That. BITCH.

I shove the rolled sleeve back over my forearm, fabric scratching my skin. What feels like my skin.

The wind suddenly starts to roar. It pushes hard against me, cold and inhospitable and seeming like it’s trying to propel off of the tower.

I crouch down, waiting for the gusts to pass. Everything’s drowned out. I can no longer hear the gunshots, the crashes and explosions. The echoing sounds of whatever might be happening down there. Just ghostly, shrieking wind.

I stare at the knife, at the lion’s mane symbol etched into the blade.

For most of my life, it feels like I’ve been pulled along, trapped in the maelstrom of events outside my control. The death of my parents. Working for my aunt. The accident with Jackie—though I did have blame in that. Prison. Aberdale.

And now, this. Whatever this even is. Whatever they had even been doing to me at that Aberdale place, between my drugged out dazes. Whatever lies Tanya was now using to get me to do what she needed. Because even if she isn’t lying, she’s withholding the truth. Too much of it.

“It’s impossible.” I say, running a palm over my forehead. “How...how could…”

Because. The thought is crystal clear. Clearest I’ve ever had. You’re a victim. You’ve always been a victim. And you always will be.

Suddenly, the wind clears, just as there’s a flash right in front of me.

I stand quickly, the knife’s handle gripped tight in my hand.

Tanya stands directly in front of me. She’s panting. She has multiple scratches and cuts on her legs, arms, torso. Her coat is torn, frayed fragments fluttering weakly.

She searches my face. Her eyes are frantic, pleading. Then, her arm shoots out, grabbing me, and we both disappear.

We reappear inside the upper floor of a dusty, dilapidated shed. Our bodies fall sideways, slamming into protestingly creaky floorboards, knocking up a fresh storm of dust.

Tanya rolls sideways, away from me. In a flash, we’re both kneeling, guns drawn, peering at each other through thick, falling clouds of dust.

“You know,” I say. “As with most things, this wasn’t my choice. I’m just caught in the tide. I’m used to that.”

“Kit…” Tanya starts.

I click back the hammers with my thumbs. “Too used to it. I gotta say, I’m at a point where whatever agency I have left, I’ve gotta take it. I have to make a choice, even if it’s the wrong one. So you need to tell me about the tattoo. In fact, you need to tell me everything. And you need to do it right now.”

Tanya swallows, closes her eyes, and lets out a slow sigh. She slowly eases her arm back. She holsters her gun. And then she opens her eyes again.

I hold my revolvers steady.

“There were three undercover agents to begin with.” Tanya says. “There’s more now, but they usually aren’t all operating at once. It takes them a lot of time and effort to get each one up and running, anyway.”

She pauses, as if waiting for me to ask her to expand on that. I don’t.

“Three agents.” She continues. “One for each of the top guilds. There used to be three. Now it’s just the Rifters and the Bannerets, though the Bannerets have an expiration date at this rate, I can tell you.

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“Anyway, each agent was assigned to infiltrate their respective guild, using the information to track down criminals in the real. Sometimes, in order to prevent violent crimes, they would use Black Darts to execute criminals. I’ve already told you about that.

“The reason we were even able to confirm that this was happening was because agents were starting to turn. One of the agents came clean to the guild. Another agent did the same. Us members of the guilds found a way to free them from their respective facilities.

“One of them,” Tanya was saying, eyes locked on mine, “Was Aberdale.”

My revolvers start to shake in my hands. It’s like I already know what she’s going to say. Even though I don’t. Even though it’s impossible. Downright impossible.

“At first, we were successful.” Tanya says. “We went on the run with them, kept them safe. They were going to help us fight back. We were going to get documented proof of what the government was doing.

“Then…” She took a deep breath, as if collecting herself. “They tracked down where we were hiding the second agent, the member of the Bannerets. They took him away. They…” She swallows. “Did something to him. Something so that when he synchronized again, he lured the third agent into a trap, and….and killed him.”

Tanya’s face twisted up. I could only stare, uncomprehending.

“The third agent was my brother. My little brother; Liam. The first agent was your friend, Oscar. The second agent...was you.”

The barrels of my revolvers droop. Tension is leaking out of me, terror flowing in.

Tanya crawls toward me. Her fingers pry the gaps between boards, pulling herself forward.

My body is frozen. My mind is stuck in a circular battle of incomprehension, particles slamming into and negating each other in the hadron collider of my mind.

Sensations make themselves known, like emerging shapes from a dense fog. Tanya’s trembling fingers move along the front of my jacket, upward, toward my neck and cheeks. Her face is contorting, forming tearless, sob-like spasms.

My hands are empty. At some point the revolvers slipped free of my limp hands and were now cradled in the gaps between boards.

Our faces are inches apart. Her forearms are shaking, laid flat against my chest. Her fingers touch the sides of my face, feeling my skin. She leans forward. Our noses touch first, hers nestling against mine, rubbing as she moves closer. Her lips press on me, on mine. Even though I’m cold and unreciprocating, a statue in her arms, she continues to press in closer.

Something snaps. I push her.

She falls back, sprawling, smacking on the boards.

I snatch up my revolvers. “I don’t know you.” Especially not this version of you.

“Sorry.” Tanya pulls herself up. “Please, I’m sorry.”

Though there’s no tears, I swear there’s something glassy in there. I can practically see myself in her pupils.

“I don’t understand.” I say. “You wanted me to implicate myself...and my best friend?”

“I wanted to free you!” Tanya says. She’s standing now, stepping back toward me. “They’re using you, Kit!”

“No.” I say. “You are. How do I know—”

“The weapon.” Tanya says. Her posture is suddenly firm, upright. “Once you have the weapon, you’ll see.”

I nod slowly. I’m suddenly, somehow, starting to feel like there’s a way out of this. A way through the maze. A destination.

“Where’s the gun?” I say.

“Oscar has it.” Tanya says. “He’ll give it to you. You’ll see.”

“Why?” I say.

“Because,” Tanya says. “You’re the second agent. The one who killed my brother. The gun belongs to you.”

I can only grit my teeth at that. There’s no point in arguing anymore. Not until I can see the truth for myself.

“Oh,” Tanya says, reaching inside her shirt collar and removing the Black Dart necklace. “You’re gonna need this.”

“Why?” I say. “Because I’m the ‘second agent’?”

“Because you know how to use it.”

I take the necklace, hold it up. “I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

Tanya shakes her head. “You’ll see.”

Again, no point in arguing with her. I holster my revolvers. I put on the necklace, letting the cylinder slide down underneath my shirt, strangely hot against my chest, dangling from the leather loop.

There’s no weird feeling coming over me, no sense that anything has changed. Just a necklace, it seems. At the moment.

“Once you take the weapon, it’ll be tied back to your character, and cataloged on the Dart. We can extract the data later, use it as evidence.”

“I suppose you have some plan to do that.” I say. “I bet you’re already cooking something up. Some way to trick me.”

Tanya slides her handgun out of the holster. I tense up, beginning to draw, but then she just tosses the gun. It clatters on the boards.

“You’re gonna turn me in.” She says.

“Um. Okay?”

“It’s the only way to see for yourself.” Tanya says. “Once he gets Sater, he’ll give you the gun. And then he’ll tell you to kill the both of us.”

“No he won’t.” I’m smiling. I’m actually smiling. It’s ridiculous. “He would never do that.”

Tanya’s face falls. She looks sad. Miserable, really. “And you would never kill my brother.”