They'll make me do things. Horrible things, Calina had said.

At least one mystery was solved. Those 'horrible things' included murdering the highest ranking politician in the state.

That just left a million other questions to answer. Who had given that order? For what purpose? How had they gotten control of Calina?

And how often had this happened to her?

I can't go through that again...

I'm not sure she'll be able to come back from that again.

Again.

This had happened before.

Which would explain her nightmares. Her sleepless nights. Her secrets, and her haunted past.

"Matt, say something!" Foggy urged, his voice vibrating with panic. "What do we do?"

Matt shook off the thoughts of Calina's past. There were more important things to worry about in the present.

"I don't know, Fog," Matt replied. "Can you do anything with that tablet? Is there an override button or something?"

He heard Foggy's finger tapping across the surface of the tablet. "Nothing's happening. Its as if I'm just viewing someone else's screen remotely. I can't access anything."

"Okay. Then you need to get word to the Governor's security. If the people behind this realise that Calina's not following orders, they may opt for a plan B."

Foggy nodded. "Right. That makes sense. But how the hell do I call in an assassination plot to the Governor without explaining all...this?" He waved the tablet around and gestured to the handcuffed would-be hitwoman on the floor.

"Make something up. You ran for District Attorney - you're credible. They should believe you."

"Right," Foggy repeated, tossing the tablet back onto the couch. He turned to leave, then hesitated. "You gonna be okay here?"

Matt forced a smile. "I'll be fine. She's not going anywhere."

———

Matt checked his phone for what felt like the millionth time. The robotic voice informed him it was barely fifteen minutes since he'd last checked - and almost an hour since he'd called Yelena.

He'd been filling the time by pacing his apartment, monitoring Calina for any signs of escape and replying to his friend's texted updates. Foggy had managed to get in touch with the local police department, and the DA's office. Between those two agencies, they'd gotten word to the Governor's staff and he was currently being moved to a secure location.

"The threat's been neutralised," he told the woman still bound to the radiator. "Calina, if you can hear me in there, its over. You can't carry out their commands now. You helped stop it from happening. Do you hear me?"

No response.

Just like the dozen other times he'd tried to engage her in conversation.

She just stared straight ahead, her pose relaxed. No hint of nerves, or frustration or anger. She'd refused the water he'd offered her. Refused the bag of ice for her knee, even though he could feel the heat radiating from the joint where it had collided with the hardwood floor. He'd removed the tie keeping her ankles bound after noticing the circulation to her right foot was dropping, but she hadn't even acknowledged that his friend had bound her too tightly.

It was as if she was disconnected from her body, from her surroundings...from everything. A puppet discarded on the floor, just waiting for her strings to be pulled again.

The thought was sickening.

His mind flashed back to the the woman he'd gotten to know over the past few months. The one who'd been proud of the cookies she'd baked with a lonely old woman. The one who'd taken care of him when he was sick. The one who talked enthusiastically about physics, and loved stargazing, and wanted to make a difference in the world.

His earlier anger at her lies had dissipated. He refused to believe it had all been fake. The Calina that he'd met may have falsified her past, but he felt like he knew her - the essence of who she was. The goodness within her.

And she had been reduced to this. Someone had done this to her.

His hands clenched into fists, blunt nails digging into his palms. His anger had found a new target - the nameless, faceless person behind this. The one commanding her from afar.

He would find them. And make sure this never happened again.

In the meantime, he had to wait. And hope that when Yelena arrived, the counteragent would bring Calina back.

He checked the time again. And continued pacing.

———

The change in her heart rate startled him.

He was seated on the floor opposite Calina, his back to the side of the couch and his legs drawn up. Another 30 minutes had passed. Another half hour of silence. Of observing her flat affect and listening to her slow, steady heart heat and hoping for some sign that the real Calina was still in there somewhere.

So when that heart skipped a beat and started racing, he jolted upright in shock.

Her breathing sped up and she started wincing and shaking her head as if to clear it. He got to his hands and knees and inched closer. "Calina?"

"Matthew?" she whispered, finally focussing on him. "What happened?"

Three simple words. But they were filled with a wealth of emotion. There was confusion, fear, pain...all proof that Calina had fought herself free of her cage. Matt exhaled in relief. "You're okay. You're safe."

She tugged on the handcuffs, her heart rate spiking even more. "What's going on? Why am I like this?"

Her breath started to come in shallow pants as she pulled against the restraints, tearing the delicate skin of her wrists.

Matt quickly dug in his pocket for the key he'd grabbed earlier. He took hold of her hands and inserted the thin slip of metal into the lock. As he did, he noticed something odd: her natural fragrance was still smothered by that cold, metallic scent.

He paused. And frowned. Her heart rate, her breathing, the panic in her voice...those could all be faked. But her scent - a product of biochemistry and pheromones - wasn't so easily manipulated.

Unlike him, apparently.

He'd fallen for an act.

In that split second of realisation, she took advantage. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his neck, her supple thighs clamping onto him like a vice and squeezing hard. He brought his hands up, trying to loosen her grip. At the same moment, she twisted her right hand around and unlocked the cuffs. The metal restraints clattered to the ground.

She was free.

She punched him in the jaw, the same spot she'd managed to hit before. Then she went for his damaged nose - the pain making his eyes water. She kept up the barrage of hits even as her thighs tightened around his airway. He hammered his fists against her legs, trying to break her hold but she just took the strikes and continued squeezing.

He got to his feet, and she came with him, pulling herself up by the core. She used both hands to draw her right leg closer against the back of his neck, until she was pressed tight against him, his face smothered against her lower abdomen. It felt like a practiced move, designed to disorientate and blind someone while she suffocated them.

But he wasn't blind.

He manoeuvred them until he was facing the windows and rammed her against them. Once, twice, three times, until one of the panels of glass cracked from the impact of her head.

But still her hold on him didn't break.

He spun away from the window, his head now getting light from the lack of oxygen. He jumped up and slammed her against the arm of the couch, the legs holding up that side of the couch buckling and breaking beneath their combined weight. The two of them rolled off the sofa and crashed to the ground. She cried out as her damaged knee was wrenched further by his weight landing on it.

And finally her grip loosened.

He shook her off and staggered to his feet, gasping lungfuls of air. She sat up and rubbed at her knee. She used the coffee table to help her stand up, gingerly testing the joint with her weight. When it held, she faced him again, her arms up in a defensive pose.

"Dirty trick," he acknowledged.

She just shrugged.

"But now what? You know I'm not going to let you leave."

"Its cute that you think I need your permission." She didn't hide her movements as she glanced around the room, trying to figure out her escape. She was hemmed in by the furniture and he was blocking her route to the door.

He kept talking, praying that Yelena would arrive before Calina made her next play. "Even if you manage to leave, the Governor is safe now. You failed your mission."

"Doesn't matter," she said distractedly, her eyes still scanning her surroundings. He mirrored her movements as she slowly edged towards the dining table, trying to give herself a clearer shot towards the door. He mirrored her movements as she slowly edged towards the dining table, trying to give herself a clearer shot towards the door.

But he should have known better.

It was another fake out.

She sprinted to the right instead, aiming for the stairway that led to the roof. Even with a limp, her long legs propelled her across the floor and halfway up the wooden steps before he managed to catch up to her. He grabbed a fistful of her dress and yanked hard. She flew backwards, landing in a sprawl on the floor, a softly grunt the only sign of pain from the impact.

He followed her down, but before he could pin her to the floor again, she kicked her legs up and rolled backwards, coming up into a handstand before gracefully landing on her feet.

They squared off again, closer this time. Both slightly crouched with arms up in a defensive position.

She took a half step to the left. He echoed the move. She stepped back, and he followed her.

"If you wanted to dance, you should have said so," he said, his mood lightening with relief. He had her cornered now, so there was no way for her to escape. And she seemed to realise she couldn't take him in one-on-one combat, so he didn't have to keep hurting her.

He just needed to keep her occupied until Yelena arrived - which would hopefully be any minute.

This would all be over soon.

Calina ignored his comment and glanced to her right, into his bedroom. "No way out there either," he said, still matching her movements as she slowly backed up.

Too late, he realised her ploy. She came level with the side table against the wall and grabbed the lamp on top, hurling it at his head. He ducked and it flew passed him, smashing on the floor behind him. She used his momentary distraction to dart into the kitchen.

She hadn't been cornered at all.

She'd been looking for a way to arm herself.

He dodged as a mason jar filled with nuts came flying at him. The drinking glass he'd used this morning with breakfast smashed against his shoulder, embedding small slivers of glass into his skin. He grabbed a cushion from the couch and used it to deflect the next few projectiles - a plastic container of ketchup, the dish drying in the rack by the sink, an empty bottle of beer. She pelted him with every loose object she could get her hands on, keeping him away from her as she hunted for a more substantial weapon.

It was his turn to back up when she finally found one. She twirled the knife in her hands, testing its balance. "You still want to dance?" she asked.

She didn't wait for an answer. She flipped the weapon and caught it by the blade then launched it at him. He heard the whistle of the metal as it spun towards him and jerked his head to the side, avoiding the strike.

Well, almost avoiding it.

The sharp edge nicked his ear as it passed by him, prompting a warm stream of blood to flow down his neck.

Calina grabbed another knife from the drawer, but he managed to dodge that one. He flicked the next one aside with his forearm. The fourth one he caught between his palms and tossed aside. "I'm not much of a cook - you're going to run out of knives soon," he commented dryly.

They were at a stalemate.

He couldn't get close to her, and she couldn't escape and pelt him with projectiles at the same time. Something needed to give.

Matt decided it was his turn to try the fake-out tactic. When the next blade came spinning through the air, he twisted his body to take the impact on his upper chest. The relatively blunt tip only penetrated a few centimetres into the thick muscle beneath his skin, but he grunted and fell to the floor, as if the wound was much more serious.

He landed in front of the couch, using the furniture and kitchen counter to block her view of him. He palmed the knife and held still.

She took the bait.

She ran out of the kitchen and into the living room, not sparing a glance at his prone figure as she raced for the door. He sat up and flung the knife. It embedded in the wall of the hallway, the loose fabric of her dress caught on the blade, pinning her in place.

He was on his feet before she even realised she was caught. She tugged at the dress, but the heavy sequinned material wouldn't tear free. He wrenched her hands behind her back and held them with one hand. He used the other to rip the knife from the wall, then held it to her throat.

"You won't use that on me." As if to demonstrate, she leaned into the tip of the blade until it dented her skin. Her temple was now pressed against his cheek, her pulse a gentle drum against his skin. The wispy hairs escaping her ponytail tickled against his neck.

"You won't hurt me," she said, pressing further into the knife tip.

She was right. This close he could detect the hints of her natural fragrance, smothered beneath the alien scent. It was almost like having the real Calina in his arms - and he couldn't hurt her. He pulled the blade away before it could pierce her skin.

She took advantage of his weakness. She threw her weight forward and kicked back at him. Her foot slammed into his upper thigh, perilously close to his groin, but he didn't loosen his grip. He did discard the knife though, not willing to risk it ending up in her hands again. He flicked it high so it embedded in the wall over their heads. Then he wrapped his now free hand around her waist. "It's over Calina. You failed. Just give in."

"Not an option." She planted both feet against the wall opposite her and pushed off. The force caused him to stumbled back, but he kept hold of her. She took advantage of his imbalance, hooking her right foot behind his and yanking it forward. They both crashed to the ground, her on top of him, her hands still behind her back and secured in his grip. The awkward landing wrenched her arms and he heard a sickening pop as her right elbow dislocated.

"Dammit," he growled, immediately letting go. She rolled off him and onto her feet in one graceful movement. Her right arm hung useless by her side, but she gave no indication that she felt any pain.

She just took off for the door. Again.

Matt whipped out his leg into her path causing her to trip and fall forward. But frustrated by her relentless attempts to escape, he miscalculated her trajectory. Instead of hitting the ground, she landed against the bench in the hallway. Unable to break her fall with her injured arm, the side of her head collided with the edge of the wooden slat...and she crumpled to the floor, still.

"Shit," Matt hissed. He scrambled over to her and gently turned her over. "Calina," he called, patting her cheek lightly. Her eyes flickered but didn't open. A soft groan escaped her lips, but then she went slack in his arms. He cursed again, before gathering her in his arms and rising to his feet.

He carried her into his room and laid her on the bed. Then he quickly checked her vitals. Her heart rate and breathing were steady, and there was no wound on her temple where she'd taken the hit. She was just out cold from the impact.

He paced in front of the bed a few times, before turning and punching the wall in a quick burst of anger. He'd tried so hard not to hurt her. The image of her desperate, fearful eyes when she'd come to him tonight had stayed with him throughout their fight. He'd just wanted to subdue her, keep her from leaving. Keep his promise.

But now she was unconscious. Probably concussed. With bruises already blooming across her skin, her left knee busted and her right arm dislocated.

But based on the way she'd fought tonight to escape, a concussion and a couple of injured joints wouldn't be enough to stop her. Matt sighed as he retrieved the restraints from the living room and bound her to the bed. The ties went around both ankles and the handcuff around her left wrist. She started to stir as the metal clicked shut around her arm, so he quickly secured the other end to the bed-frame, leaving only her injured right arm free.

He stood at the base of the bed and called to her. "Calina? Are you okay?"

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. "Where am I?"

The whispered, confused question reminded him of the times Calina had woken in his apartment before, and the endearing way she emerged from sleep - muddled and disorientated. It gave him hope that his Calina was finally back. That the puppet master had let her go, and she would once again be his warm, caring friend.

But that hope quickly died.

The puzzlement fled from her eyes and the cold, calculating look returned. She took in the handcuff around her wrist and tugged her legs against the ties binding her to the bed posts. Then she dropped her head back on the pillow. "Fuck."

It was the first time he'd heard Calina swear - yet more evidence of how different she was in this state. He was reminded of the night she'd read to him from Jekyll and Hyde. He'd thought the story an apt choice for a man like him - one who hid a darker, more violent version of himself.

But had she chosen that story for herself instead? For her own dual persona?

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any nausea, blurred vision?"

There was no answer.

"So we're back to the silent treatment then?"

She just glared at him in response. He shook his head. "Fine. Yelena will be here any minute with the counteragent. You're trapped and you're out of time. No more tricks. No more fighting. Just lie there and wait."

He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen, stepping over the projectiles and broken glass littering the floor. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped off the cap. He swallowed half the bottle in one go and closed his eyes, breathing deeply a few times to centre himself after that fight.

As he headed back to the bedroom, he passed the couch where the tablet lay discarded.

He wasn't able to see the display change, but even if he could, the icon now flashing on the screen was labelled in Russian. He wouldn't have known the significance of the box marked 'положить конец'...

Or what it meant for Calina:

TERMINATE.