"Mm, I love Rollo's," Emma sighs as she pops one into her mouth. I watch her with a soft smile and tired eyes, wondering how she can eat something so sweet for breakfast. "Who would've thought Jo would've been carryin' a big bag full of them?"

"And various other bits of equipment," Stanton adds. "Not just Rollo's."

"But they're still Rollo's. And well done gettin' them off her, Stanton, and gettin' our earpieces back."

I nod silently. Two days of walking towards Edinburgh after spotting it in the distance. I was sure we'd get there in a few hours when I first spotted it, but with the sun setting and getting lower by the minute, we had to simply keep going until we were certain Jo and her security wouldn't find us and camp for the night. We walked a whole day, stopping to rest every so often, and then went to bed, and now here we are.

"Isn't that an amazing sight?" Lawrence asks, looking into the streets that are so, so close now. "I mean, isn't it? Lights on, cars zooming around-I just... well, doesn't it look like a scene from the future right now?"

"It seems like a long time since I've last had a hot bath," Paul says, and Lawrence gasps.

"A bath! I'd forgotten about that! That sounds-oh, I can't even remember what it feels like, but I know it's gonna feel so good."

"You seem to have forgotten about your girlfriend, Soleil, rather quickly," Stanton states, "and her mourning her father."

Lawrence flinches, and I hold back my remark that we can be happy about being back into civilization and have other conflicting feelings.

"I mean... I am sad about Prof. Emmanual. I liked him. He was a good man. But Soleil... she was never really my girlfriend. I just liked her a lot." He sucks in a breath. "Don't think she ever really felt the same way about me."

"But I know someone who does," Emma mutters under her breath in a sing-song voice, nudging me with her elbow. Thankfully Lawrence doesn't hear her. He's occupied by telling Stanton there's no way she hasn't thought about all the things she's missed in the near three weeks we've been out here walking.

I glare at Emma, but it drops when Charlie calls for me.

"Walker," She says, and I tune out the chattering voices around me as she continues. "It's just you and me. Private comms channel. Listen. Can you just... step aside from the others for a moment? Let them go ahead. Pretend you're... tying your shoes or something. We need to talk."

Dread fills my body. Those are never good words, especially since we're so close to finally being done, finally getting these boxes to where they need to be and us getting to go back to our normal lives.

Does she know? Does she know that I'm not the person that was supposed to get the box?

But why would that matter now when the job's almost done? Why would she care if I'm not some super-secret spy if I did what I was supposed to?

I don't like this, but I hide my mounting worry as I look over to the others, at the contentment on their faces.

I stop, reaching down to look like I'm fixing my shoes. Lawrence's excited voice starts to fade.

"-And so, I said-and so I said to her, 'Maybe you're prepared, but I'm..."

"Okay, that's better," Charlie says, and I wait for a few moments for them to get ahead of me to stand and start walking behind them. They're all too busy in their conversations to realize I've fallen behind.

"What is it you wanted to talk about?" I hate how nervous I sound.

"I've been thinking. We found that tracker in Lawrence's bag. Fair enough. Jo planted it on him, but if she only activated it four days ago, how had the Burn been following you before then? I've been searching for any transmissions since then from any of us."

"And?"

"There's been nothing, which might mean the tracker was the whole problem, or... might mean someone got wise." She laughs, but it isn't a real laugh, and that only worsens my worry. "The others think we're nearly there, that we've nearly won."

I swallow. Is she trying to say we're not close to the finish line?

"The Burn has been off our tail since we destroyed the tracker, and maybe that's good news. It's just.... how did Marianne know what Adebayo had done? How could she have possibly known that? A tracker doesn't transmit audio."

I blink. I hadn't thought of that. The shock of his death, and the news of there being a traitor pushed any thought of how Marianne could have figured out how he betrayed her from my mind.

"I mean, maybe she had something sewn in Adebayo's clothing, and maybe she didn't," Charlie continues with another forced laugh. "Maybe I'm just getting paranoid, and paranoid's the only way forward."

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Charlie... what are you trying to say?"

"I think there's a traitor. I think one of you is," She admits, and I flinch. "And I'm going to have to take a guess. I'm trusting it's not you, Walker. I'm hoping it's not you. So, I've got something for you to do. I hope you've been briefed on it. And if not... I hope you don't mind too much."

Ice spikes through my veins and fear wraps around my heart like a vice. What could she possibly mean by that?

What do I tell her? Can I tell her I haven't been briefed? Should I come clean completely?

No, no, I can't do that. If I do, she'll definitely think I'm the traitor and then she'll tell Emma and Lawrence, and then they'll tie me up and we'll have the same problem as before.

I take a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, thinking out the words before I say them. I have to, or else they'll come out as a mess of panic and fear, which will definitely clue her in on something not being right with me.

"Charlie, I'm going to be honest with you," I say, intentionally omitting the word 'completely' in that sentence because I'm not going to be that, "I don't know what you're talking about. What was I... supposed to be briefed on?"

She sighs, which only serves to make me feel worse. "I am sorry, Walker."

"Charlie, am I going to have to hurt anybody?"

"No!" She shouts. "No, no, I wouldn't... no one except..." She sighs again. "Just take your device out of your pocket."

An odd request, but I comply nonetheless.

"Take a good look at it." After a brief pause, she chuckles. "It's funny. I suppose we've never really looked at it before. Not that I can see what you're looking at. Although, I suppose if I zoom in on satellite imagining... Oh, yes, there you are. You look leaner than you did before. All that walking, I suppose."

And lack of calories...

"Um, yes. So... one side has the screens and the buttons and the keyboard. And the buttons on the side. Do you see the two red buttons on the side?"

I give an affirmative hum when I see them.

"Put your first and second fingers on them. Good. Now, do you see the hole at the bottom? The small hole at the very edge?"

"I think so," I reply. It looks like where you would plug in earbuds, except it's much too small.

"Position the hole pressing up against the skin behind your ear." She pauses as I obey. "A little bit further back, base of the skull."

If I was nervous before, I'm even more nervous now. "Charlie, just what am I-"

"Okay. Now press the two red buttons."

I do so without thinking, and a sharp swishing sound comes from the device as pain spikes in the back of my head. I choke on my own breath, a strangled noise slipping past my lips.

"Yes, I'm really, really sorry, Walker," She says quickly, and the device nearly slips from my hand as I stumble forward, blinded by tears of pain. "Oh... that looks like it must hurt. I hope it doesn't hurt too much. Just stem the bleeding with a towel or your sleeve. It'll settle down. In a few minutes, it'll look just like a mosquito bite, and you can rejoin the others."

"Charlie..." I whisper in a low, terrified voice, "what have you done to me?"

What did I let you do to me?

"I'm hoping we won't need it," She says instead of explaining, "but it might just save your life."

I don't say anything, stunned, bleeding, in pain.

What did she do to me?

WHAT DID SHE DO TO ME?!

My heart pounds in my chest, my breathing erratic as I try think of what was just injected into my because something was. I bring of my fingers to feel at the injection sight, blood smearing on my fingers. I can't feel anything underneath my skin, but it was so small, I doubt I would be able to.

It can't be a tracker, not when the device already acts as one. Not to mention Charlie has satellite imaging to track us down if necessary. The device acts as a safehold for information. Did she have me inject myself with a backup drive just in case something happens to the device? But how would that save my life?

Was it medicine? If so, why would I need it? Why would she have me inject myself but not the others? What is this going to do to me?

What is inside me?!

Just the thought makes me want to gag. The thought of something foreign in my body, especially when I didn't explicitly give consent to do it. If Charlie would have told me what she wanted me to do, I never would have done it.

And that's precisely why she didn't tell me, and it's precisely why she won't tell me anything more, because she knows I'll tell the others.

I remember I have a knife in my backpack...

Could I really risk trying to dig it out?

I glance at a ripped piece of newspaper on the ground. It says a new emergency power grid came on for the first time in nearly three weeks. It means there's lights, and most likely medicine. After we deliver the devices, I can cut this thing out of me and then go to the hospital for a head wound. Maybe I'll buy some hair dye before my amateur surgery, just in case descriptions of me are still out and about as a suspected terrorist...

Yes, that's what I'll do. I have a plan. I can stick to it.

The pain is starting to lessen, so I hurry to catch up with the others. They didn't even seem to notice I'd fallen behind.

"Charlie, Charlie," Emma says, and I'm shocked that I tuned her out as she asked what they were talking about, "we've been discussing what the first thing is we'll do when we get back to electricity."

"Mine's a bath, obviously," Lawrence admits with a shrug. "With candles and scented foam and bath bombs and..." He trails off when he sees the others looking at him oddly. "Look, I don't care if it's girly. Not after this and having gone days without any type of bath."

Paul shakes his head but doesn't comment on it. "I'm calling my daughter."

All our heads snap to him.

"Daughter?!" Emma repeats, and he nods.

"Me and her mum split up years ago, but I try to speak to her every few days. She'll have been worried."

"She'll have worked out what happened," I reply. When I see the expectant look the others are sending me, I realize they want me to tell them what I'm going to do. I won't take a morbid turn on this conversation and tell them my real plans, so I just shrug. "Might try to find a way to call my job. I was supposed to start my first day as an occupational therapist when the bomb when off in the train station."

It's the truth, but Charlie will think I'm lying to keep my spy cover or whatever, and the others... well, I think some of them think I'm a spy and one of them thinks I'm a lunatic.

"You're an occupational therapist?" Paul asks. "Wouldn't expect that from you."

"And what would you expect from me?" I ask, although Emma pipes up before he can give me an answer.

"Well, I am going to have a toasted cheese sandwich, made in a Beeville toasty maker. I don't care if I have to buy a new one."

Lawrence's eyes light up. "Oh, that's great! We can all have cheese toasties!"

"Sorry, guys," Charlie says with a sharp inhale. "I'm going to have to ask you to split up."

Emma frowns deeply. "Split up? After we've come all this way together?"

"The Burn could still be around. I don't want all of you coming into Edinburgh via the same route. Safer this way."

"But we can meet up once we've delivered the stupid packages to this stupid lab, right?"

Her voice seems so hopeful, which is why Charlie's clipped "Sure," before telling us where to go pisses me off so much.

As me, Lawrence and Stanton head west and Paul and Emma head east, I reach up and touch the skin around the injection sight. Just like Charlie said, it feels like the bump of getting a mosquito bite.

But it won't be there for long. I'll make sure of it.

•

I knew I made a mistake the moment I picked up the ringing phone, the second I answered the call.

Suddenly I'm in a very dark, very cold room. The beeping of a heart monitor reaches my ears, and I blink, the weight of something unseen weighing heavily on my chest, my shoulders. My knees threaten to buckle as the air becomes thick. Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong.

And then I see a light. It's small, dim, just enough that I can see the little area that surrounds it.

I recognize that lamp. I recognize this room.

It's never felt daunting like this before.

Just outside of reach of the light is a shadowed figure. I know it's Dave. He's the only one ever here, but he's not sitting in his chair, or standing as I think I may have seen him before. He's lying crumpled on the ground, one arm stretched out towards the light, but not quite reaching it.

"I'm... where am I?" He asks, his voice weak and afraid. "It's so dark in here."

I run to him, not thinking about whether he can hear me or not. "Dave? Dave, just look up towards the light."

He does, but when he does, the light of the lamp flickers, going out for several seconds before coming on again. The cycle repeats, and as I look down at Dave's fearful face, I notice how distant his eyes look, how blown out his pupils are. It's not in the same way they would be if you were high on drugs or feeling arousal. It's like someone's eyes get after being in the dark for a long, long time.

Does he not see the light when it comes on?

He looks around, breathing heavily, and the sound of the heart monitor grows louder. I know it's there, but I don't see it. I don't think I'm meant to see it. I'm meant to see Dave, here, lying on the ground, scared.

He can't see the light because the light isn't here, not really.

None of this is here. None of this is real. I know it's a hallucination, but I think the light is for me, not him, which is why I can see something, just a bit, while he sees nothing but darkness.

His words confirm it a second later.

"I can't see anything," He whimpers. "And I feel... I can't feel anything either. Am I asleep? Is this all a dream? That happens sometimes, you know. You're asleep and then... aren't you supposed to be able to control it? I want it to be light. I want to be in a garden with pretty girls and lots of beer."

He waits for a second in silence, but unlike how the scene changes when he talks about his memories, nothing changes here.

"Dave, what's going on?" I ask, but he doesn't answer me. I don't know why I try to get him to.

"I'm still here. I'm still-" His voice cracks, and I flinch back in surprise and sympathy. "I think she's after me. My sister. She's looking for me. She wants to hurt me."

I blink. Sister? This is the first time Dave's ever mentioned a sister.

"What are you-"

"They hurt me so much already. Oh, God!" He sobs and clutches his head. "Please don't let her hurt me!"

"Dave-" I reach out to him, but a sharp click hits the air, and the next thing I know, I'm back in the present, hand outstretched with nothing but air to grab onto. The phone that I had picked up falls from my hand, hitting the ground with a soft thud that is nothing like the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

I'm shaking.

I don't know why.

I retract my hand, blinking and trying to push whatever that was to the farthest corners of my mind. I'm sure my therapist will be having a field day with me when this is over, and I tell him everything that's happened. I think I can tell him, patient confidentiality and all that. The only person who he's authorized to tell is my dad who's an ocean away, and I doubt my dad would believe I did any of this in the first place.

But that's even if I decide to tell my therapist about what I've seen-my hallucinations. He says it's best to ignore them, keep them suppressed. He said indulging in them will only make them and the dreams worse.

"And the last thing you want is to get any worse than you already are," He told me.

My thoughts are pulled back into reality when I hear pages turning softly. Lawrence notices as well, his head cocking to the side when he sees Stanton intensely studying something.

"Whatcha got there, Stanton? Whatcha reading?" He asks, clicking his tongue when he doesn't get an answer right away. "I think she's keeping something from us, Walker. Come on, what is it? A love letter?"

She isn't amused by his joking tone. "Jo's notes. Found them in the bottom of her bag. Notes about the story she was working on around the EMP, and just beforehand."

He blinks in interest. "Oh, yeah? Anything... anything salacious?"

"Some quite interesting details about your girlfriend, Lawrence."

He blushes, his eyes darting at me for a second. "Crush. To be fair, she's only my crush."

I raise a brow. Why does it feel like he's telling me this instead of Stanton? Does he think I'll get upset? I do like Lawrence, but I can't fault him for not having the same feelings for me. Nor do I fault him for having feelings for someone that he's known longer than three weeks like he has with me.

"She comes up quite a bit in these notes," Stanton reports. "Jo interviewed various members of staff after Pro. Emmanual died. She found he'd been talking a lot about Soleil. He'd been distressed about her behavior."

"Distressed?" I repeat, looking at Lawrence, whose brows are furrowed in thought.

"Huh. Well, he knew she was a bit wild. Got into lots of trouble."

"A bit more than wild," Stanton says, which makes him frown. "Listen to this. 'He seems to have been concerned,' his staff said, 'that she was going to do something stupid.'"

"Stupid like what? Like... self-harm? Kill herself?" He shakes his head as if to dispel the thought from his mind. "No, no. Not lovely Soleil."

A pang of guilt hits me in the chest. Here is this girl, troubled and possibly mentally ill to the point her father worries she might commit suicide, and here I have been picturing her as a member of the Burn in my hallucinations.

"That's the implication," She replies. "Or one of the implications. 'He'd arranged to have a long conversation with her the weekend before he died. He found her willful and rebellious, making wild threats. And he...'" She trails off. "Oh."

Lawrence's eyes fill with worry. "What?"

"'Pro. Emmanual told her that he thought he'd been too easy on her, that he let her do all this art and that he'd humored her by agreeing to her request by calling her by her new artist name, Soleil, instead of her old name.'"

I don't like the sound of where this is going.

"It said he'd decided to call her by the name her parents gave her."

"...which was?" I ask hesitantly, since Lawrence seems too afraid to.

"Marianne."

I choke. "That... that can't..."

"Oh my God." Lawrence looks sick, the blood draining from his face. "Oh my God!"

"It might just be a coincidence," I try to assure him, although my hallucinations of hearing Soleil's voice and her being addressed comes to mind. I couldn't have possibly predicted that, could I?

"Bit of a big coincidence!" He snaps, running a hand through his hair. His onyx eyes are wide with despair, and his chest is rising and falling as he takes in uneven breaths. "She was thinking of doing something stupid. I know Soleil was involved with some weird organization or other. And we know there's a Marianne running the Burn because of..." He pauses. "Charlie."

"Charlie?" I call.

"I'm here," She answers timidly.

Lawrence speaks before I can say anything, anger twisting his whole face into something ugly. "Marianne's your sister! Why didn't you tell us she also went by Soleil?!"

"I didn't know!" She defends. "We hadn't spoken in months! We were going to... Dad was trying to-"

"So, Pro. Emmanual was your father too?" Stanton interrupts, and she sighs.

"Yes."

My face scrunches up. Something doesn't add up, and the words are spilling out of my mouth before my brain can stop me. "Then why didn't you say anything? Even when you'd found out he'd been killed? Why didn't you figure out Soleil was Marianne when Lawrence mentioned who her father was? Unless you have more than one sister?"

"No, I just... it's complicated. I really didn't know Soleil was Marianne," She says, but gives no further explanation, something that angers both me and Lawrence. "And I'd worked it out that my dad had been killed a while ago. I didn't want to talk about it."

The sadness in her voice does nothing to quell Lawrence's irritation. "Have you told Soleil?" He shakes his head. "I mean-I mean Marianne?"

When Charlie doesn't answer right away, his eyes widen at the unspoken implication. He immediately shakes his head. "Oh, no. No. No! I know Soleil. I've talked to her. She-she loved the professor. She couldn't have-"

"Think about it," Stanton interrupts. Her voice is calm, but firm, and it's enough to make Lawrence's determined expression crack a bit. "They talk during the weekend. They have angry words. The next thing is the professor turns up dead."

His breathing is turning erratic again, and I hesitantly reach out and place my hand on his arm. It's a silent way to say I'm sorry, because I am. Lawrence doesn't deserve this.

Thankfully he doesn't brush me off as he struggles to find words. "Oh, God. How could I... I mean... I really liked her."

Charlie sighs heavily, and I narrow my eyes, waiting to see what she says, because something still doesn't feel right. How could she possibly have not worked it out that Soleil was Marianne when Lawrence so clearly stated who her father was?

There's something she's not telling us.

"Dad said they'd had a massive row," She says. "I never thought she'd..."

Stanton sighs through her nose. "If there's one thing we've established, Charlie, it's that there's very little your sister isn't capable of."

•

"Amazing view up here," Lawrence says. His voice is strained, and it's not hard to deduce he's only focusing on the view of the sun shining over Edinburgh to distract himself over what we've just learned.

I can't blame him. I mean, I can't imagine how I'd feel upon finding out that my crush was a heartless monster who is responsible for the murder of innocent people.

Stanton hums. "Yeah. So, explain the timing again to me, Lawrence."

The man looks at her with confusion. "Timing? What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm just thinking. The EMP was very early in the morning, just before eight AM."

"That's right."

"And the professor gave you the box when?"

"Just before the EMP." He shrugs. "About half an hour before."

"And you went straight to Inverness Station?"

He nods. "That's right. What are you getting at?"

I don't say it, but I'm just as confused as Lawrence. Why is Stanton asking him this as if she's interrogating him?

"I'm just thinking. Jo had time to hear about the murder and get to the lab before the EMP went off," She states, rubbing her chin. "Even had time to interview the staff, maybe."

I shrug halfheartedly. "She could have interviewed them after the EMP went off though. She hadn't written all of it. Maybe she was just being thorough since she seems very dedicated to her story? Getting statements even thought there'd been an EMP."

She doesn't seem convinced. "Even so, it's very fast."

"Stanton, what are you trying to say?" I sigh, growing tired of this dancing around the point.

"I'm not sure," She states, but pays me no more mind before looking back at Lawrence. "What time did the professor give you the box?"

He rubs his face. "I don't know. About a half an hour before the EMP, I think? It might have been earlier. I did get into the lab pretty early."

"Did you see Soleil there? Were the two of you actually-"

"No!" He says, louder than necessary. He glances at me for a second. "We-we weren't... I told you. The prof told me he'd put in a good word if I just took the box."

"Seems like a weird thing to say if they just had a huge argument."

I frown. Not really. If he knew Lawrence liked her, and he wanted him to take the box, he might have been willing to lie to get him to take it.

Before I can voice my opinion, I hear Lawrence sigh and mutter something under his breath.

"So, so clever."

Stanton and I speak at the same time.

"I mean, can we really believe she didn't tell you her other name-"

"Lawrence, what did you just say-"

We're both cut off when we turn to the dark-haired man, freezing when we see the gun in his hand.

Where did he get that?

His face holds no emotion, his eyes void.

The emptiness makes him seem like a completely different person than the man we were speaking to moments ago.

"No, Stanton," He replies, voice flat. "I didn't really expect you to believe it. But I rather hoped it might hold you for just a little longer."

I stop breathing. No. No, this can't be happening. Not him. Not Lawrence.

"What are you-" She starts.

"You know, I quite liked you in the end, Stanton, but you've uh, yeah. Look, I'm sorry. I know I sound like a Bond villain saying this but... Stanton, you've uh," He laughs, and somehow the sound that sounded like sunshine to me before has become dark and twisted, "you've sort of outlived your usefulness. Sorry."

Stanton's breathing heavily as he places his finger on the trigger.

"No!" I scream, my voice drowned out by the gunshot.

He doesn't miss, the bullet going into Stanton's head. She collapses to the ground.

And I don't move.

Time slows, my eyes glued to the body on the ground, blood pooling around her head. Red stains wilted grass, sinking into the dirt and mud and what's left of the snow.

I can't move. I can't think. I can't breathe.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

My eyes sting. My throat closes up, a scream becoming trapped in my chest as my lungs beg for air, but none comes. My feet feel like dead weight, leaving me unable to run. Everything feels frozen in that one moment of Lawrence–lovable, silly, attractive, kind Lawrence–killing Stanton.

Charlie's screaming in my ear, but I can't take my gaze off the body in front of me. I can't do anything, even as tears stream down my face and my lungs beg for me to breathe.

I can't.

"Walker! Walker, you've got to get away! I can see several escape routes for you on your way into the city. You have-"

She's cut off by horrible feedback as Lawrence grabs my earpiece and pulls it off my earlobe. The feeling of his fingers against my skin is what snaps me out of it, and my eyes finally leave Stanton's body to focus on him. He has his pistol pointed at me now.

Oddly enough, the gun isn't what's scaring me. It's the look in his eyes, how dull they've become, as if that happy, silly, kind part of him has just suddenly died. How can a person change so quickly?

"Sorry," He apologizes falsely, "but that's quite enough of that. No more Charlie for you. I'm telling you, she's not the best sister anyway."

His gaze softens for a moment, and he brings his hand up to my face to wipe away my tears. He frowns slightly when I flinch away. "Aw, don't cry. I meant it when I said I couldn't stand seeing you cry. You were the best of us. Just come on. Walk."

I obey, still flinching as he continues to wipe away my tears. He still has his pistol pointed at me.

"I really hoped, you know. I-I really did hope we could get through this whole think without me having to let any of you know that I... you know, knew. Honestly, if Stanton had just had a nice conversation about the view like I wanted..." He sighs and shakes his head as if he hasn't just murdered someone. "Anyway, just you and me now, Walker. We're friends, right? I just called you my friend. You okay with that? Friends?"

He said something like that in one of my dreams once, when I was a different person, and so was he.

Lawrence snickers. "I know you had a bit of a crush on me, which is sweet, but I can take a guess that those feelings are gone now. And I'd have to decline anyway. But we can still be friends. I like you. I know I haven't behaved that well, but I feel like you're not judgmental. And out of everyone, we've stuck up for each other the most out of our group. You were so sure I wasn't the traitor, and you didn't immediately turn on me like the others did, and I didn't think any less of you when we found those pills of yours. And I still don't, by the way.

"We're going to the lab together, Walker. I can get everything I need from the device you're carrying when we get there. Journey's end is in sight." A hint of a smile graces his face, but the warmth–the beauty–I once saw in it is gone, even as he tenderly wipes more of my tears away. "That's uh... yeah. That's pretty good news, isn't it?"

A/N: Plot twist! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please be sure to vote and comment! Thank you and have a blessed day!