Chapter 2 No.2

She moved to the mirror. The girl staring back at her was a stranger. Blonde hair dyed badly, roots showing, skin pale and devoid of makeup. She looked tired. She looked weak.

She reached up to her ear. The cheap plastic studs she wore were hollow. She unscrewed the back of the left one and tapped it into her palm. A receiver, no bigger than a grain of rice. She slid it into her ear canal. It vanished.

Fox, the voice in her ear was clear, crisp. This is Wolf. We have the latest vitals on the target.

Go ahead, she whispered. She watched the door as she spoke.

Intel is spotty due to the Faraday shielding in the West Wing, Wolf said. But thermal imaging suggests his core temperature is erratic. Heart rate variability is dangerously low. It's consistent with high-dose neurotoxin exposure. If we don't intervene within seventy-two hours, there won't be a mind left to save.

Serena felt a cold spike of anger in her gut. They weren't just imprisoning him; they were erasing him. Understood, she said. I need the antidote components ready for the drop.

We're working on it. But be careful, Fox. The Vances are the least of your worries. The Sterling estate is a fortress.

She was about to reply when her instincts flared. The floorboards in the hallway were old; they groaned under weight. Someone was coming. Heavy steps. Unsteady.

She ripped the receiver out of her ear and palmed it just as the wood of the door frame splintered. The lock gave way with a pathetic crunch.

Kayla stood in the doorway. She was swaying slightly, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a small, silver object in the other. Her eyes were glassy, smeared with mascara.

Who said you could lock the door? she slurred. This is my house. My room.

Serena backed away, pressing herself against the dresser. I'm sorry, she said, her voice trembling. I just... I wanted to change.

Kayla stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut behind her. She looked at Serena, really looked at her, and her face twisted into a mask of ugly jealousy.

You think you're pretty, don't you? she spat. Under all that dirt. You think you can go there and seduce him? Take my money?

No, Kayla, please, Serena held up her hands. I just want to help.

Liar! She lunged.

The silver object in her hand flashed. It was a dermaplaning razor, small but sharp enough to slice skin open. She swung it toward Serena's face.

Time seemed to slow down. It was a phenomenon Serena had lived with for ten years-tachypsychia. In the high-stress moment of an attack, her brain processed information faster than reality.

She saw the razor coming in an arc toward her left cheek. She saw Kayla's weight shifted entirely onto her right foot, her balance compromised by the alcohol. She saw the exposed tendons in her wrist.

She could have broken her arm in three places before she blinked. She could have crushed her trachea.

But Serena Vance, the trailer park girl, couldn't do that.

She let out a high-pitched scream and threw herself to the side, flailing her arms like a panicked child.

Kayla missed her face by an inch. Her momentum carried her forward, and she crashed into the bathroom vanity.

She shrieked, turning around, the razor slashing wildly now. You little bitch!

She came at Serena again in the narrow space between the bed and the bathroom door. There was no room to run.

Serena fell back against the bathtub. As Kayla brought the razor down, Serena caught her wrist. To her, it would feel like a desperate grab. To Serena, it was a calculated block. Her thumb pressed into the pressure point at the base of Kayla's ulna.

Kayla gasped, her fingers going numb. The razor clattered to the tile floor.

Serena didn't let go. She used Kayla's own forward momentum and pivoted her hips. She spun her around and slammed her chest-first against the edge of the bathtub.

Water from the tap Serena had been running earlier splashed up, soaking her silk robe. Serena pressed her face down toward the water for a fraction of a second-just enough to trigger the mammalian drowning reflex, just enough to terrify her.

Let me go! Kayla gurgled, thrashing.

Serena heard footsteps in the hall. Heavy, angry footsteps. Brenda.

She released Kayla instantly. She threw herself onto the wet floor, scrambling backward until her back hit the toilet. She grabbed a towel and held it to her chest, hyperventilating.

Brenda burst into the room. What the hell is going on in here?

Kayla was pulling herself up from the tub, coughing, water dripping from her nose. She attacked me! She screamed. She tried to drown me!

Brenda looked at Kayla, then at Serena. She was huddled in the corner, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

I... she fell, Serena sobbed. She was dancing... she had the knife... I tried to catch her... I'm so sorry!

Brenda looked at the vodka bottle on the floor. She looked at the razor. She looked at her daughter, who was clearly drunk out of her mind.

You idiot, Brenda hissed at Kayla. You're wasted.

She broke my wrist! Kayla wailed, holding her arm.

Brenda grabbed Kayla's arm and inspected it. It's not broken, you drama queen. It's barely red.

She turned to Serena. She walked over and slapped her across the face.

The impact stung, snapping Serena's head to the side. She let the tears spill over. She didn't flinch. She took it.

Clean this mess up, Brenda ordered. And if you touch my daughter again, I will have Frank throw you out on the highway.

I'm sorry, Aunt Brenda. I'm so sorry. Serena kept her head down, hiding her face in the towel.

Brenda dragged Kayla out of the room. Serena heard them arguing down the hall, Kayla's drunken protests fading into the distance.

Serena sat on the cold tile floor for a long moment. She lowered the towel. Her expression was blank. She touched her cheek where she had been slapped. It was throbbing.

Good. The bruise would help sell the story tomorrow.

She stood up and looked in the mirror again. She wiped the fake tears from her eyes.

One down, she whispered to the reflection.