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rae-butter · 3 days ago

Text

consequences

here's my longest story yet! takes place after my almost fired story for my series, Encrypted Systems. hope y'all enjoy!

tw: brief mentions of torture, combat sequences, panic attack, grief

Camille

After the events of last week, Camille had recuperated in the hospital wing for three agonizing days before being cleared to leave. As protocol dictated, Camille met with a counselor to ensure her mental stability, since she'd been kidnapped and tortured. It hadn't been hard to trick the counselor into thinking Camille was stable since she'd been trained in the Academy to lie as easily as she breathed. Anyone else would've felt guilty for lying, or even accepting the help offered, but Camille gave herself a pat on the back for her work. The quicker she got back into the field, the better.

Carefree smiles and wide hand gestures hid the way Camille's hands shook, the incessant ghost touches of gentle fingertips skating over her bare skin. Her melodic voice had made the memories of spider bites and injections seem like daydreams. Then, after being declared stable, Camille was issued to jump through the last hoop in order to be permitted to work in the field again: a training exercise with her team. Camille couldn't say she was excited to work with Elle again.

As they walked into the training room, images flashed through Camille's mind. She recalled the many times they'd done this exact training exercise. By all accounts, it was an easy exercise with a single target—rescue the hostage—and defeat the two terrorists holding them hostage. Every time, Camille recalled standing behind Elle, following her every order.

Despite Team Fairest's desperate attempts, they had never beaten the training exercise. Camille glared at Elle. Guess who’s fault that is.

Meanwhile, either ignorant to or ignoring Camille's ire, Elle was checking her gun holster and grenades, trying to ensure everything was in its proper place. It was a ritual she'd created in the Academy, some nervous habit to ensure everything went well. Camille had asked why she did it once. In response, Camille had received a baffled, You don't? Camille had no response then, and she had none now.

“Simulation: Start.”

The white room transformed beneath Camille's feet, color bleeding into the walls and ceiling until it was nigh unrecognizable. In its stead, a decrepit building appeared, mold and other unknown stains covering the walls. On the front of the building was a lopsided sign that flashed the word “BAR” on it. Above them, the white ceiling was replaced with a clear night sky, stars winking down as the moon bathed Camille and Elle in it's artificial light.

A horn blared. “Begin training.”

“You know the drill,” Elle said, then walked ahead without checking to see if Camille was following. Despite herself, Camille followed Elle, like the lamb she'd become. Resentment welled in Camille's heart but she pushed the tides back. Now is not the time to be emotionally compromised, she chided.

They stopped when they reached the back of the bar. As Elle shot her grappling hook through the slim hole between the air vents blades, Camille tried to remind herself that Elle had saved her. Despite her mistakes, Elle had forgiven her, and Camille should be grateful for that.

If that was the case, then why did Camille's heart burn with rage?

With a loud snap, the air vent cover came loose, clattering to the ground at Camille’s feet. Elle hoisted herself into the air vent, scrambling to get inside, pulling in one leg then the other. Camille pulled herself in with catlike grace. Unlike Elle, she had the advantage of height on her side.

Inside the air vent, each turn was muscle memory—the bloody stains and yellowish coloring throughout the vent, grime digging into her fingernails, and dust clinging to the frills of her dress. The dust was like spider legs, marching up her arms. Camille shook off the panic before it could sink in.

“Turn right.”

Elle snorted. “I think I’ll go left.” There was no left and Elle turned right anyhow. Irritation radiated through the ear piece. For once, Camille understood Jacinth's anger.

It wasn’t that she hated Elle. Camille made a point not to hate anyone, regardless of circumstance. However, there was a grinding beneath her skin, a tsunami where still waters once were. Retribution, the water demanded, its voice quiet but threatening. Camille wasn't sure if she had the strength to resist it.

With a final left turn, Camille moved until she was next to Elle, curling inward so their shoulders didn’t brush. Through the air vent slats, Camille could see two “terrorists” with weapons at their backs, their captive trembling behind them. In reality, it was Team TLCS’s Lucas and Sebastian in spandex with Puffy as the salty “hostage.” Camille had to admit that they did a convincing villain act.

“Camille will go in first,” Jacinth began, voice curt as ever. “Elle, support her from the above. When you’ve defeated both of them—"

Jacinth’s voice was drowned out by the air vent bursting open. In a blur of speed, Elle leaped down and fired two shots at Lucas. He crumpled to the floor, clenching his side.

"Stay back," Elle ordered, not looking back to see if Camille heard her. What she expected was for Camille to fall in line, like she always did. Was this all their friendship amounted to? Camille following Elle's every whim?

Fine. All at once, Camille gave up holding back the tsunami. Anger flooded over her, boiling beneath her skin, making her teeth clench and her shoulders tighten. Part of it hurt her, but the pain was fuel. Jacinth's voice became a blur in the back of her mind. Is this what it was like in Elle's head? Was pain and anger the fuel behind her actions? It was all too easy to lean into the feeling, let the fire consume her, give in to the urge to do as she pleased instead of how Elle pleased. Her blood felt like fire in her veins.

Hesitation reared its head. Camille didn't want to hang back and let Elle do the work, but what if she upset Elle? Was it her place to do so? Her throat tightened, her muscles tensing beneath her skin, curling inwards on herself. Camille was supposed to be the ever vigilant lapdog, not the one holding the leash. Who cares what I'm supposed to do? Releasing her tension, Camille dropped out the air vent, her heels clacking against the concrete floor. Elle didn't notice her arrival.

In the dim light of the bar floor—covered in similar grime to the vent, but with a more pungent scent that made Camille want to throw up—Camille saw the glint of Elle's gun. For as long as Camille could remember, Elle had carried the same gun, with her initials on the side in white letters. Much like the gun, Camille had always obeyed Elle's every command without complaint. Never once had Camille left Elle's side.

Maybe it was time for a power shift. Guilt twisted her heart but so did desire. The constraints Elle had wrapped around Camille were like chains, tight and cruel, stabbing into her skin. Camille couldn't take a second more of it.

Sebastian charged at Elle. If Elle wanted to be a reckless jerk, Camille could play that game too.

After all, she’d had the best teacher.

Stepping behind Elle, Camille yanked back Elle’s shooting arm. The gun went off with a bang, the bullet flying through the ceiling. Elle turned back in surprise, twisting around to hit her opponent but freezing when she saw Camille. Horror filled Elle's gaze. Ignoring her, Camille wrenched Elle’s shooting arm behind her back and twisted her wrist, stabbing her nails into Elle's arm, until the gun dropped out of her hand.

In one fluid motion, Camille grabbed the gun and bashed Sebastian in the head with it. The man toppled to the ground, unconscious, blood seeping from the wound. With two well-aimed bullets, Camille shot Puffy’s restraints off.

Camille marveled at the gun. The handle was curved to Elle's thin fingers, Camille's own fingers too thick for the thin grooves. It was warm in Camille's hand, the grip sticking to her sweaty skin, like it wanted to stay in her hands too. She couldn't help but wonder—was this her, or had she become another extension of Elle's will? Was the gun hers because she held it, or did it still belong to Elle? The initials on the side glinted up at her. She couldn't let Elle define her anymore. Even if Elle had left an indelible mark, Camille would find a way to push past it.

Elle snatched the gun out of Camille's hands. Camille expected a rebuke or insult, but when she looked up at Elle, all she saw was hurt and confusion. It was almost as though she didn't recognize Camille.

Guilt hit Camille like a bullet. Bile rose up her throat, her arms wrapping around her abdomen, eyes wide and unseeing. What had gotten into her? Never once in her life had she lost control of her anger. No, she was Camille Leon, the sweet, innocent girl who kept the monster known as Elle Smith on a tight leash. Or maybe it was the other way around.

However, despite herself, Camille didn't want to back down to Elle again. Something within her was more revolted at the thought of giving in to Elle again rather than what she'd just done. Camille wanted to master her anger, utilize it to burn the cage she'd locked herself in to make everyone around her happy.

“That’s what it’s like to work with you,” Camille retorted, her voice thick and quivering, torn between screaming at Elle and begging for forgiveness. Did she even have the right to question Elle? Despite everything within her screaming it was wrong, a whisper of pleasure rose above the onslaught. “You always walk all over me, do whatever suits you. Did you feel worthless? Powerless? Betrayed? Because that’s how I feel all the time…because of you.”

Something in Elle’s gaze snapped. It was a look she gave to people like Jacinth, the Chief and sometimes Scarlet—pure, unfiltered rage. Camille had never been on the receiving end of it, but now that she was, she realized how terrifying Elle could be.

“It’s not my fault you weren't strong enough to take on Charon," Elle roared. Fear twisted Camille's chest, but she forced herself to maintain Elle's gaze, staring straight down the bullet chamber.

“Really? Because you didn’t do well against Lani. She beat the crap out of you, and Charon has twice her talent. You would have done no better than I had.” Camille crossed her arms to hide how her hands shook. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. “And if you really think so little of me, then why did you send me after Charon?”

“Because you couldn’t handle fighting Lani. You’d be emotionally compromised," Elle stated. However, Camille didn't miss the quiver in her voice, the way her eyes darted down for just a second. Maybe, Elle was trying to convince herself too, Camille thought.

Camille choked down the lump in her throat, shifting her weight, trying to make her skin fit right over her bones. “And you weren’t?”

Elle’s eyes darkened. “I know how to put my emotions away for the sake of the mission. Clearly, you don’t.”

“Because I’m not a heartless monster.” They were words Camille had thought a thousand times, but as soon as she'd said them, Camille knew she’d crossed the line. Camille held her breath. A shift came over Elle's eyes, the raging flame condensing to a single point. Like a bullet in its chamber, Elle's anger was locked, loaded and heading straight for Camille. Elle took slow, threatening steps towards Camille until they breathed the same air.

When she spoke, Elle's voice was husky and threatening, reserved only for Camille. “You can point fingers at me and call me a monster, but I know you. In every alternate version of that mission, you go and fight Charon. Why? Because you’re too scared to disobey me. Am I right?” Tears filled Camille’s eyes. Elle continued. “Don’t tell me off for making you feel pathetic when you’re the one who brought it upon yourself.”

A sob escaped Camille, hiccups coming against her will. She kept her gaze pinned to the wall behind Elle. Pain burned in her chest clawed up her throat, catching her vocal cords in a death grip, but Camille forced herself to speak. “Why are you like this? You weren’t always—” she gestured to Elle— “whatever this is. I hate this side of you.”

A beat passed. Pushing past her fear, Camille met Elle’s gaze. She was expecting rage, destructive and volatile, to seer into her. Instead, Camille saw hurt.

Elle took a step back. With that motion, Camille felt something between them splinter, like a frayed thread pulled taut. Camille expected a final blow from Elle—some smug comment or a sarcastic retort as a show of superiority—but all she received was a cold glare before Elle walked away.

Elle's silence pierced Camille more than any insult Elle would have thrown at her. Like a soldier bleeding out in the field, Camille couldn't help but think a quicker end would’ve been merciful.

Camille didn't remember how she'd gotten from the training room to her bedroom, but she knew her feet hurt from the walk. The memories were a blur of sensation and motion. High-heels clacking against metal floors, a steering wheel in her hand, the hum of an engine, then the ding of elevator doors opening. Somewhere in that time, Camille had scrubbed the makeup off of her face. Her skin still felt raw from the harsh cloth.

After an unfathomable amount of time, Camille laid in her bed, picking at her fingernail polish. Most of them were chipping off, if not gone altogether, but the polish on her little finger seemed to have attachment issues with her nail bed. Biting her lip in concentration, Camille dug her thumbnail under the polish. It didn't budge. Camille huffed at the polish as though it'd offended her.

A knock sounded at the door.

Camille resisted the urge to throw a pillow. “Go away."

"I’ll have to drink all this tea by myself,” Scarlet responded, sighing loud enough for all of Neo Prosa to hear.

Despite herself, Camille let a grin split her lips. “You can come in, I guess.”

The door swung wide, the familiar creakiness like a song to Camille's ears. Scarlet’s footsteps were as quiet as the skittering of mice as she walked into the room. Nudging the door closed with her hip, it shut behind her with a soft click. Before she could close it, though, an Eoki skittered into the room, her claws digging into the carpet.

“I guess? That’s rude,” Scarlet retorted, feigning offense.

Camille peered up from her pillow to see Scarlet set a tea tray on her bedside table. The tray balanced a porcelain pot and matching tea cups, with a stack of Oreo’s set next to it. Each cup and pot bore the symbol of daisies wrapped around the hilt of a knife. A pang of nostalgia stabbed Camille at the sight of it.

During the Vienna mission, one of Team Fairest's more favorable missions in the era of Lani, Camille and Elle had drawn the short straw. They had to pretend to be daughters of nobility and distract a nobleman's sons while Lani and Scarlet stole information. The event was both amusing and traumatic—amusing for the ludicrousness of the whole thing, then traumatic because of the way the boys had behaved. Afterward, Camille and Elle had gone as far as to invoke Code Lavender to keep the whole thing a secret. Camille had adored the tea set the nobleman's sons used. When she'd gotten back, Camille found it in her bedroom.

Elle was the sole person Camille had told about the tea set.

In the present, Scarlet poured tea from the pot into two teacups, humming as she did so. Camille sat up.

An Eoki hopped onto the bed next to her. The creature nudged her cold nose at Camille, pressing her face against Camille’s hands, the Eoki whining her displeasure. The Eoki’s fur was yellow, but it bled into pink at the tips of her tail and ears. Her fur was soft and thin between Camille's fingers, brushing against her skin like an artists brush on a painting. Then, a memory resurfaced, pulling on the edges of her consciousness. It wasn't Eoki's fur, but black, spindly spider legs skating against Camille's skin.

Camille stiffened. Sensing her fear, the Eoki flinched too, whimpering.

"Jumpy?" Scarlet asked, giving Camille a knowing glance. Her eyes evaluated Camille, skimming over her face, then her hands, landing on the Eoki before moving back up again. "Did she bite you?"

Camille shook her head. If she spoke, Camille feared her voice would give her away.

A beat passed. After a moment of quiet reflection, Scarlet let the matter drop and handed Camille a tea cup. It was hot in her hands, the pungent aroma of chamomile floating up to her. Camille sighed into the cup. Little ripples hit the sides of the porcelain.

“Elle is still fuming,” Scarlet said, unhelpfully. “Probably taking out her rage on some poor training dummy. Better it than you, I suppose.”

Camille laughed, the sound hollow. “She probably wishes it was me.”

“You’re not wrong.” There was a pause, the silence thick between them, as though the air itself asked, Are you going to talk about it or are you going to sit there awkwardly? While Camille was still debating, Scarlet decided for her.

Scarlet nudged Camille’s side. “Stealing Elle’s gun was awesome.”

Camille winked. “The trick is to sneak up on her.”

“You’ll have to teach me sometime,” Scarlet responded, chuckling. There was a glint of wild abandon in Scarlet’s eyes that Camille hadn’t seen since Lani was around. “And the look on her face when you did it was priceless. You should’ve seen it.”

“Was it something like this?” Camille asked, widening her eyes in a cartoonish way, her jaw slackening.

Scarlet shook her head. “No, it was more spiteful.” Just as Camille did, Scarlet widened her eyes, but scrunched her nose, making her look like a salty raccoon who was yanked out of a dumpster while trying to find their next meal. Camille snorted.

“Now that’s priceless.” Camille laughed, her tea sloshing in its cup. The Eoki in her lap whimpered at the sight.

Meanwhile, Scarlet sipped her tea, a pleased grin playing her lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Just so you know, I charge by the hour. I’ll put it on your tab.”

“How generous of you.” Her laughter subsided, leaving Camille bereft. The thick silence returned. Conceding to its choke hold, Camille said, “I’m a jerk.”

Scarlet scoffed. “No, that’s Elle.” She tilted her head. “Actually, Elle’s a witch. So, no, Elle nor you is a jerk,” she finished, her tone matter-of-fact. After a pause, she reached over to the tea tray. “Want an Oreo?”

“Please.”

After a bit of shuffling, Scarlet grabbed the stack of Oreo’s and handed them to Camille. Camille took a grateful bite, letting the sweet flavor dance across her tongue. “I just wish I didn’t care about what she thought of me. All I ever do is exactly as she says, regardless of what it means for me. If I’d just been brave enough to defy her during the mission, then everything would be fine.”

Camille wanted to say, If I was more like Elle, then everything would be fine, but the words were lost in her throat. Deep within herself—the malnourished girl with a flame of defiance in her eyes—didn’t want to be like Elle. She wanted to be something else. Someone who was strong and assertive, but not tyrannical. There had to be a way to meet in the middle. Right?

“You can’t change the past, Camille. It’s a waste of life to worry about things you can’t change,” Scarlet stated, her voice soft. It soothed Camille’s weary heart. “You’ve always put others before yourself, even at your own expense. You need to learn to put yourself first.”

Put yourself first. Camille couldn’t reconcile the words to the rules she’d learned to live by. For as long as Camille could remember, she’d told herself to bury her preferences on behalf of everyone’s comfort. The mere thought of saying what was on her mind sent shivers down her spine.

Camille shook her head. “I can’t.” Her voice was shaky. “I can’t do it.”

A pause. Scarlet's demeanor shifted from her usual confidence to something more simple, her eyes faraway, lost in time and space. “When we had to take Lani to the asylum, I said the same thing. I was so scared and I wanted to run away so badly," Scarlet stated, her voice sharp with pain and anger. Camille remembered that day. The impassive look on Elle's face, the tear stains on Scarlet's cheeks. They hadn't let Camille go. She'd cried the whole time they were gone, even more so when they returned. “But I forced myself to keep going. I think that you can do the same thing, too, if you tried. You're strong enough. More than enough, Camille."

It wasn't that Camille had ever been led to believe the opposite. From childhood, Camille's adoptive parents had loved her as though she was their own, and she was grateful for them everyday. However, all the love in the world didn't eradicate the damage that had been done before they came into her life.

A seed of fear had been planted when she'd been kicked from the orphanage. She'd wandered the snowy streets alone, the cold biting into her threadbare clothes, hoping for a bit of kindness. Even after she'd been saved, that seed of fear had grown into a thriving tree that Camille found herself resting beneath. She drank in the shade from its canopies and ate of its fruit. Each bite brought pain but Camille couldn't bring herself to find an alternative.

However, Elle had found her secret and pointed out its flaw, exposing her way of life for what it was: pathetic. Scarlet dangled a thread of hope in front of her. What if Camille did have the capacity for change? The prospect scared her, but there was an undercurrent of thrill to it as well, like the first signs of fall after an eternal summer. Cold winds and snowflakes were threatening change.

Camille turned to Scarlet. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try," she muttered, as though she didn't want even the walls to hear her declaration. The words were foreign on her tongue, but she didn't want them to be. No. Let the walls hear her declaration. Let confidence be her mother tongue. She looked up at Scarlet, seeing confidence reflected in her gaze. "I will try."

"That's my girl." Scarlet wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

A single leaf on the tree of fear began to turn brown and shrivel, falling from its branch and dancing in the cold autumn winds. A breath of relief escaped Camille.

Elle

Gunshots sounded off in rapid succession, each shot sending waves of pain up Elle's arm. The throbbing was like a lullaby to her anger, stroking it, soothing it until it was a purring in the back of her mind. Three moving targets collapsed in a shatter of glass, each one disappearing in a trail of blue pixels before they condensed into a fourth target. Pushing through the pain, Elle pointed her gun at the fourth target. Bullseye. Once her gun was aligned, she pulled the trigger. Her gun made a soft clicking noise. Empty.

Cursing nothing in particular—the universe, the Engineering Department, and whatever Elle could think of at the moment—Elle went to the shelf behind her to grab another magazine. When there were more people at the shooting range, getting magazine's was a dogfight, filled with cursing and punches. As soon as Elle had walked in, everyone fled the room as though it was on fire. Elle considered it the singular boon to being the most hated yet talented person in her profession.

“Because I’m not a heartless monster.”

Elle wasn't ignorant. Everyone thought that she was a heartless monster. However, hearing it from the lips of her childhood friend, who'd stood by her side through her darkest moments without rejecting her for what she was, had cut the heartstrings that held Elle upright. It was as though a vital piece of Elle had been cut in two. Now, her heart was bereft of its outlet for darkness. Elle was locked away with her demons.

Maybe the rumors had a measure of truth.

With a satisfying snap, the magazine slid into place. As soon as it did, Elle heard a rapping on the glass. She turned around to see Jacinth standing in the hand-to-hand combat training room. There was a glass wall that separated the two rooms, thick enough to be bulletproof so those training on the other side of the glass didn't have to worry about ricocheting bullets. Beyond that was a weapons combat training room, also separated by glass, and many more rooms beyond.

Elle flipped off Jacinth. Then, she turned towards the control booth. It was a small pedestal with a tablet in the center. Her code name, Elle Smith, ran across the top of the screen, with her target practice presets below it. There were other settings and categories if Elle scrolled far enough. However, to scare off Jacinth, Elle chose her most intense preset.

Six silhouettes materialized in the simulation zone. They were tall, white, androgynous, and resembled mannequins. Two of them sprinted towards Elle, raised knives in their hands. They ran at an unnerving speed, but Elle shot them down with ease, their heads exploding in a shatter of glass. The other four silhouettes opened fire. Elle ducked and rolled behind a crate, searching for their heads. One's head peeked up to her from behind a barrel. Elle shot it off with ease. Out of the corner of her eye, Elle saw something shift and shot it on instinct. Her bullet flew towards it, passing through the simulation zone and into the bystander zone, reflecting off the glass wall.

When she turned to look, Elle realized she had almost shot Jacinth. I wish it had hit him, she thought, disappointed. The simulation ended with an AI voice telling her not to shoot into the bystander zone.

"Nice try," Jacinth retorted, ever unflappable, glancing at the spot the bullet had hit as though looking at a bugs corpse. He picked up the bullet and turned it between his fingers. Elle watched him, glaring as though the bullet had offended her. "Off your game? It's not like you to miss."

Elle stood up, twirling her gun by the trigger. "I could always try again. Test that theory."

Jacinth's eyes followed the gun. "Is the safety on?"

"Let's find out," Elle stated, catching the gun by the handle and pointing it at Jacinth.

Jacinth raised his hands in surrender. "I just want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Jacinth scoffed. "Come on, Elle, think. You can't be that dense. Camille doesn't do anything without reason, especially something so aggressive. What do you think drove her to steal your gun?"

Elle thought back. It had been so sudden. One second, she'd been ready to shoot Sebastian; the next, her arm was screaming in anguish, with Camille's long fingernails digging into her skin. If it had been anyone else, Elle would've kicked them hard enough to break their legs and then shot them, but Elle knew it was Camille. She'd relented.

Why had Camille done it?

"Did you feel worthless? Powerless? Betrayed?"

"Camille hates me. That's all there is to it." Elle infused her voice with bitterness to hide the undercurrent of resignation and pain. "She thinks it's my fault she got kidnapped."

Jacinth paused. On any other day, Elle could read Jacinth like an open book, but she must be off her game because she had no clue what Jacinth was thinking. Then, Jacinth said, "But it is your fault Camille was kidnapped."

"It was not—"

"Just hear me out," Jacinth shouted over her. Although Elle wanted to scream at him, she decided to keep her mouth shut, tucking her gun into its holster. "It was your call that led to that battle. You should’ve fought Lani together, then moved on to fight Charon. However, you couldn’t swallow your pride and ordered her to fight Charon alone, even after Camille told you that you needed to fight together.”

Elle gripped her gun handle, trying to find reassurance in the cool metal. "She would've been emotionally compromised. Insanity Lani is our former teammate." Somehow, she'd said the words so many times they lost their meaning.

"Lani was also your teammate. You were emotionally compromised as well."

"I wasn't emotionally compromised," Elle growled. "Because I'm not a heartless monster." Camille's words rang through her mind, a cruel reminder of what Elle was in her heart of hearts. How could a monster feel anything besides anger and hate?

Jacinth shook his head. "You were. If you were at your best, you wouldn't have frozen up. You would've realized Camille was gone too long. You would've checked on her. But you were so focused on Lani that you missed the signs. I was there too, Elle. Don't think I've forgotten."

Before Elle could think, her gun was pointed at Jacinth's head. That isn't true. It couldn't be. Could it?

Elle's breathing was heavy and her heartbeat roared in her ears, the blood rushing up, up, up until her head was too heavy for her shoulders and legs were too weak to hold her up. The weight of her bionic leg was both unbearable and a reminder that Elle was a part of the world.

"You know I'm right."

In the back of her mind, Elle could hear Lani's laugh, hysterical and bone-chilling.

He's right, Elle thought. Something deep within her shattered. Her anger dissipated into small sparks, then to embers, leaving nothing but pain its wake. With slowed movements, Elle put her gun back in its holster and leaned against the control booth. It's my fault.

What was wrong with her? How could Elle blame Camille for something that wasn't her fault? And what she'd said to Camille… At the moment, Elle had meant it, but in hindsight the words were cruel.

Camille deserved better. The sentence was one Elle had thought a thousand times, staring at her bedroom ceiling or down the barrel of a gun. Gentleness was not something someone like Elle deserved. From the callouses on her fingers to the depths of her soul, Elle was volatile and rough, much like the gun she carried. Using a spear as a walking stick doesn't negate its purpose. If a tool was not meant to be cherished, than neither was Elle.

As though fate itself was smiting Elle, the door to the shooting range opened. Camille stepped through, fresh makeup on her face, wearing a purple shirt sporting a Peter Pan collar with a pair of jeans and trainers. Behind her was Scarlet, wearing her white lab coat with a black turtleneck and leggings, an Eoki sleeping on her shoulder. They both looked as though the events of the morning had never occurred to begin with. Elle couldn't say she looked as put together as they were.

"Code lavender," Camille stated. That was all Elle needed to hear. Forgetting the events of the morning, Elle straightened and paced towards Camille, eyes evaluating her for injuries or any immediate sign of distress.

When Elle and Camille were kids, they'd created the code word for emergencies. Any situation where one needed the other for something urgent, regardless of the circumstance or distance, they would do anything the other person asked of them. Code lavender had been developed for such a purpose.

Camille's smile faltered. "I need you to listen to what I have to say without interrupting me. No arguing, shouting and judging. That's all."

Elle nodded.

"I'm sorry about earlier. It wasn't right for me to let my emotions get the better of me." Then, Camille paused, taking a steadying breath. Elle noted that she didn't apologize for what she said. "I don't hate you. I never hated you. In fact, I've always…admired you."

Silence. Elle waited for the punchline, for Camille to burst into laughter and say, "I can't even say it with a straight face." However, it didn't come. When awkwardness began to settle over her like a noose, Elle realized that Camille was being serious. She found herself at a loss for words.

There weren't enough people that liked Elle to make it a handful. How in the world had Elle earned the respect of someone who knew almost everything about her? Most of the time, Elle hated being around herself more than others hated being around her. Broken pieces began to mend, light shining through the darkness in Elle's heart.

Camille continued, ignorant to Elle's inner turmoil. "Because of that, I've always bent over backwards to get you to like me. I wanted you to acknowledge me. So, when you sent me away and I was kidnapped, I felt like I'd failed you." She tilted her chin up. "I don't think I'll ever stop admiring you…but I'm not going to let it hold me back anymore. It's not good for me to care so much about what you think that it breaks me to be rejected by you."

Over the course of her life, Elle had watched Camille build walls around herself, shoving down her thoughts and opinions when things got tough. Elle's heart had broken to witness it. Camille was too intelligent to get wasted on the sidelines, lowering her head to those she was smarter than. It was like watching a queen give her crown to a court jester.

Elle pushed down her anxiety, trying to speak past the lump in her throat. "I think that's great. You shouldn't care so much about what other people think. It'll crush you in the end." If Elle had cared, it would've destroyed her long before. "I didn't know you thought of me that way, though. I don't know what to say." She rubbed the back of neck. After the mixer incident, Elle didn't know she could feel embarrassment anymore.

Camille chuckled. "You don't have to say anything."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was cruel," Elle whispered. The words were like poison on her tongue, eroding the walls around her heart until a slim crack appeared through gates. "During the mission, I was…emotionally compromised. I messed up."

Always shoot to kill. They were words that had carried Elle through hell. She clenched and relaxed her fist, trying to will herself to not scream or take back her words. Just this once, Elle told herself. Just this once, she had to show weakness, and it was only to Camille.

Camille threw her arms around Elle and pulled her into a tight hug. "It's okay. I forgive you."

A wave of relief washed over Elle. Then, a familiar anxiety welled inside her, a thousand pin-pricks breaking Elle's skin in place of Camille's arms. Revulsion reared its head. Elle shoved Camille off, biting her tongue to retain an angry retort.

Scarlet smirked. "Elle Smith, admitting she messed up…must be a cold day in Hell."

"I wish we'd recorded it," Jacinth grumbled.

Elle glared at them. "You can check the weather in Hell when you go down to report to your masters." In response, Scarlet snorted, while Jacinth rolled his eyes. Elle turned back to Camille. "Are we still friends?" There was the smallest quiver in her voice as she said it.

"Yes," Camille responded, nodding, a smile playing her lips.

When Elle searched her features for a sign of lying—the way Camille's lips turned up, if her hands played with the hem of her shirt, the shifting of her weight—but Elle came up empty. In spite of everything, Camille was telling the truth. For once. Camille's lies tended to outweigh her truths. Not that Elle was one to judge others for the lies they told.

Scarlet clapped her hands, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. "Now that we've settled that, how about we all head back to the apartment before this place closes?"

A nod of assent went throughout the room.

Elle waited for Scarlet and Jacinth to walk ahead before Elle began to move. While she would usually be at the front of the group, Elle could feel her throat closing and her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. A cold sweat broke out on her skin. Panic attack, Elle thought. In a few minutes, it would reach its peak. She needed to get away from them before it did.

As they walked out of the room, Camille leaned close to Elle. "I know how hard that was for you. Thank you. It means a lot to me."

Not trusting herself to speak, Elle nodded. It was small, but Elle could feel the beginnings of a smile pulling on her lips, trying to take shape. Elle suppressed it before it could.

Elle closed the door to her room. Exhaustion weighed down her bones, along with a river of grief and a buzz of anxiety, making her feet antsy. Her panic attack hadn't been too bad—a couple of minutes in the bathroom had been enough to hide the peak of it—but her heartbeat still thundered in her ears, the world around her out of focus. It would be for the rest of the day. If she wasn't careful, Elle could spiral into another one, but as the sun slipped behind the horizon, Elle doubted something else would happen to trigger her.

Elle locked the door to her bathroom, just to make sure Camille didn't try to come and check on her via their Jack and Jill bathroom. While Elle was glad her and Camille were on good terms again, her mind replayed the Charon mission, their argument and her apology. What was happening to Elle? She'd screwed up their most important mission and then showed weakness in front of her whole team. Her hands shook at her sides, her breaths hitching in her throat again. After a moment of listening to her breath and roaring heartbeat, Elle managed to calm herself, her breath slowing to a normal rhythm.

Despite the fact that it rejected everything she stood for, Elle didn't find she regretted apologizing. In fact, she found she regretted that she had put herself in a situation where she had to. Elle could imagine her mother's disappointment.

Elle closed each of the window shutters. The darkness engulfed her, the silence screaming in her ears. Elle tapped her Watch screen. An orange holographic screen pulled up in front of her. After a minute of swiping through the screens, Elle turned on her bedside lamp and adjusted her mattress's height and incline. Then, she laid down in bed and curled herself into the blanket, soaking in the warmth.

By all accounts, the day had been resolved. She'd had an argument with Camille, but they'd worked it out. Everything was well.

But what about Lani? She hated that Lani was who her thoughts trailed back to. Lani's life was the book Elle would never get to finish, and the lack of closure tormented her. When Lani disappeared from the asylum, they thought she had escaped. They thought she would return. But then, months had passed, and she was spotted committing horrendous crimes for the enemy.

Grief had settled over the team and Lani's family like a noose. Elle would be lying if she said she'd ever truly gotten over it. Even now, her heart still bore the pain of her grief, like a puncture wound that would never heal. Years of suffering had caused Elle to turn the pain into anger and that into determination. Healing had never come. Disregarding her pain, the world had moved on.

Seeing Lani again as an amnesiac had brought back unwanted memories. The earliest memory Elle had of Lani was as children, when Elle had first met Lani as a carefree and volatile eleven-year-old. Over time, the memory had lost its shape and detail until Elle more so knew it by the way Lani had felt—like warmth and sunshine, the thrill of an equal opponent. After that, her more recent memories were more clear. It was when they'd first become a team, when Elle was sixteen and so weighted down by anxiety she wasn't sure how she got out of bed in the morning. Something about sixteen still tasted bittersweet on Elle's tongue, even at nineteen.

More recent memories were brought to life. The Mixer mission—the feel of Lani's hand against her waist, goose flesh raising all over her body as she tried not to throw up—then the mission in the Amazon, with pain and blood spilling over her skin. Last but not least, the most painful memory of all, the plane ride in D34, with tear stains on Elle's cheeks for the first time in years.

Elle could feel the grief pushing up her throat. Tears were threatened, the pain burning her chest and mouth, blood spilling from the wound. Her heartbeat roared in her ears and panic began to mix with the grief. Even back then, Lani was a hurricane, with all its destructive force and disregard for others, but she'd never once judged Elle for her flaws. Despite the arrogant way she carried herself, Elle knew she was difficult and beyond unbearable.

When Lani had left, it had stolen a part of Elle. The part of Elle that was comfortable in her skin, who knew who she was, and why she did what she did. Elle took a breath, counted to three, released it. After a few minutes of repeating it, the panic died down to a low buzz in her bones. Anxiety never left Elle but she'd learned to carve room for it.

“Why are you like this? You weren’t always—whatever this is. I hate this side of you.”

Even now, Elle's skin didn't fit right over her bones. She wished she could go back to who she was before Lani. However, she'd lost contact with the old Elle too long ago to make amends. Elle forced a sob back down. Now is not the time to cry.

Always shoot to kill. Snow's voice—her mothers voice—as cold as the weather she was named after, sliced through Elle's thoughts. It numbed her until the grief was replaced with a small spark of anger.

Elle had to save Lani. And if she couldn't, Elle would be the one to kill her.

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