After all, if she had learned anything, it was that this man was equally entangled in the web of deceit. Finding him was her only hope, as everyone else seemed to be manipulating her, pulling the strings of her shattered life like a broken doll. His interests were the only ones that could possibly align with hers, the only ones that might help her regain control.

Nina had made her decision the moment she lowered her gun. 

When stuck between death and death's doorstep, choose the doorstep. 

 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

A/N: Finally a Nina chapter! These are usually harder to write because she doesn't exactly converse with people :/ But I hope the snippet into her prison life and the thickening of the plot with the Arthur storyline were good enough for you all ;) Let me know what you thought in the comments, I really do appreciate feedback!
WC: 3101