It was a risky maneuver. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she was caught. They could just fire her, and she’d be fine with that. But somehow she feared they would attempt something far more sinister. She didn’t think that MI6 would execute her or any of her family members for this intentional act of deviance. But maybe she’d get some jail time. No matter what it was a job that had to be executed with swift precision.
The fabricating of the file had been easy enough. It wasn’t her forte but through some sleight of hand, penmanship, and creative writing she was able to create a document which would change her life and her identity. And she knew form the moment she slipped her file into the cabinet, she was no longer ‘Betty Lou’. She was Lena Marks, an only child born in Oxford, and a spy.
And she was almost successful escaping with her original file tucked under her skirt and sweater when she ran into him. Not literally, but as she rounded the corner to see the imposing figure of a six foot four man, she gave a start; yelping softly. With a hand on her chest, she caught her breath.
“Sorry love,” she said, “I didn’t expect anyone else to be skulking around back here.”
All that time of the time would come and she would become aware of her magic, but Remington had begun to doubt it. She thought it would happen sooner than later, but her mother insisted it took time. Patience was key. So instead she had poured over books and learned all she could on practically every type of magic. It was the best way to be ready for whatever gift she was given. Her mother hadn’t earned the gift if any form of magic, but her mother and Remington’s grandmother had. It appeared to skip generations, so the hope was that Remington even gained something.
It was the previous evening when her beloved goldfish met its end. A tragic thing to a young girl as she had sat in front of the tank before her mom found her like that. She had taken the fish in a shoebox, intending on burying it. In the midst of crying over the box and the loss of a first pet, she discovered just what her ability would be. The once lifeless fish was flopping around in the box much to her and her mother’s shock. Once put safely back in the tank, Remington’s mom was happy to accept that that must have been it.
It was why Remington barely sat through breakfast the next morning. She knew who was going to be showing up, and she knew she was more than excited to show him what she could do. Her mother worked and her babysitter wasn’t the most observant woman, so it was easy to slip out into the backyard. Sitting near the back fence, Remington’s favorite friend showed up not long after. She hadn’t touched the butterfly she found, not sure how exactly the whole thing worked and why spoil the surprise?
Send ‘Flashback’ to see one of my muse’s old memories
You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, you can’t fucking breathe. No, this is wrong. Tears blur your vision, and your legs give up on you entirely. You stare into the abyss, as someone wraps a blanket around your shoulders. You don’t feel it. You can’t feel anything but ice. Your whole body feels cold, wrong, like you’ll never feel alive again.
The club had been fun, but it had also been fairly routine. She had gone so often in the past few months that there wasn’t much that was new. She found a stranger here and there to dance with; most too drunk and handsy for her liking. It was while one of those drunken men were pulling her close that she first noticed someone in the crowd. At first she considered it may be paranoia, but after she spotted him twice more she knew he was following her. Alecta went through a couple dance partners in her worry and even a drink or two, but ultimately she was vividly aware of the handsome stranger lurking out of reach. Having enough of the worried vibe she was getting now, Alecta opted for going home. She was safer that way regardless right? Walking out into the night she breathed in the fresh cool air as it hit her warm skin. Flushed cheeks from dancing calmed as she started for the road. She couldn’t stop that nagging feeling that she had eyes on her though. She walked with a fierce determination to get back to her apartment in a timely fashion, but that feeling wouldn’t go.
Alecta glanced at the road once before she felt the urge to glance back over her shoulder. She saw the same handsome stranger, and that two seconds of distraction was enough to change her life forever. She had stepped a good few steps into the road; panic urging her forward when she saw him. Tires screeched as headlights illuminated her shocked face for a mere few seconds before the car struck her fragile body. She flew up onto the hood; rolling up to the windshield and back with violent momentum. Bones cracked and bent while she came back down onto the hard pavement with a crack of her skull. At first the pain was white hot and all consuming; eliciting a struggling gasp from her lips as her lungs couldn’t muster up a proper scream. Alecta couldn’t move, could barely suck in a breath, but she swore she saw that damned stranger approaching.
The Lockwood mansion loomed, a silent witness to the tragedies that had befallen its inhabitants. Asher Lockwood stood in the foyer, his hands clenching and unclenching as he surveyed the room. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the large windows, settling on the once-polished surfaces. The house, which had once been filled with laughter and life, now felt like a mausoleum, each object a relic of a happier past.
Asher’s eyes fell on the grand staircase, the memories of running up and down those steps with Kaya flooding back. Kaya, who had disappeared along with Hope and Ingrid. The uncertainty of her fate gnawed at him, an ever-present ache that compounded his grief.
He moved into the living room, where photographs lined the mantel. He picked up a framed picture of his parents, Tyler and Jules Lockwood, their smiles frozen in time. His father’s strong, confident presence contrasted sharply with the image Asher had of him in his mind: always angry, always disappointed. Tyler had never missed an opportunity to remind Asher that he wasn’t living up to the Lockwood name, that he was too soft, too weak.
“Why can’t you just pull it together? You think you’re the only one with problems?” Tyler’s voice echoed in Asher’s mind. “You’re a Lockwood. Start acting like one.”
Asher’s grip tightened on the frame until his knuckles turned white. The frustration and resentment he felt toward his father simmered beneath the surface, mingling with his overwhelming grief. He set the photo down and moved to the couch, where a box of his mother’s belongings sat waiting to be sorted.
Jules had been his sanctuary, the one who understood him, who saw his emotions not as a weakness but as a strength. She had talked him through countless panic attacks in high school, her soothing voice a balm to his frayed nerves.
“Breathe, Ash,” she would say, her hand warm on his back. “In and out. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Now, she was gone, and he felt adrift without her steady presence. He picked up a knitted shawl from the box, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. The faint scent of her perfume lingered, bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.
He dropped the shawl and clutched at his chest as the familiar tightness began to set in. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, and his vision blurred. He stumbled forward, collapsing onto the floor as the walls seemed to close in around him.
“Mom... Dad... Kaya...” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. The panic rose like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under.
His father’s harsh words mingled with memories of his mother’s comforting touch, the conflicting emotions tearing him apart. He could almost hear Tyler’s voice, criticizing him even now. “Get a grip, Asher. Panic attacks…. We don’t panic. We push through. We rise above. Grow up.”
The panic attack hit him full force. His body trembled, his heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out on his skin. He curled into a ball, his fingers digging into palms as he tried to breathe. But the air seemed thick and unyielding, and he felt like he was suffocating.
Through the fog of his panic, he heard his mother’s voice again. “Breathe, Ash. Focus on your breath. In and out. You’re safe. I’m here.” Even the times where Kaya would find him beneath the staircase after a bad game knowing what waited at home. “Asher, I’ve got you. I promise.”
Clinging to those memories, Asher forced himself to take a deep breath. In and out. Slowly, deliberately. He focused on the rhythm, grounding himself in the sensation. The panic didn’t disappear, but it began to ebb, the tightness in his chest loosening ever so slightly.
After what felt like an eternity, he sat up, his breaths still ragged but more controlled. He wiped at his face, his hands coming away wet with tears. The house was silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock on the mantel.
Asher looked around the room, taking in the remnants of his family’s life. The task of sorting through their belongings felt overwhelming, but he knew he couldn’t let it paralyze him. He had to keep moving, for his mother, for Kaya, and for himself.
With renewed determination, Asher pushed himself to his feet. He picked up the shawl again, this time folding it carefully and placing it back in the box. One step at a time, he told himself. He would get through this, for his mother’s memory and for the hope that one day, he would find Kaya and bring her home.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the bayou. Beau stood by the cabin, the soft hum of cicadas filling the air, their song mingling with the distant calls of birds. The cabin, once a place of warmth and family, now felt cold and empty, a hollow reminder of the lives it had once sheltered.
Beau knelt on the ground, his hands covered in soil as he dug into the earth. He had spent the past few weeks gathering plants and flowers, envisioning a vibrant garden that would honor Hayley's memory. She had always loved the bayou, finding peace among the wild beauty of the place. Creating this garden felt like a way to keep a part of her alive, to carve out a space where her spirit could linger.
But as he worked, the weight of grief pressed heavily on him. Every shovelful of dirt felt like a struggle, his heart aching with the loss of the woman who had become a mother to him after his own parents had been murdered. Hayley's fierce love and unwavering support had saved him, grounding him when he had been adrift in pain and anger. Now, she was gone, ripped away by the brutality of their world.
A tear traced a path down Beau's cheek, mingling with the dirt on his hands. He wiped it away with a rough swipe, his jaw clenching as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Each plant he placed in the ground was chosen with care: lilies for their purity and renewal, jasmine for their soothing fragrance, and sunflowers for their bright, hopeful presence. He wanted the garden to be a reflection of the light Hayley had brought into his life, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.
As he arranged the plants, his thoughts drifted to Hope. Her disappearance weighed heavily on his mind, a gnawing worry that refused to be silenced. Doing all of this without her made the silence of it all so much louder.
"Where are you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "I need you.” It was a silly way to get his upset out. But he needed to. When he needed her the most, she needed space and he could respect it. Even if it hurt like hell.
Beau stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. He looked at the garden, a small but growing testament to Hayley's memory. The plants swayed gently in the breeze, their colors vibrant against the backdrop of the cabin. It was a start, a way to keep moving forward, even when every step felt like a battle.
He walked over to a small wooden bench he had placed at the edge of the garden, sitting down heavily. The silence of the bayou enveloped him, a stark contrast to the turmoil within. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his thoughts.
"I hope you're okay out there, wherever you are," he said softly, as if Hope could hear him. "And I hope you come back soon."
Beau took a deep breath, the scent of the newly planted flowers filling the air. It was a small comfort, a reminder that life could still thrive even in the face of loss. He would tend to this garden, nurturing it as Hayley had nurtured him. It was a way to honor her, to keep her memory alive, and to hold onto hope that one day, their family would be whole again.
Diana awoke with a jolt, momentarily confused as to where she was-- until she blinked the sleep from her eyes and realized she was looking right into Hwiyoung’s face. She shrunk back, averting her gaze and sitting up. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?” Her head ached, and it was hard to tell what the cause might be. Had she fallen asleep while she was at his place? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t they been fighting? It did not seem like it, since he did not look mad-- although there had been something she did not like in his eyes, just briefly, when she woke up.
“What time is it? I should probably head home, I told Eiji I’d be at the store early tomorrow.”
