MERCURY, NEVADA. 2040.

The silence has never been so loud. Their forks clink against emptying plates and Fiona can precisely hear the moment where Abin bites into the mushroom-substituted-vegan-cheese. Giuseppe watches this all from his rickety chair, leaning forward and staring intensely at them.

"It's delicious," Fiona says forcedly, using the distraction to gulp down as much as she can to clear her plate.

"And you?" Giuseppe whips to Abin, eyes lit with expectation.

"Phenomenal," Abin gasps, draining an entire glass of water within seconds.

Giuseppe jumps up and claps excitedly. "I have more in the kitchen. Let me top off your plates!"

Abin's eyes widen and he turns to Fiona in a panic. "I think we're quite satisfied–"

"No need to be so polite!" Giuseppe declares gleefully, already halfway to his kitchen. The door swings shut, the shoddy material of plastic flapping against the wall. Abin shoots Fiona a glare while the pots continue clanging around inside.

"I don't think I like pasta very much."

Fiona laughs, clapping a hand over her mouth to hide the sound from Giuseppe. "He's working with what he's got. There's a reason there aren't many restaurants around anymore." But still, she can barely get the words out through her laughter — Abin's barely-concealed disgust while slurping down the cricket-flour spaghetti was priceless.

Abin doesn't say anything in response, only looking at her with a slightly bemused expression on his face. He shakes his head slightly and takes another sip of water.

Fiona stops laughing. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Abin says, swishing the water around in his mouth to clear the taste.

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

Abin's mouth drops open as though horrified at the suggestion. "I wasn't looking at you. You were looking at me."

Fiona crosses her arms, confused as to why that's so offensive to him. "No, I only looked over because you were looking at me–"

Abin's cheeks are tinged with pink as he sputters. "No, you have it all wrong–"

They both fall silent when the bell at the front of the restaurant jingles, indicating the entrance of other diners. In the kitchen, Giuseppe continues to bang away, completely oblivious. But Fiona and Abin are totally frozen in their booth, both unable and unwilling to peek out at the newcomers.

"Do we just pick our own table?" A man's voice rumbles, stepping around and surveying the empty restaurant.

"I guess so," a woman responds, her voice somehow both light and sultry at the same time. "Geez. This place must have raving reviews."

"Oh, hi," the man says, as though surprised to see another soul, noticing Abin. Fiona doesn't dare turn around to make eye contact, just in case. But Abin simply nods in acknowledgement before they turn away to look for an empty table.

Chairs squeak against the linoleum floors as the couple takes a seat at a table in the corner, even further out of sight than the entrance to the diner. Abin tilts his head at the exit, as though suggesting they leave but Fiona points at the holographic that reminds them to pay for the meal as soon as Giuseppe closes the cheque. Only he hasn't yet, because he's grabbing them refills of that mushroom-substituted-vegan-cheese cricket-powder-spaghetti. Abin sighs frustratedly, realizing the same thing.

"God, what do I have to do to get some service around here?" the man groans, his deep voice coming off particularly whiny in the emptiness of the restaurant.

"This menu looks nasty," the woman says, swiping through the options in Giuseppe's tableside projections. "Are you sure we can't drive a bit further up the highway and find something else?"

"Boss' orders," the man says sarcastically. "We just have to wait until the exchange is complete and we can get out of this shithole."

Fiona frowns, something scratching at the corner of her mind. There's something familiar about the man's abrasiveness... "We should try to figure out who they are," Fiona whispers to Abin. "Can you take a photo of them with your Sheltersuit? I'll run some scans."

Abin looks at her like she's crazy. "They don't look like police. And you told me that Left Behind never comes this far West."

"I know," Fiona says calmly, trying to ignore the weight of anxiety in her stomach. "But all you have to do is lean out a bit and snap a quick picture. I showed you last week, remember?"

"I remember, but they'll notice me doing it–"

A loud clang sounds through the dining room as Fiona knocks a plate to the ground. The couple's conversation stops as they look over. "Not if you do it while picking up a plate." She giggles loudly. "Oops, I'm so sorry."

The couple's conversation resumes as Abin kneels on the ground, pretending to knock the plate out of his reach as he adjusts his own composure. Fiona takes a sip of her glass of water, hoping it settles her stomach a bit. Within seconds, Abin is back in his seat and swiping the photo over to her.

Fiona's stomach drops. "We need to go."

"What? I thought you had to run a scan," Abin says, watching the oblivious couple behind them carefully.

"No need." Fiona slaps down whatever cash she has in her pocket and gestures to the dim hallway on their left. "I noticed that the bathroom has a window in it. We can leave that way."

Abin frowns, looking at their car parked out front. "That can't be the most efficient way of leaving–"

"It's a trap," Fiona says, double-checking that her dagger is still strapped to her boot. "They're biding their time. For what, I don't know. But we need to pretend to use the bathroom."

"Together?"

"It's the best I've got!"

Something in her voice must scare him because he grabs his things and pulls her up. They take quick strides in the direction of the bathroom before running straight into Giuseppe, who looks at them with heartbroken confusion. "Where are you going? I still have more pasta."

"We'll be back!" Fiona says, trying not to sound as shrill as she feels. "Just need to use the powder room.

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"Together?" Giuseppe asks as the door closes behind them. Fiona doesn't have a moment to look back at the couple sitting in the corner, although she knows they know full well who she is.

The bathroom is awfully dingy for one that's never used, but Fiona wastes no time. She climbs up the toilet seat and tries to push the window open, but it only opens a crack. Pulling out her dagger, she quickly unscrews the panels as quickly as she can. "It's Maynard."

"Who?" Abin asks, pushing against the door in case someone tries to force their way in.

"Maynard Lam," Fiona says, freeing up two of the corners. "Former White Tiger and... current Left Behind logistics. I don't know the girl but I'm willing to bet she's a new recruit."

The third screw is loose before someone knocks at the door. "Are you alright in there?" The woman asks, her voice high and sympathetic. "If you need any... products, this girl's got you."

"We're good, thank you," Albert replies through the door, eyes wide as he watches Fiona fiddle with the screw. "We'll be out in a minute. Fiona's just having some... stomach problems."

"Gross!" Fiona whispers.

"What did you want me to say?"

"Okay!" The woman through the door, the sound coming off muffled and sinister. "Well, I also have to use the ladies' room so don't take too long, alright? I'll just wait here."

Finally, the fourth screw pops out and the whole window panel falls to the ground with a clunk. Fiona frantically gestures for Abin to climb out, ushering him onto the toilet next to her. They grip onto each other, unsteady and trying their best not to fall into the suspicious toilet water. "Go first."

"What was that noise?" The woman asks again, her voice closer to the door. She jiggles on the handle. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"We're fine!" Fiona shouts back, essentially shoving Abin out the window. She flushes the toilet with her left foot and turns on the sink with her right, trying to make as much bathroom-esque noises as possible. "Almost done." She grabs the edge of the window and hoists herself up, wincing as the pane digs into her thighs. But the woman rattles the doorknob again and it's all Fiona needs to fully jump out, landing on the dusty ground with a loud huff.

"Are you okay?" Abin asks, holding Fiona's arm to steady her. She turns pink under his gaze, suddenly aware of how clammy her hands are and how wild her red hair must look after all that fumbling around.

"I've been better," she says, not stepping away from him despite the fact that she's regained her composure by now. His cheeks are slightly flushed and his pupils are enlarged from all the adrenaline. Fiona knows the sight isn't for her to enjoy but she does so regardless. "I think we bought ourselves enough time to get out of here."

"I hate couples," a voice calls out, shattering the moment. "They're just so adorable and touchy-feely all the time. Ugh, choke me."

Fiona and Abin spin around, his hands flying to the scrolls in his sleeve and hers to her dagger. Even though Fiona knew as soon as she heard the voice, the sight of Shailene in front of her is still a shock. She has two space buns and pink eyeliner on, as though she's going out to brunch with the girls. But her highly-weaponized Sheltersuit suggests otherwise.

Fiona lowers her dagger. "What are you doing here?"

Shailene nods to Ragnar, who towers over them all. "We were just going to enjoy a nice little lunch at Cacio e Papa."

"Shailene."

Ragnar steps in front of her and opens his arms, almost as though to plead with Fiona. "Come back with us. I know you have your difficulties with Left Behind but we need you. And Seraph," he adds, nodding at Abin. "You know you belong with us."

"I... can't," Fiona says, looking at the man who she'd grown up with. He's always been the imposing Ragnar Blomberg, with his lumbering gait and thick accent as he coordinated the most intricate of plans. Only now does she notice the graying hairs at the nape of his neck and the tired wrinkles around his eyes. "I can't speak for Abin but I won't be a part of your cloning army."

Shailene rolls her eyes, clearly frustrated. "You know that the only way we'll win this is if we clone your monk boyfriend. We can end it all right now. You can live your normal life then. But what was this all for if you're just going to leave now?"

"I want to go to Sacramento," Abin says quietly, looking around as though completely lost. None of them look back at him.

"I'm not coming back with you," Fiona says, glaring back at Shailene. "There's nothing you can say to change my mind."

"Nothing?" Shailene asks, her lips set in a deep frown.

"Nothing," Fiona affirms, and pulls out her car keys. "So I'll be seeing you around. Maybe we can have a lovely family reunion one day, but for now–"

Fiona barely manages to take two steps before a dozen or so other agents turn the corner, blocking her path to the parking lot. Maynard and the other woman have apparently finished dining and wave, their weapons at the ready.

"Ragnar?" Fiona says, the rip of betrayal bare in her voice.

He closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, Fiona. I didn't want to do it like this but... we can't afford to lose you." Ragnar rubs his temples and turns around, walking away from them. "Seize them."

Fiona doesn't have a moment to cry out or even lament. They are hugely outnumbered, a measure surely taken to deter Abin, and everyone descends on them at once. Fiona narrowly misses a blow from the strategics director and finds herself face-to-face with Shailene.

"How can you do this to me?" Fiona's voice is small, airy, as she dodges hands and flying feet. She delivers swift punches and kicks, not wanting to hurt anyone too badly but also refusing to be captured by people who were supposed to be family.

Shailene, to her credit, does look somewhat shameful. Her pert nose scrunches up as she lands a roundhouse kick on Fiona's shin, dropping her to the ground. "You know this is my life. It's yours too. You just need to stop pushing it away."

Fiona grabs her ankle and rolls away as Shailene drops to the ground with an oomph. "This is my life? To be a prisoner?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Shailene says through gritted teeth, her hand hitting a jagged rock instead of Fiona's shoulder as Fiona leaps to her feet. There are still dozens of agents in the field, but Abin shoots small flashes of explosives at their feet, careful to derail but not hurt anyone too seriously. The ground rumbles beneath them. "You're not a prisoner."

"You have some sick ideas on what freedom looks like," Fiona says, struggling to get up as another blast knocks the wind out of her. The Nevada dust obscures the air between them, but Fiona can still see the details of Shailene's face she's always known — the constellation of soft freckles, her lashes that are so dark they look wet, the delicate curves of her lips. The face of a traitor.

Shailene's hand grips on Fiona's ankle, ready to pull her back down to the ground again. In the distance, Abin knocks out a group of LB agents and is heading towards her, aiming a scroll in their vicinity. "You have responsibilities, Fiona. We need to finish what our parents started." To Fiona's shock, Shailene's voice is quivering. Fiona can barely blink through the dust but she swears there is the glimmer of a tear in Shailene's dark eyes. "Together."

Abin pulls back his hand to aim the scroll, muttering incantations under his breath. Fiona catches his eye through the dust and shakes her head. With one final shred of strength, she rips her foot out of Shailene's grip, who shouts expletives as the yank jostles her arm. "I will never trust you again," Fiona spits, feeling true fury for the first time. "You and Ragnar have claimed we're a family over and over again and I believed you because none of us had anyone else. But family would never do this."

She doesn't wait for Shailene's reaction. Instead, she runs over to Abin and wordlessly grabs his sleeve, tearing him over to the car before anyone can recover from the blasts and stop them from leaving. They run in tandem, used to this by now, and cough the dust from their lungs as they finally reach the desert-heated car.

Fiona turns the ignition and the vehicle sputters. "Come on, come on, come on."

She tries again. And again. And on the third try, the engine finally roars to life and she swings the car wildly to pull out of the parking lot — only to come face-to-face with the sight of a large group of officials, jumping off of their drab-green military-grade tank.

"Are you okay, miss?" One of them calls out, their voice only slightly muffled through the glass.

Fiona and Abin exchange a look of horror as they approach, their highly-weaponized mechsuits glinting in the sun. They wait for her to roll her window down and stand in a formation, led by a tall man that Fiona immediately recognizes as Ryan McNamara from his constant appearances on the news. Next to him is the same agent from the night at the farm, standing with a strange yet familiar smile that makes Fiona's stomach drop.

"We are getting on our way, thank you," Abin responds, dusting himself off and totally oblivious. He looks at Fiona and gestures that they leave, as though this is a situation they can just walk away from.

"My name is Lieutenant McNamara," the agent next to Ryan says, still smiling that eerie smile. "Something tells me you just had a run-in with one of the country's most dangerous terrorist organizations. We can help you."

"You're not Lieutenant McNamara," Fiona says slowly. Her fingers itch for her dagger, even though that would barely last a second against these people. WRAITH is not a force to be messed with, no matter who you are.

"Fiona, what are you talking about?" Abin's grip is tight around her wrist and his eyes are full of concern. But she doesn't see him at all. All she can see is the lieutenant in front of her.

"That's not Lieutenant McNamara."

"I am," the agent says, sliding out a pair of handcuffs from their mechsuit. "But I guess you know me better as Evie Fischer. It's been, what, ten years? Does that sound right, Fiona?"