The council—what remained of them—filed in to one of the many stoney undercrofts beneath the Temple. Conrad heard the the whip against her flesh before anything else. He didn't breathe until he saw her, stripped and strung up, tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no sound.

Reaper stood behind her, shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat. He lifted his arm and brought the whip down. The bite of leather against flesh hissed. Conrad flinched, the movement too small for anyone but himself to notice. He clenched his teeth.

Again, Reaper's arm rose and fell, his movements steady, methodical. Swoosh. Slap. Each blow sent Tabby's body surging forward, only to be pulled back by the chains about her wrists. Swoosh. Slap. Blood spattered the floor beneath her, dripping down her back where angry red lines covered her like a painting. Swoosh. Slap.

"So you see," Ghost said. "A most surprising development. Who would have thought it would be Tempest?"

"Has she admitted to the crime?" Flint asked.

Tabby's eyes fell on them then. Swoosh. Slap. Her glare was harrowing. Years of hate in those brown eyes. Years of hurt. What they did now was nothing compared to what the Spectrum had done before.

Conrad couldn't move. Tabby's gaze didn't linger over him—there was no recognition there. Even in pain, she protected him. Swoosh. Slap. She hadn't said a word. Swoosh. Slap. But even the strongest couldn't withstand torture, and torture would come. He didn't expect her to keep his secret, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

Reaper paused. "Ready to admit to your guilt?" he asked.

"Fuck you." She spat on the ground.

Reaper looked at Flint. "There's you answer."

"So you do not know with certainty? You would whip her regardless?" Flint crossed his arms. "Tempest is one of the best Spects we have, apprentice or no. And she's in the middle of a mission."

"Oh, she did it," Reaper said. "I just want to hear her say it."

Was that true? Could Reaper know? How had he worked it out? He was resourceful, but not that resourceful. This was something deeper, something personal. Something to do with Reaper's long standing rivaly with Midnight. Perhaps even something to do with the name Tabby had mentioned. Clora. Though he hadn't gotten that story yet. And now he never would.

He considered her actions towards Rampage, her torture of him. She had hoped Felix Lane was Reaper. She'd wanted it to be Reaper.

Reaper moved back into position once more. Swoosh. Slap. Again and again, but his lashes came more forcefully now.

Conrad wanted to look away. Each lash tightened something in his chest, like a fist squeezing his heart. This was his fault. He had done this to her. She was here because of him. It had always been a possibility—they'd known that. Swoosh. Slap. Seeing it was something else.

"See what you can discover, Reaper, but do not shatter her," Ghost said. He looked over Tabby's things on the table before turning towards the door. His hand slipped out and then disappeared into the pocket of his trousers while his gaze lingered over Tabby's body, face unreadable behind his jester mask. "Keep her body parts in tact until I have a chance to speak with her. I want her coherent." They all knew what Reaper was capable of. His torture tactics were worse than all theirs combined. He shattered people until there was nothing left. "After that, she's all yours."

Reaper paused. "Do fingernails count as body parts?"

Ghost hesitated. "Fingernails grow back." He turned then to the rest of them. "I have other matters to attend to. I will return later this evening. Flint, find our acolytes. Show them what disobedience looks like." He disappeared.

***

Ghost left the room. Tabby watched his shape disappear through blurry, tearstained eyes. Bile rose in her throat. Swoosh. Slap. The sound was sickening. She swallowed it down in between each lash. Blood from biting her tongue filled her mouth. Better that than give Reaper the satisfaction of her voice. She would not cry out from a mere whipping. She couldn't. Her hatred for him wouldn't allow it.

Steiner was there. Seeing him gave her unexpected strength. A desire to prove how much she could take, that she was not so easily shattered. There were no expectations where he was concerned. He wouldn't abandon his position to save her. No one cared enough for her, except perhaps Elias and Nit. What were they compared to the Spectrum?

"Well?" Reaper's voice grated through her. The whip had stopped, silence surrounding her, pressing in.

Her back was in such agony that the pain had become a part of her, the only thing she knew. Down. She burrowed deep down into herself. The worst weapons in this world were not blades, guns, or even people. No, the worst weapon was pain, true physical pain. A weapon that could bring about many different outcomes, especially truth.

"Did you kill Beast? Waste? Rampage? Admit to your sins and this will all be over."

She laughed then. "Sins?" She spat blood on the ground, clearing out her mouth. "My sins are many, but killing those pricks was the cleanest thing I've ever done. Yes, I killed them. Destroyed them. Mutilated them. And I enjoyed it."

Sin strode forward and punched her in the face. Pain exploded through her head as her nose broke. Blood dripped down her face, her lips, her chin. "That's enough," Reaper hissed. "She's mine. Go find your own little bitch if you want to punch something."

This was personal—for Reaper as it was for her.

Flint returned moments later with a silent, wide-eyed group of acolytes in quarter masks. She met their gazes, unflinching. It was for them she was doing this. For their freedom. So that they might live lives free of oppression and control.

Reaper went to the table and lifted his mask slightly to put a canteen to his lips, drinking deeply. Water spilled out and down his chin, down his bare chest. She was thirsty...so thirsty. He returned then, and began anew. Swoosh. Slap.

She didn't care that there were others here, watching. That Steiner stayed with her. All of that disappeared. Just as pain was the world's greatest weapon, so too was it the world's greatest evil.

*

If he stayed, Conrad could do nothing for Tabby. Yet, neither could he convince his feet to move. So he forced himself to watch. To watch what he had undoubtedly done to her, as if he wielded the whip himself. Swoosh. Slap.

Word of mouth traveled quickly. Additional Spects visiting the Temple on business appeared for their own sick inclinations. That they should enjoy Tabby's suffering roused something deep within him. He wanted to slit their throats.

But...was he any better than them?

Swoosh. Slap. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head drooped. Finally. Unconscious. A small mercy. Reaper wouldn't bother with an unconscious victim. But it was only a matter of time before he woke her. His chest heaving, Reaper saw the opportunity as a much needed break.

"Don't you have business to attend to," Conrad said to the others, keeping his voice free of emotion. He turned on his heel and left.

Indecision gripped him like a virus, waiting to wash through him and destroy everything he'd built. Tabby wouldn't last forever, even if with Ghost's instructions. What to do, then?

The High Mask's reaction was curious. Ghost often displayed an unusual inclination towards Tabby. The other council members probably didn't notice, but he had. It could have been any number of reasons, but he suspected it was Tabby's abilities as a heptachrom. Ghost was reluctant to eliminate such a trophy from his collection.

He decided then that he had to help her...somehow. He told himself it was to preserve his identity. To keep her from talking. But deep down, he knew it was for other reasons, reasons he wouldn't dare admit.

Purpose driven, he moved through the corridors beneath the Temple, nodding to those who paid him respect along the way. Acolytes lived and died within these confines until and unless they were assigned masters. It was a cage. A proving grounds. A death trap.

He stopped by the reading room. Empty at this hour. On a scrap of parchment, he scribbled a quick note.

They have taken her. She will not last long in his hands. C.S.

Time to learn where Midnight's loyalties lay. For years, he had spent time studying Theo Carter. It was Tabby he ultimately decided on, knowing full well she would be more persuadable. But there was a chance Theo wasn't all bad.

He left the temple and summoned a carriage. No sooner had the driver departed, did he hear a frantic tapping on the window. He glanced out and breathed a sigh. Nit.

Rushing to unlatch the door, he opened it and the mechanimal bird flew in.

"Just the fellow I need. What luck." The mechanimal had never shown an ability for speech, but Nit and Tabby were connected. Could she see him now, through Nit's eyes?

Nit zoomed about the carriage with obvious agitation.

"I know, friend, I know. They've taken her. I'm going to do what I can. She's strong. They will not shatter her yet." Or so he hoped.

Nit settled on the seat across from him, intelligence lurking behind their glass eyes. "You want to help, don't you?" Nit chirruped and stretched their wings in response. "Good. Me too. I need you to deliver a message to Midnight. Do you know where to find him?" Nit clicked their beak and bobbed their head. "Excellent. Take this to him immediately. Tabby's life depends on it." He opened the carriage door and Nit zoomed off into the night.

He watched Nit disappear into the darkness then pounded on the roof. The carriage stopped. He apologized to the driver, paid him, and returned to the Temple by another route. Midnight or not, it was high time to act.