Harriet wouldn’t want to wake up. She’s had bad dreams.

  She doesn’t remember them, of course. Never has, even when she was mortal. Usually, the only way she finds out is the cold, aether-infused sweat that stains the sheets, and the utter exhaustion she feels come dusk. If she recalls anything, it's a single image. Of a lightless wood, thick and heavy air, piles of wet leaves, home. A home she's never seen.

  A home she's never known.

  Fear keeps her under the covers, too. Fear of warmth, fear of skin, fear of anything that would make her presentable. Yesterday lingers as a stabbing in her chest, her thoughts still frayed and flighty. Her mood is empty. Raw. A hollowness her little windchimes would be jealous to reach for her.

  If it was Harriet’s choice, she wouldn’t leave this bed for a week, a month, an eternity. But it isn’t her choice. It’s the choice of the bright lights flashing in her eyes. And the tall, stout woman flicking the switch. Randall's guard dog. Addana.

  “Naptime’s over."

  Harriet groans into consciousness. Groaning. By instinct, she pulls her gun close, eyes fanning to the clock - 19:30 - and to the sky - growing dark. She’s in one of Soteris’ bathrobes. The largest one, the fluffiest one, the one it would be hardest to find her in. Gives Addana a venomous look.

  “... Yer not Astrid.”

  The Oathsworn grins, and steps out of the way. The waft of tobacco follows. Randall takes a drag as he enters with gentle steps. Pale blue eyes looking adjacent to, but never directly at, his captive.

  “Yellow flecks sailing on black.” His eyes swirl as he speaks. “Lone dandelions billow in fields of spring. Good evening, Fireside. There is something about my arrival that you find… alarming.”

  It’s Addana, dumbass. Her predatory eyes haven’t left Harriet since she entered. “Yer power doesn’t tell ya which?”

  “It is not a power. It is how I see.” His expression brows bend, just a little. “Do we awe at all eyes, for their ability to spot reds?"

  “It's freaky as hell. What if I have a feelin’ I don’t wanna share?”

  “All feelings are shared, Fireside. An emotion is not long hidden."

  Harriet laughs, despite herself. Randall looks ridiculous: Blue shirt, flat cap, brown bowtie. It’s matched by a rough spun sweater-vest, the sort office folk would wear in the war years. Ancient, even to her. She climbs out of bed, using the shotgun for support. Addana immediately primes, baton in hand, but stops from acting when Randall gives a gesture.

  “I see Chrysanthou has evaded some norms," he says blankly.

  “Heh. Yeah. Like there’s anythin’ normal ‘bout any a’ this.” Harriet throws the gun aside, strecthing. “Yer Oathsworn usually letcha out the house like that? Costume’s a walkin’ violation.”

  “Avalonian Codex, section 1, clause J. No Nocturni shall infringe the Laws of Secrecy where his secrets cannot be seen. We violate nothing."

  Harriet squints. “We?”

  “It is the weekend. The employees are gone. You and I can now safely perform product testing."'

  Product testing. The words feel almost sinister. Like she'll be asked a lot more than questions on brand narrative.

  “An’ Soteris is…?”

  “On a business trip. Traynor went with him.” Randall doesn’t pause to let her process. “As you are still Allod to the Polyphron holdings, I as CFO have rights to make use of you.”

  She blinks. They’re both gone? Without warning? And a day… only a day after… “I-Is she in trouble?”

  “I didn’t care to ask.”

  “Well, where did they go?”

  “I’ve been instructed not-”

  “Where will Astrid's, independent of all other persons, plane land?” Harriet closes her eyes, hoping she correctly borrowed Randall's precise language.

  It works. “It Limassol. Soteris' homeland."

  She sighs in relief. Astrid had mentioned a 'moon tan,' so this might have been planned before. Thank God. Only leaves the question of...

  ... why not her?

  Randall moves towards the room’s little river. Taking the cigarette and flecking loose ash into the water. “Has Soteris informed you of our company’s recent developments?”

  She sniggers. “Take a guess.”

  “The Ensei investments and subsequent stock rally have brought our market capitalization to several billion pounds. I have invested, in turn, into Research and Development. The timelines for Project Hestia’s remaining production stages have lowered from years to months. As he planned.”

  She nods, pretending to understand half of what was said. “And that’s why we're testin' now?"

  He nods.

  She grins. “Want my opinion on the colour scheme?”

  Damn. Complete silence from Randall. He could have pretended to laugh. “You will learn more when you are properly dressed.”

  She turns to the closet. The empty hanger swaying from the door handle.

  “Marigolds wilting. Lavender buboes, striking across greys. You're confused by this order."

  “Soteris picks my clothes.”

  Randall follows her eyes to the closet, stares for the briefest of moments, then looks back. “Why? Are you incapable?”

  “N-... no?” Harriet blinks. “I jes’ figured-"

  “Get dressed. Addana can oversee you.” Randall spins around. “My input is unnecessary.”

  She almost can’t believe the words. No roil of disgust, no waking terror? She gets to choose her clothes?

  Through that tightened chest, a glimmer of hope. She stares at that closet with starry eyes...

  ... Until Addana clears her throat, slamming Harriet back to reality. “Quickly," she hisses.

  Harriet sprints into the close before Chiagozie can start getting creative.

  It’s not the greatest selection. For her needs, anyway. There must be millions of pounds in this wardrobe, hundreds of items in cubbies and baskets and drawers. Somehow none of it is modest, or something she’d want to wear. Each piece seems to be worse than the last. That tremor in her heart threatening to overwhelm.

  But, after a long search, she manages to scrounge together a few pieces. The longest skirt she can find - brown, and still not reaching her knees. A matching pair of trainers and sports bra that she fears were meant to be worn as is. And a light blue turtleneck that travels well past her wrists.

  At day’s end, just a few more inches of fabric. Not enough to feel normal.

  But she doesn’t care about normal.

  She just wants to feel safe.

  And right now, even though her curves still look massive, even though her bare legs are still freezing, the turtleneck covers her collar.

  That has to be worth something.

  Addana is right there when she steps out of the closet. Spinning a pair of black leather cuffs around her finger.

  Harriet winces. “Yer Keeper said I get ta pick what I wear.

  "With supervision." Addana holds them out and grins.

  Harriet glares at her for a long time, before sighing and offering her wrists. She feels the fur that lines the leather. Listens to the familiar click of the locks. Addana tugs at the wrists herself, making sure the chains firm.

  “See?” The Oathsworn doesn’t try to hide her delight. “I already feel safer.”

  She reaches for Harriet’s arm, but the girl hops back, hands up, eyes wild. Yesterday is still bright. Instead of fighting it, Addana laughs.

  The door beeps to life, and Harriet steps through. Randall has planted himself in the living room, an open copy of the Financial Times resting by the ashtray. At the moment, however, he seems more taken with the marble statue. Hestia.

  “It’s an auspicious piece,” he says. “Did you know that the name Harriet comes from the German Henrietta, meaning 'keeper of the home,’ like this goddess?”

  “Wow.” Harriet feigns interest. “Did ya know that Randall is an Algonquin word that means, ‘Giant dork?’”

  Addana brushes past Harriet’s shoulder. “Is the snarky teenager bit an act, or have you really not grown up over all these centuries?”

  Harriet looks back. “Bet it still beats gettin’ older.”

  “Fireside.” Randall stands up. “You gain nothing by provoking her.”

  “Provokin' her?” Harriet flexes the cuffs. “In case ya forgot, she put a gun ta my head?

  “Would a kiss make your boo-boos better?”

  “Addana.” He sounds like a disappointed parent.

  “Just trying to wake her up to-"

  “She is still your superior.”

  Addana’s face shifts, her glare deep, a growl barely held back. Harriet has to bite her cheeks to hide her smile.

  Randall stares at his Oathsworn a moment longer, likely reading her emotions, as if they aren't plain. “Come. The laboratory is below ground.”

  Harriet shuffles after his footsteps. “So, I’m guessin’ yer R an’ D head’s in on it?”

  “You are speaking with the R+D head.”

  She lifts a brow. “Thought yer an accountant.”

  “I am.”

  “So what kinda research could ya possibly be-”

  “By ancient laws, the secrets of aether are known only to the Venefici.” Randall interrupts. “And the secrets of your aether, in particular, are the keys to Project Hestia’s success. It is a natural pairing."

  She makes a face, looking into the hall.

  "Bright reds dissolving to ash. Cornflowers sinking in ocean depths. This still troubles you."

  “Jes' a feels a bit lopsided when I have the degree here."

  "Good point." He shrugs. "You can check for lapses in my scientific method.”

  The walk through Polyphron’s thirtieth story is silent, the path lit mainly by the moon. Harriet watches it, waning gibbous, its reflecting off all the skyscrapers’ glass. Her mind is still on Cyprus. A ‘business trip’, he'd surely say, but what use in bringing...

  “Wh-When did Astrid join ya guys?” she asks out loud.

  “When I entered the partnership, both were already here.” Randall doesn’t turn to meet her eyes. “Traynor had fallen into arrears with the dhaoine rosín. Per the Avalonian Codex, section 21, clause H, a Kept without sponsorship must find a replacement within two lunar cycles or-"

  “Got it.” She cuts him off before he can say it. It’s not a great Kept Fact to hear.

  “Traynor and Soteris had shared social circles as Kepts. When he learned of her plight, he used his Sovereignty to intervene.”

  Harriet stops, disbelieving. "He saved her life?”

  Randall ignores her, continues to walk.

  “I suppose. But her value proposition to the company was not-”

  "Value proposition?"

  "He acted nepotistically. And per the Avalonian Codex, section 245, clause-"

  “Issat why ya hate her?”

  This, at last, makes Randall turn around. He pauses for a minute, letting her study his pale blue eyes.

  “I do not hate people, Fireside. I just prefer when some stay out of my way.”

  Then he’s back to walking, even faster than before, like he needs to catch up with himself. Harriet stays back, trying to wrap around her thoughts. If Soteris saved her life, it’s no wonder Astrid’s loyal, but… but then why not say that? Use that to convince her? Is that not better than an outright lie?

  Suddenly, a harsh push. Harriet’s stumbling into the wall. Addana smacks the space behind with her baton, goading Harriet forward. The Unbound takes a moment to look back.

  Addana’s belt still carries an empty holster.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  By the time the two reach the lift, Randall is holding the doors for them. They step inside the brass container, blinking with gilded lights, as the Poisoned One presses the lowest button. The elevator trundles downward.

  Harriet exhales. A brief instinct demands she attack them. It’d be the easiest place to kill. But she swallows, shifts her weight. Starts looking about the room to bury the thought. She catches her reflection in the glass of Randall's Rolex, when...

  Her eyes go wide.

  “Randall…” The voice is soft. “What… happened ta yer arm?”

  There’s no way to tell where all the scars have come from. Sword cuts and whip gashes and… barbed wire? There must be dozens of marks, just on the parts where his sleeve has rolled back.

  “Yellow hues on flickered sunlight.” Randall cradles the arm, but does nothing to conceal it. Leaving her to finally arrive at the answer.

  “Caedmon.”

  The Court Seneschal. Second to the New Sun, and once, her Keeper. She almost forgot that Randall was his. The Poisoned One doesn’t reply.

  "I've..." Harriet can’t decide if she should show disgust or vindication or pity. “... we all heard rumours, but-”

  “The rumours are not true.”

  It’s said instantly. Without thought. She meets his eyes, though he never makes contact. “... what’s he like?”

  “Caedmon has served the Court dutifully since the age of Sunwalker. Since before there was even an England to serve. Aiding him is my greatest honour. That is all you need to know.

  “He’s the bank fer this Project, right?” Harriet grabs her turtleneck. “If… If I’ve gotta… navigate him… I-”

  “He is easy to navigate, I assure you.”

  “Those scars don’t look very easy.”

  “On the contrary,” he says in his toneless way. “That’s what a successful navigation looks like.”

  She pales at that. But the lift doors open before she can continue.

  Harriet can feel cold air on her back, dampness and dark. She turns to see a car park, mostly empty, stretching far across her sight. She takes a few steps. There’s Audi’s and Jaguar’s and BMW’s, but she doesn’t care.

  Not when she sees the exit ramp half a kilometre away.

  Shining in the moonlight.

  “Fireside!” He shouts, and she ignores. Trainers squeaking off pavement, sprinting. Addana follows, fast but too slow. Four hundred metres, three hundred metres. Her heart could tear through her chest.

  Randall calls out distantly. Quietly. “Per Article 7-”

  There’s a spark, and a crackle, and aether floods through her veins. It mixes with her sweat, staining her brow. The outside is right there. People talking. Cars beeping. All that’s left is to run, run. Addana's losing ground.

  Two hundred. One hundred.

  She’s looking back. Making sure they’ll be left behind.

  At that exact moment, the unseen barrier greets her.

  For the first few seconds, there’s shock, there’s nothing. She blinks at the floodlights shining over her, hair spilled on the concrete, listening to her ears' tinny ring. Her bare legs are scraped and red, doomed to bruise. She clambours halfway up and rushes again, only to meet the same resistance. Spatter back. She catches her breath, squints at the space, makes out the runes.

  Tiny, translucent, pale blue runes.

  No. Harriet crawls up to the barrier, presses her chained hands to it. Sure enough, lights flicker out wherever her skin touches magic. Damn it. Goddamn it, she should’ve-

  Two breaths later, Addana.

  “-UNF!”

  “That’s enough!”

  Harriet opens one eye. The other, like half her face, is smushed against the invisible wall. Addana has none of her struggles, reaching over, tugging the cuffs. The sensation is crushing. Claustrophobic. “GEDOFF!”

  Addana unlatches the lock, just to re-chain Harriet’s hands behind her. “Should have done this from the start.”

  “Help me.” The touch, the pain, Addana breathing down her neck. It’s leaving Harriet a ragged mess. “P-Please. We’re on the same side!”

  “No.” Addana abruptly steps back, letting Harriet collapse onto the ground. “We’re not.”

  Randall reaches them then. He’s completely unfazed. “Per Article 7 of your Contract of Allodry, you are not permitted to leave the premises of Polyphron, Ltd. and its collective leases without the express permission or physical accompaniment of one of it’s-”

  She spits. Gets an elbow in the face for it. It doesn’t even reach his shoes.

  He takes a cigarette from his pocket, listening to the sounds of trainers being dragged along concrete. When Harriet’s forced to her feet, made to look at him, he stares for a long time before taking a drag.

  “Mud and spring grass. Red mixed with black. You’re tired of being outwitted, aren’t you?”

  She growls, until Addana pushes her forward.

  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  The two metallic doors leading to Randall’s lab weren’t built to correct size. She knows that immediately by the way they loudly scrape on the concrete.

  It reminds her of the Blitz shelters, in all the worst ways. The walls are unpainted, the floor near unfurnished, and only a handful of simple stage-lights seem to blink above. It must have been a maintenance room, given the tire treads, or the yellow signs stacked up in a corner. Now, it sports drawers full to bursting, cluttered tables, cabinets that can’t be closed. Harriet leans over one, flooded with manila folders. They’re jumbled and disorganised, arranged seemingly at random. It reminds her of his other collection of files.

  “Is there a method ta keepin’ track a’ this?” She turns to ask.

  “There is. Not for you." He points. "Sit in the centre.”

  A single glance, and she doesn’t want to. The chair extends, coated in white sheets. Likely a repurposed dental chair. It’s impossible to not notice all the scalpels by its side, the iron built-restraints...

  ... and the Fireside. Set nearby, on a small table.

  She leans back, nervous, only to leap when she feels a hand grab her arm. “Will ya stop touchin’ me!?”

  “Will you stop asking?” Addana nods towards the chair, and Harriet meekly rushes towards it.

  The cuffs come off, only to be replaced by cold, unpadded metal. She immediately tries to break out, and ends up nowhere.

  “Randall…” She looks at the Poisoned One, poised over a desk. “... what the f-...f-...flock is this?"

  “I am sorry." He turns around. "But parts of this process..."

  She freezes. He’s holding a large, empty syringe. The Wilds immediately knows what it’s for.

  "... will not be appealing."

  A twitch. There’s no worse feeling for a vampire than having it’s own blood extracted. “W-w-wait-!”

  Aether surges from Randall’s hand, and suddenly, she can hear the gentle hum of a tape recorder.

  “Author: Randall Avery. Subject: Augmentation of aether samples with high intensity of phlegmatic humours. Subsect: General Observation. Court Date: Thirteen days before the kalendas octobribus, year one thousand, seven hundred and forty-three of the Sunwalker’s eternal and vigilant reign.” He pauses, pulling loose a pair of nitrile gloves. “Gregorian date: October 2nd, 2004.”

  It’s like he’s choosing to be dramatic. Slow, methodical steps. From the table, He takes a bit of cloth. Rubbing alcohol. Harriet's silent, frightened, can’t keep her eyes off the needle.

  “Subject is Harriet Josephine McClintock, an ancillae of approximately one-hundred-fifty years.” He rubs a spot along her vein, ignoring her twitch and desperate mumbles.

  “Please please please please please-”

  “Beginning… extraction…”

  “Yarrrrrgghhh!”

  She thrashes against the seat, muscles taut, veins glowing. Her fangs shoot out from her gums. It’s an animal sound; the Wilds, raw instinct, seizing control. Her eyes begin to spark, and her face warps, less human with each passing moment. She needs to fight and run and FEED!

  Metres away, Addana watches with crossed arms and a gleeful, hyena-like smile.

  Suddenly, she can breathe. The needle’s gone, Randall’s walking. A final shiver rattles the chair, as Harriet struggles to regain herself. The emptiness from her lost blood feels far worse than it must be. Like she’s been starved for days.

  Randall’s hand glows, and the syringe levitates away from him. Inserting itself into a small receiver from the Fireside. The machine hums to life, vibrating the small table housing it. Light slices through its middle, the same shade as her eyes.

  Harriet blinks at it, corpse-grey and trembling. “Ya… ya didn’t do that before...”

  He’s back over the table. Typing into a computer. “Before, we didn’t need to.”

  She gulps at that, but Addana’s already above her, pressing down on her shoulder. Pinning her even more.

  Randall speaks near the recorder. “As expected, the concentration of aether cells per mililitre is among the highest we have on record. As yet, there is no way to determine its exact humouric content, but external behaviours such as dissociations and flights-"

  “C-Could ya maybe not say this out loud!?”

  “Quiet,” Addana hisses.

  “Fireside qualifies for testing; previous hypotheses confirmed.” Randall turns around. “Assuming she passes the exam."

  Harriet gasps. Addana is hoisting her shirt up, leaving her belly and half her chest exposed. Randall walks as he always does; with such precision that he might be under a Keeper’s orders.

  "Wh-what exam am I-"

  “Shhh.” A cold hand on her skin. “Deep breaths.”

  “But-”

  Addana’s growl cuts her off. She closes her mouth. Shivering as Randall’s hand slides around, studying her terrified breaths.

  “And now none.”

  Her body falls still. Even the chest will not rise. Harriet’s trying to stay calm, despite the questions, the crowding, the touch. When Randall hovers by her face, shoving a small light in her eyes, she’s surprised he doesn’t see clouds.

  “I am going to ask you several questions related to your feelings about humans.” Randall says quietly. He’s staring only inches from her face. His eyes never blinking. “Are you ready?”

  “N-... no?”

  “How often, in a given week, do you interact with a human, or group of humans, outside of acquiring sustenance? Not much, some of the time, many times, or not at all?”

  “What?" Her eyes flit about. "I-I don’t know!”

  “How often, in a given week, do you find yourself engaging in sports, music, creative works, or any other activity determined by the Avalonian Codex, Article 2328, clauses C-J to be human in nature? Not much, some of the time, many times, or not at all?”

  “I don't know the flippin' codes!"

  “Bite.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bite.”

  She looks down. A strange piece of plastic greets her, held to her lips by Randall. It seems to be coated in a beige, semi-liquid substance.

  “Fangs out, if you would.” Randall explains. “They’re helpful in tracking your lineage.”

  She gives him an extremely discomforted look, but Randall forces her neck up. Realising what little choice she has, Harriet leans slowly towards the plastic. Forces her jaw down. The substance floods into her mouth, tasting foreign, like paste. Addana still holds her down. “Mnn…”

  A bit of the substance escapes, trickling down her lips. Randall notices, and wipes it clean with a gloved finger. “Until we get the mould.”

  She looks at him pleadingly. That same hollow feeling returns from upstairs.

  “Done.” He pulls it out, and she gladly lets him. She’s trembling beneath the other grip. “Have you ever dreamed about a cold, lush forest, with no natural source of light?”

  She blinks at that. "You don't?"

  “Can you engage in sexual activity?”

  That gets him a blank, horrified look. Randall repeats the question. “Can you engage in-”

  “Randall." Her eyes are desperate. "How would I even check?"

  He pauses for a moment, before turning to his Oathsworn. “She's high risk. Get ready."

  “What!?”

  “Fireside, I am going to conduct a series of spells, each growing in intensity, to measure the reactivity of your aether. I promise, the procedure is safe. I promise, the pain will be momentary.”

  “Momen-” Before she can finish, a rag is shoved in her mouth. Addana pulls it tight, loops it around her head. More restraints follow. Metal brace on her neck. Leather straps on her ankles. And Addana still holds one of her shoulders. Too strong. Too there.

  Warm against cold.

  Warm against cold.

  Her mind breaks and her skin screams. “Gdd-mmmff!”

  “Hmm?” Addana leans in. “Didn’t catch that”

  “Dnnn tmmff!” Harriet curses beneath the cloth. Her fangs bleeding through. “Dnnn tmmff mmmf!”

  “Don’t touch you?” Addana asks, watching the poor girl nod. She smirks back, slowly raising her other hand until Harriet can see it. “Like this?”

  Harriet starts to twist and writhe, but Addana doesn’t care. Firmly grips her other shoulder, and watching the reactions.

  “Mmmm…” She tries to plea through the gag as the Fireside hums. “Pl–rgghhhhh!!!!”

  It’s an excruciating pain. Constant and everywhere. Like her skin will split open, like her cells are boiling. Randall stares at the computer screen, unfazed. “Addana, raise to three.”

  Addana flicks a switch. Randall's screen lights up. Harriet's screams double over.

  “Raise to nine.”

  When they reach eighty-one, she stops hearing them. It’s just windchimes and white clouds and touching and touching and touching…

  Suddenly, Randall turns around. His eyes alight. “Turn it off.”

  Addana gives him an incredulous look. “What?”

  “Her colours are wrong. Turn it off.”

  “You’re playing with her aether. Of course the colours are wrong.”

  “It’s not the tests.” He turns, and stares at her. “I’m… trying to…”

  She gives him a pleading. Desperate. Strained. Hoping beyond hope.

  "Stop." He turns back to the computer. "We've proved the concept. There's no more-"

  He freezes when he hears the next switch flipped. Harriet surges against the seat lets out a scream.

  “ADDANA!?”

  “She can take it!”

  “That’s not your choice to-”

  Addana flips another switch. From the machine, blue sparks fly.

  Harriet throbs in pain. Her head is tight. Her heart rapid. Teeth feeling like they'll break against the gag. The Wilds are cornered, desperate to escape, lacking a way out. She grips what she can with glowing hands. Hundreds of currents firing through her veins.

  "Chiagozie! This is a violation of every-

  "Look at the screen." Addana nods to the desk without ever taking her eyes off Harriet. "Look, and see."

  Randall does, and his face shifts. "Nine-hundred." His eyes set. "We... didn't set it to nine-hundred..."

  "Look past the pretty face. Look past the youthful act. Remember what she is. A utility."

  Harriet forces her eyes open. Shaking her head towards Randall. Mumbling through the gag as tears fall.

  He's too hard to read. Face unexpressive. Eyes swirling. "We... we can't-"

  "We can."

  She can see Addana's hand. That strong grip, tight grip, constant grip. Fear and love. Fear and love. Fear and love.

  "Put yourself in that chair," Addana growls. "Would you give yourself time. Would Caedmon?"

  She does everything in her power to get his attention. Everything in her power to make it stop.

  But she's helpless as she watches his shock change to curiosity.

  And his curiosity change to nothing.

  "... Next switch." He turns towards his screen, ignoring Harriet's cries. Then she can't see at all.

  Only one thought breaks through the pain. GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

  The machine seems to shriek with her. Randall's computer is going haywire, a series of lines and graphs and numbers too fast to comprehend. For anyone but him. "Twelve-hundred..." Another pull. "Fifteen-hundred..."

  GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

  The Fireside's light shifts to a deeper blue. The humming louder and louder. Addana looks up. "Final switch."

  "Good. Let's..." Randall stops, leaning into the screen. The numbers keep flying faster. The lines keep growing larger. "Wait..."

  GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

  Only when her thumb reaches the switch, does he realise the cause.

  Randall turns, eyes burning, desperate to warn. “ADDANA-"

  Windchimes.

  White clouds.

  When Harriet comes back, she's on the ground. Disoriented, muscles aching from pain. Around her, circuitry, broken glass, bent metal. The sprinklers roar to life, trying to parse through the smoke, douse the small flames. She rips the gag from her mouth, and looks down. She was on a chair, wasn't she?

  But if so, the chair is gone. In its, charred and empty concrete. But the furniture’s gone. Just an empty space of concrete.

  Randall breathes heavily. Guarding the computer with his body. The sprinkler’s water darkening his hair. "Three-thousand... that's..."

  Harriet gets up, with difficulty. There's no more chains to hinder her."

  “Orange Sun on dying grass," he says as she nears. "Chrysanthemums drowning in-”

  She grabs him by his vest and throws him into the table. Scalpels and needles go flying.

  "Get off him!" She hears a roar.

  Harriet turns. Finds Addana hanging by the wall, blood on her cheeks, fire in her eyes.

  "Get off?" She shows fang. "After all you did. After what ya told him to do."

  "There's more important things than your feelings towards-"

  "What's yer PROBLEM!?" Harriet puts her hand on her chest, eyes wild. "I'm sorry that I hurt ya. I'm sorry that I killed yer friends. You know why I had ta, better than anyone! So why the torture? Why the barbs? Why the touchin'?"

  Addana scoffs. "You're still on-"

  "I HAVEN'T BEEN TOUCHED ENOUGH!?"

  "Touched...?"

  She follows the voice down. Randall makes no effort to stand back up. At first, Harriet disregards at as a quirk, but then she realises, for the first time, that his wide pale eyes are directly looking at hers.

  Addana squeezes the pillar beside her. "Do you want to know why I hate you, Fireside?"

  Harriet makes a face. "Please."

  "You're a brat. A bitch. Weeping and sobbing from your golden tower like a goddamn princess, when you're a freak. A monster. The one person on this fucking Earth who shouldn't be acting the spoiled kid."

  Harriet tries to keep her composure, but the words slam into her like spears. "I... I..."

  Randall manages a weak warning. "Addana..."

  "You think you're suffering?" A vicious laugh. "You, dolled up and doted on? Paraded like a treasured prize! Do you know how many would kill to stand where you stand!? What the other Kepts think of people like you!?"

  Harriet swallows. Her hand clinging to the black band on her neck. "He... he..."

  "He what?" Addana tilts her head. "Fucked you?"

  "Enough." Addana's lips close instantly. Harriet can't hear the doubling, but she knows Randall's given a command. He's using the table as support. His eyes glowing blue? "You have done what you wished. Now leave."

  "I haven't even-"

  “Look at her face!”

  Addana has no choice. She sees the trembling in Harriet’s lips. The gilded tears sliding her cheeks. Lost aether.

  “You don’t need colours,” Randall says. “To know that she is scared.”

  Addana makes a grimace. Pushing off from the wall with a roll of her eyes.

  “And to think,” she adds as she reaches the door. “I was once so scared of her.”

  Harriet's hands squeeze into fists. The heavy metal screeches as Addana heaves the doors open. "Ya know what I think!?"

  Addana stops and turns, the door slamming into her shoulder.

  Harriet exhales. "Ya can follow them as much as ya want. Put me down as much as ya want. But Addana... it doesn't change who we are. How we're seen. An' trust me, girl. They're never gonna Light you."

  Randall bristles at that, but Addana keeps cool.

  "I know."

  Harriet pales at the hatred burning through the woman's eyes.

  "And about Soteris... he doesn't make you a victim." The Oathsworn starts to leave. "Do you know how many wish we were only touched by one?"

  The door closes, and Harriet’s left cold. Eyes wide. Skin greying. The windchimes trickling in like lazy summer grass.

  She isn't brought back by a hand, or a voice, or any soothing, comforting. No. It’s cold glass, brought against her cheeks. She surges back. "What!?"

  Randall's holding a vial. "I'm trying to-"

  "No. No more experiments. No more tests! I-"

  "This isn't a test."

  She blinks. His voice is solemn. Steadfast.

  "You and I are going to a find a place that is calming. Drink something warm. And then you will tell me what Soteris Chrysanthou did."

  Her brows lift. Disbelieving, at first. His face is as deadened as always, but his eyes... there's something different in his eyes.

  Like they're trying to be human.

  Harriet swallows. Doesn't fight it. Doesn't let herself feel gross. Just holds her arm and points to the glass. "And this?"

  "For the tears."

  She twitches again as he holds it to her cheek, scooping a glistening golden bead from her skin.

  "They make good sampling."

  something. Ironically, it's a lot harder to explain with my words instead of my writing, so I'll let the woman speak for herself. Hopefully you can see the source of her rage... as unfair as it is.

  cold distance he gives off to everyone and everything just makes him a really good ear for the other characters.