Terrified screams and cries filled the air. An iron scent infiltrated my nose. The taste of ash lingered in my mouth. My skin was prickling like it had a blanket of electricity over it—as if I had transformed into a lightning bolt. My heartbeat was slamming against my chest, and I could feel sweat condensing on my palms and streaking down my face. I couldn't feel the ground underneath my feet, and it felt as if I was levitating, frozen and hollow. Blinking, I realized I was standing in a train terminal.

My memories slowly drifted back as the fog in my brain dissipated. I remembered where I was and my purpose for being there. I remembered Jay and I had been leaving Denver’s Union Station to rendezvous with Galileo at where Blake Street intersected with the city’s river. My hand still clutched the compass, which I had been assigned to retrieve. Union Station’s great hall had been hustling with a variety of activities and people meeting to socialize on the late Saturday morning. An aerial dance competition, which I had been a part of, had commandeered a section of the hall. It had generated a large spectator crowd that encircled the aerial equipment and mats. Laughter, the hum of many different conversations, continuous scraping of suitcase wheels against the tiled floor, and performance music had competed for dominance in the air over the hall.

In a matter of mere milliseconds, this had all changed.

What had once been a cheerful Saturday morning at Union Station had transformed into one of nightmares. My peripheral vision caught people fleeing out of the entrances. Turning my full attention on them, they all had their upper bodies protectively folded over and their arms guarding the back of their heads as they scurried out. At another entrance, I caught a girl in a white springtime maxi dress crawling out of an overturned table’s protection and hurrying towards the back exit on her hands and knees. The back of her dress was stained by a large splatter of red. She vanished out into the sunshine’s glare.

I was the only person standing in the middle of the hall. Everyone else had collapsed. The people who had been in proximity to me only seconds ago were now motionless, lifeless, on the ground. Some had red puddles radiating from where their bodies had fallen against the tile. One had shades of red staining her blonde hair. There were people draped over the top of pews. Another was slumped over his laptop’s keyboard. Beyond them, splatters of red marred every type of surface. I saw red patterns on the floor, walls, and pews. Above my head, I saw the male half of the aerial couple draped over the trapeze bar, as if he was nothing more than a discarded jacket. Little droplets of blood dripped downwards from his skull; the droplets had started to accumulate enough that a puddle was forming on the ground far beneath him. The audience had collapsed on each other to form one large pile of bodies. Although I could hear distorted screaming coming from outside of the building, it became deathly and eerily quiet in the hall as I became the only conscious person inside. Everyone else—who could—had fled.

Small fires had erupted throughout the great hall. Two of the grand pillars had fallen; one of them had crashed through a row of pews. Both the north wall and a section of the roof had gaping holes. Dusty sunshine filtered through the cracks. Even the floor hadn’t escaped destruction: several cracks radiated from where I was standing. Puddles of water formed in destruction-created craters.

Ashes were slowly falling from the sky. The hole in the ceiling was large enough that a substantial amount of imposter snowflakes were entering the building. A small feeling of awe penetrated the hollowness within me. I lifted my palm and watched the ashes fall between my fingers. Some landed on my palm. Unlike snowflakes, they did not melt.

I looked up to focus on what was directly before me. I saw a body sprawled across the end of the aisle. He was facedown, his face hidden by the positioning of his outstretched arm. I recognized him from his clothing. My breath got trapped in my throat. For seconds, I was frozen, disbelieving. Then my body reacted, and I was darting down the aisle to where he laid. I fell to my knees a couple of feet away from him and lurched for him. My hands scrambled for purchase on his body, trying to find enough grip to push him over. With a heave, I was able to flip him onto his back. A river of dried blood started at his nose and mouth and traveled to the slope of his chin. The dark stain was a stark contrast to his pale skin. It was a rare sight to see Galileo's face so peaceful; he always had an air of calculation about him. There was a lack of air passing through the small gap between his lips. Nor was his chest rising. His gaze featured a blank, thousand-yard stare. His core still felt warm, but when I picked up his hand, it was freezing cold and limp.

A half sob escaped my throat.

"Bria."

I turned to look over my shoulder. Jay was standing there with his lips formed in a grim frown as he stared down at Galileo’s corpse. He looked as if he had walked through the ninth circle of hell and somehow survived. Fresh blood surrounded an injury on the side of his temple. He too had stripes of dried blood painting his pale face. It drenched parts of his hair. His hat was missing.

Jay’s throat and mouth quivered at the sight, and he quickly shifted his eyes to meet mine. His expression hardened. A thousand words passed between us in that stare. They were unspoken words of unrealized fear.

I was the first to break the stare. The feeling of Galileo’s body underneath my hands returned my gaze to him. In the distance, I could hear a melody of emergency sirens. They grew louder with each shrill shriek.

Jay gripped my shoulder hard in command. My fingers clenched Galileo's shirt in refusal. Jay crouched, seized control of my arm, and started to straighten. "Come on, Bria. He’s dead. We need to go. Now." Jay’s tone was resolute, final. I tried to pull away from his grip and towards Galileo as if covering his body with mine would miraculously revive him. Another sob leaked out of my throat. "Bria, we can't be caught," Jay reminded in a hiss. When he pulled upwards on my arm this time, I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I understood his fear too much: we were the only two surviving souls in this graveyard, this living nightmare. The stress from the approaching sirens agitated our fear further—we had been trained to avoid the authorities. With one last mournful gaze and accompanying sob over Galileo, I allowed Jay to lift me to my feet. I stopped to grab the compass before Jay rushed me out of the hall.

The sunshine blinded me as we stumbled across the threshold. I wanted to slow down to put my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun. Jay gripped my arm harder, almost bruising bones, and hurried us across the street. The sirens were getting louder, closer. There wasn’t anyone directly outside of Union Station. Everyone had evacuated to distant sidewalks. My vision reflected the swarm as blurs. Distress hovered over them; some had collapsed to their knees. Embraces were freely given. Others attempted to aid the injured who had managed to get away. Desperate, hysterical wailing competed with the sirens. Both echoed in between the skyscrapers.

The ashes were more prominent out in the open sky than when I was inside. They were lightly coating the sidewalk and street. Their lifeless hue overwhelmed the vividness of Jay's blonde hair. I turned my head upwards in numbed bewilderment. The ashes were invisible until they were a few feet above me. The blue sky reigned over the city. The massacre fires hadn't spread, and there wasn’t any wind. I blinked up at the sky, trying to make sense of the ashes. They remained a mystery.

When we had crossed the street, I wanted to stop, feeling we had evacuated far enough away. My grief, confusion, and lethargy were too overwhelming. If Jay had not been tugging on my arm, I would have collapsed on the sidewalk near the other victims. As it was, his fingers dug into the back of my arm and pressed forward. At times, the pressure was almost too much to bear. I gritted my teeth, stumbled forward, and complied because it was a distraction from the chaos in my thoughts, from the lurking fear and suspicion hovering in the shadows.

The hotel Galileo had chosen as our home for this assignment was only yards away from Union Station on the intersecting street. It was a simple dart down Seventeenth for us to arrive at the hotel’s lobby. With the same intensity he had tugged on my arm, Jay pushed through the entrance doors. One crashed against the wall with a loud slam. Jay didn’t spare a glance towards the reception desk, and instead immediately turned towards the elevators. I was able to catch the receptionist’s gaping stare before Jay pushed me into the elevator. Jay’s grip on my arm tightened during the elevator ride up to our suite. He was silent and kept his erect body pointed towards the elevator doors. He didn’t let go of my arm until we were within the confines of the hotel suite.

Jay left me standing in the foyer alone and charged into the master bedroom. Numb, I placed the compass on the side table where Galileo had left his leather bag. There was a strain around my heart, as if my grief had it in a vise grip, especially when I realized Galileo would never pick up that leather bag again, never page through all the notebooks that were in there, searching for one specific thing. My mother had started the notebooks to record all her investigation notes, and it was a tradition that Galileo continued. I felt lightheaded. Afraid of collapsing right there, I rushed into the master bedroom.

Jay looked up when I entered. Behind him, the bathroom’s light was on, and I could hear the hum of the shower. Jay shook out the trash bag from the bathroom’s trashcan and handed it to me. "Put your clothes in there," he ordered gruffly. I barely nodded as he walked out of the bedroom.

"What about you?" I croaked. "You’re hurt."

"You are too. Get cleaned up. I’ll be out here with the first aid kit when you’re ready."

Jay’s last comment made more sense when I started to remove my dress. The right side of my back protested with pain. I used the mirror to inspect the area and was shocked to see a bloody circular area around my shoulder blade. It reminded me of the bullet exit wounds I had seen during my college coursework. Concerned, I examined my collarbone area with my eyes and prodded with my fingers. Except for a little soot and blood spatter from someone else, the skin was unblemished. Sharp shooting pain erupted through the wound when I lightly pressed down on it. It was deep enough that it would need stitches, though it was doubtful Jay and I would leave the hotel room. At least for the night. The world out there was too uncertain. I didn't even know what had happened.

The threat of collapsing again hovered over me. I must keep moving, I realized. I quickly scrambled out of my clothes and threw them in the trash bag. The back of my dress was drenched in blood. My fingers were stained with red. With trembling fingers, I started to remove the bobby pins holding my braided bun in place. They clattered down on the vanity. My hair fell past my shoulders in bushy waves. A layer of ash had already coated my hair and releasing my hair of its bun disturbed the settled ashes. They drifted to the ground around my feet. Soot and more blood spatter dirtied my face, smearing the makeup I had carefully applied this morning. I had seen hollowed, worn-out young adults on the trains in Berlin in the morning after they had been out all night on a bender; I looked worse than they did. I seized one of my makeup wipes and attacked the blood on my face. With forceful swipes, the blood came away from my skin.

Once my face was clean, I stepped into the shower, which was scorching hot. I lingered, watching the water flood around the drain. It was tinged with red. Ashes stuck to the floor. The shower's glass partition started to fog.

Dread kept me in the shower longer than necessary. It was a shadow hovering just out of sight. Something horrible, something despicable had occurred at Union Station. It was something I had no recollection of. I shut my eyes and turned my face up to the shower's waterfall spray, repeatedly replaying that moment before everything had altered, trying to gain an understanding from it, trying to piece together the inconsistency of my memory. No matter how many times I replayed those few moments over and over, the answers I sought were elusive.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

My rational mind wanted to place the blame of the slaughter on the men we had stolen from. They had learned that the compass was gone, and in retaliation, had taken the lives of innocents. It was rationality wrapped up in a pretty box with a flamboyant bow; had it not been for that dread that was settling deep in my core, I would have believed it.

When I emerged from the shower, I wrapped a towel around me. Jay was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the floor. The first aid supplies were arrayed on the mattress next to him. Jay patted the section of the bed before him, and I sat down. I gathered my hair and pulled it to one side to give Jay access to my right shoulder blade. He worked in silence as he cleaned the area before flattening some gauze on it and taping a makeshift bandage around it. Still not saying a word, Jay stood up and went to the bathroom to shower himself. Weakened, numbed, I fell backwards onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. My mind rushed to analyze the slaughter once more.

The rest of the evening was unusual for Jay and me. A fog hovered over us, and our actions were more out of necessity and survival than desire. After I had cleaned Jay’s wound when he finished his shower, we remained on the master bed, anointing it as our unofficial sanctuary from the madness that was occurring out in the world. Changing into clothes required more energy than I had at the moment; the bed’s blankets offered all the warmth and concealment I needed.

Jay turned on the television to provide an escape and remove the deafening silence. The first images that popped up on the screen were of Union Station and the sobbing crowds around its perimeter. Jay promptly turned the channel, a grimace darkening his expression. Several other channels were reporting the news on the slaughter. He eventually found a channel that was featuring a movie. It was just background noise to my chaotic thoughts.

There was a distinct moment later in the night where Jay stopped by the hall table. He paused to stare at the compass and Galileo’s bag. A tremor radiated down his spine. His jaw locked. Somehow, I found enough energy to force myself out of the bed, wrap a sheet around me, and approach him. His face remained rigid. His eyes were fighting the sorrow threatening to overwhelm him. I found his hand and threaded my fingers through his. Afraid of his flood of emotion, I turned to look at the compass and bag, too. "It wasn’t worth losing Galileo," I choked. When Jay didn't say anything, I went on to say, "If the Angel of Destiny came to me right now, I would trade Galileo for the compass."

"The Angel of Destiny doesn’t exist," Jay snapped.

I sucked in a deep breath. I squeezed Jay’s hand, seeking comfort. He didn't return the gesture. It was like there was a stone wall between us. I tried another angle. "Why do you think Galileo wanted it?"

Jay’s response was a shrug.

"What do you think we do now?" My words wavered as all my strength faded. My shoulders quivered. Grief had ensnared my heart, and I could physically feel it strangling me. My thoughts were chaotic as I sought answers regarding my future. Did I return to Nashville, back to my life there? Without Galileo, I couldn't see it being interrupted by missions anymore. Or should I take up Galileo's investigation? All his notes—and my mother’s—were in Galileo's bag.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't realize Jay had turned around until his arms wrapped around me and pulled me into his body. I nestled my head against his chest. He was taller than me and his body shielded me against the rest of the world. I was too comfortable against him; I was drifting off to sleep, swaying on my feet. I was so exhausted.

"Do you love him?"

I blinked. Jay's question caught me off guard. I looked up at him. His gaze was intense as he stared down at me. Something altered between us in that moment. We had been aware of that line, but it had been something we had never tried to explore. For years, we had tiptoed around it, afraid crossing it would lead to chaos we weren't prepared to handle. We had grown up together, we had trained together, and we had faced harrowing situations together for over a decade. We flirted with attraction without ever acting on it—never under Galileo's encompassing shadow. Yet now... I was seeking comfort, and this was one of the only ways Jay knew how to provide it. The question formed in his eyes. The answer in mine. "Who?" I murmured, genuinely confused.

"You asked me what we do now," Jay reminded in a whisper. I did? His hand slowly rose to tuck a strand of my errant hair behind my ear. He stared at it before he spoke again. "We don’t think."

He pushed me towards the bed and once my legs collided with the edge, I sunk down on the mattress. He yanked at my bedsheet with a small burst of mischievousness in his eyes—all that he could muster for the moment. I allowed it to fall around my hips. His hands gently settled on my waist as his body forced my legs open. He bent down to press his lips against mine—they were tender, questioning. I reconfirmed my answer by nipping at his bottom lip. Jay's hands tightened on my waist as he released a breathless, bitter laugh. We fell backwards onto the bed, with him on top of me, our legs entangling off the side of the bed.

For a few magical moments, we sought escape in each other.

* * *

I was jolted awake out of a deep sleep. My eyes were wide against the unknown threat. My pulse was high. Shadows surrounded the unfamiliar space. Every set of shadows could be concealing a threat. I hardly dared to breathe. There was enough light coming in through the window that I could see the shapes of the furniture throughout the room. My vision slowly adjusted to the darkness. The shadows—and their lack of lurking monsters—became less dense.

The culprit behind waking me up was revealed when my peripheral vision caught the reflection of flickering blue and red lights repeatedly bouncing off the windowpane. A glance at my cell phone informed me it was three-thirty in the morning. Frowning, I allowed myself to be pulled out of the bed by my curiosity. I crept to the window and held the curtains further back. Through the bouncing red and blue lights ricocheting off the buildings along Wynkoop Street, I could see that the street below was empty except for two cop cars. One had its bar lights running in sequential order on a loop. The other had chosen to sit in darkness in front of Union Station. I couldn't see anyone moving outside or within the vehicles. The street remained empty of pedestrian traffic; yellow tape prevented access inside of the iconic building.

For a brief gruesome moment, I wondered if the bodies were still inside the building—if Galileo’s corpse was still amongst the others. I wondered how many there were, and then how Jay and I had survived the massacre with minimal injuries. I wondered who the men Galileo had stolen from were. He had never alluded that this mission was more dangerous than the others. Those men were deranged if they went on a murderous rampage killing innocents over one compass. What would they do next if they didn't get the compass back?

Doubt appeared in my core as I held onto my rational conclusions. I pushed the suspicion away, not daring to examine it.

After surveilling the quiet street for a couple of minutes, I dropped the curtain and retreated to the bed. The fatigue I had felt after the massacre still lingered, and there was an ache radiating near my shoulder blade. I sat cross-legged next to Jay, who was snoring softly. His bare back was towards me as he laid on his side. Hours ago, I had pressed my fingertips into those muscles, bracing against his thrusting. I still felt the phantom smooth silkiness of his skin and his heated breath against my neck. I remembered the way he had grunted as he had reached that threshold and his climax overwhelmed him. It was enough of a distraction and physical exertion that we both fell asleep soon afterwards. I averted my gaze from where he was laying. Instead, I grabbed my cell phone and stared at the screen. I had several text notifications: one from Skye, one from Xavier's sister, Sam, and one from Xavier himself. Xavier’s message was at the top. He had sent it earlier this evening. Sighing, I skimmed his message.

Bria, I'm so confused about everything. I'm angry, yes, but I think we need to sit down & discuss this when you get back from your competition. I really think we can salvage this, salvage us. I admit it was a bit early for me to offer marriage. You're only nineteen! What was I thinking? Ha! But... Coffee at Killebrew when you get back?

I simply powered off my screen and sat my phone down, screen down.

I had forgotten about Xavier in the trauma of Galileo’s death. Now, his southern Hispanic charm and good looks haunted me, adding more guilt on top of the grief that had settled in my core. I had left Nashville believing we were over from the way Xavier had raged at the gazebo, tearing down the lights he had carefully put up and knocking down the vases of roses he had arranged earlier in the afternoon. I didn't think our relationship could survive that type of rejection. Apparently, after a couple of days, Xavier had other thoughts.

I did not regret having sex with Jay—not entirely. I wanted comfort, and he needed something—perhaps a distraction. We had turned to each other for those things. He was four years older than I was and had always been a bit wild. He had a way that made an introverted teen like me lower her timid walls. He was one of the people I was the most comfortable around, and one of the only people who had heard me snort while laughing. While there had been some flirtatious teasing exchanges between us when we were together, I never saw anything progressing to the extent that it had tonight. Galileo kept us separated whenever we weren't on assignment: Jay had his life in Phoenix, and I had mine in Nashville. Long distance communication was prohibited.

My flight back to Nashville was this afternoon. I still hadn't decided if I was going to be on it or not. We had the compass, and I feared that the men I stole it from were still around. Yet, where would we go? Would we attempt to get some direction from Galileo’s notes in that bag in the other room? What had been the purpose behind all those missions? How would Jay and I survive, the last two remaining out of our makeshift family, which had started off with four?

I was pondering these questions when I heard two ear-shattering bangs that had my ears ringing. The first one appeared to be as if some device was used to tear down the hotel room’s door; the second was a noise diversion. I tried to make myself as small as possible, bringing my knees to my chest and my chin to my knees. My hands slapped over my ears to help with the extreme noise. Next to me, Jay was startled awake and pushing himself up onto his forearms just as people flooded into the room. Their tactical movements revealed that this was not a random burglary. My vision had adapted to the darkness enough to see bulky forms, five in all, spread out across the bedroom. Every one of them had their rifles set on us. I had the immediate fear that Jay and I would be shot dead in the bed we had just been intimate in.

Jay sat up, enraged. "What the hell is going on!" he demanded just as the noise diversion faded.

It was simultaneous with the barking shout of, "Stay on the bed! Hands up on your head and don’t you fucking move!"

No one got away with giving Jay orders. He had too much of a rebellious spirit that apparently got him in trouble more than once before Galileo took him in when he was twelve. Jay stared daringly at the men in the room and started to shift off the bed anyway.

"Do you fucking want to get shot! Stay on the bed!" Tension was laced in the voice.

"Jay!" I hissed. My hands were already on my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jay’s hands reluctantly move to his head.

A shout came from the other room. "Clear!" Footsteps hurried towards the bedroom. Two men entered, and one of them turned on the lights. With the illumination, I was able to see them clearly. All seven men were wearing black from top to bottom. Tactical helmets, long-sleeved shirts, and vests with ‘SWAT’ in white print boldly running across their upper chests, thigh holsters with more firearms and less-lethal weapons added to the severity of the situation. Shocked, I gaped at them.

"You!" The officer pointed at me. "Keeping your hands on your head, get off the bed."

Trembling, I slid off the bed. The sheet I had been using to cover up remained on the bed. I was too frightened to reach for it. Too many rifles were pointed at me as if I was dangerous. On shaky legs, I stood. Jay exploded, "What are you doing? You can't do this! She's naked!"

"Shut up!" one of the other officers warned Jay as the other one ordered me to turn around and walk backwards towards them.

My eyes darted to Jay. His face was flushed from rage. I begged him with my gaze to not do anything rash. He ignored me. What the hell is going on? You can’t just rush into our room and take her when she did nothing wrong! We have rights! She did absolutely nothing, you perverts! Bria! Resist! Run away! Don’t you stop resisting, don’t you dare! You’re better than them—"

Jay would have continued if he had a chance. Instead, his face was flattened against the mattress as one of the newer officers tackled him, sandwiching Jay between him and the bed. This enraged Jay more. He squirmed underneath the officer, his limbs striking the officer's body. Another officer flung his rifle behind him and assisted in controlling Jay. Jay didn’t stand a chance between them. In a few skillful maneuvers, they had Jay on his stomach and his arms behind his back.

Behind me, the officer giving me orders told me to stop and kneel. I crossed my legs when I was ordered to. My emotion was bubbling to the surface, and I choked on the first sob seeking a way out. I resisted the desire to fight when I felt a hand against my own. His hand pulled one of my hands down from my head and held it as the cold bite of steel clipped and secured around my wrist. The second part of the handcuff encircled my second wrist. I had to bite my bottom lip to keep the sobs internal, though I felt my body vibrate from its containment. I met Jay’s gaze again. The two officers were still pressing him against the bed with their weight. Mixed in with his rage was sadness. Desperation. Fear. Acceptance.

"Can someone find me a shirt?" The officer behind me requested. Moments later, a shirt—one of Jay’s—came down over my head, momentarily blinding me. Jay was a giant compared to me, so when I was escorted to a standing position, the hem of his shirt brushed against my upper thighs. Two officers took possession of my arms. One of them ordered me to walk out of the room. With one last look at Jay, I barely did. My legs were shaking so much, I relied on the escorting officers to keep upright.

I didn't even know why I had been arrested, much less in such an extreme manner.