As the door opened, and a hot stream came out of the room, Andrew watched as Kate took a step out of her bathroom, wrapped in a white towel. Her flawless skin shone from the shower and her hair was up in a towel. She picked out her comfy clothes and went back inside her bedroom, not closing the room, “Andrew, do you think I am right though? Do you think that’s a possibility?”

Andrew's eyes scanned through all of Katerina’s wonderful curves as she slipped on her pajamas. He averted his eyes away, blushing, feeling very guilty. “Someone helped Pitch escape? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Kate studied him as she pulled up her pants, “Did you know, when Pitch’s last three days, only Daniel and John gave him the meals and other necessitates? When we came home from dinner, Michael immediately didn’t have any more angels give Pitch stuff.” She looked at herself in the mirror and put on her baggy, gray shirt, “Do you think Timothy is trustworthy? Michael lets him watch Pitch like a hawk.”

Andrew shrugged, “If Michael trusts him…”

Kate grabbed her toothbrush and squirted too much toothpaste on it, “I never want to fault my wonderful leader, who is like a dad to me.”

“But…” Andrew said, raising his eyebrows at her as she jammed her toothbrush in her mouth and started to brush her teeth vigorously.

“But,” she started, her words mushing together as she brushed, “Michael trusted everyone who met Pitch during those three days...and if...not a completely reliable fact, however, one of us helped Pitch.”

Andrew sighed, “Damn. So, who does Michael have to interview?” He was rolled on his sideways, watching her do her daily routine at night.

Kate spitted out in the sink and kept brushing, “Me, Daniel, John, Sara, the Seers, and some angels when they dragged him out to his execution.”

“What if Michael helped him out?” joked Andrew.

Kate rinsed her mouth out and stared dead at Andrew, “I am positive it was one of those angels that dragged him out.” She chewed on her finger, thoughtfully.

“But you thought he managed to get out beforehand?”

Kate sighed and sat down next to her boyfriend, tucking her feet and laying her head on her knees, “I don’t know. Michael said that he will get some information out of Pitch, but he doesn’t like doing the torture method, which is great...but it’s a lost cause trying to get something out of that warlock.”

Andrew suggested, staring at her beautiful, polished hazel eyes, “Why doesn’t Michael kill him now?”

Kate answered as she laid on her back, “Because Michael wants to figure out how Pitch escaped, so this doesn’t happen again.”

Kate’s boyfriend came closer to her and tucked his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body and kissing Kate on her cheek, “You don’t think Lucifer would have to do with any of this?”

“I have my doubts,” grumbled Kate, “Lucifer says that he wants to help...I guess he wants to put an end to Pitch because he didn’t save his sister or something.”

Andrew wondered, “Do you know much that happened to Michael and Lucifer’s sister?” He smelled the wonderful clover of Kate’s scent and could almost taste it. She reminded him of a delicious gingerbread cookie.

Kate nodded, “Yeah, but Michael never talks about it. He doesn’t let anyone else does.”

Andrew noted, “I find it strange he doesn’t even talk to Sara about it, only you.”

Kate glanced at her boyfriend, seeing the burnt wooden eyes, “I never thought it that way.” She bit down on his lips, kissing them hard, “I think he trusts me more about his little secret, but I don’t think Sara would go telling Michael’s past.” She closed her eyes, getting sleepy, “I don’t know why he doesn’t tell her.”

Andrew scoffed and laced his fingers through her damp hair, “Probably because he wants to express how perfect he is to her.”

Kate glared at Andrew and huffed, “He is perfect no matter what.” She was so sick that everything always ended out pinpointing Sara. Sara this, Sara that. It was annoying.

Andrew smirked, “I was just teasing.”

Kate smiled and snuggled against him, “I know.” Her mind was now whirling as she thought about all the possibilities of how Pitch broke free. She wished that this was all a bad dream and everything would go to normal again. She did wonder what normal was for her. Eighteen years old, Kate’s mind went to the day she was official as Michael’s sidekick when she turned eighteen. That was the youngest anyone could become a sidekick at any headquarters. She was the first youngest sidekick Michael had. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was upset that Michael sent her to do his little errands, not the big job.

Granted, she had become Michael’s newest sidekick a few months ago.

Michael’s voice rang out in her: “Katerina, there's nothing big that’s happening...but when there is a big mission, I promise I let you on it. You don’t have to save the world in big leaps, but sometimes the littlest steps go the longest way.”

She held that sentence to her heart. Kate wanted to be a heroic person now, but she knew she had her exceptions so high so couldn’t reach them. She was already famous enough, but she felt it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t pleasing Michael enough, her heroes enough...herself enough.

Stop it, Kate. Her thoughts echoed in her mind. You are enough.

She felt Andrew’s arms slung over her as she knew he was falling into a deep sleep. It wasn’t even that late, but everything unfolding little by little, it was exhausting. She couldn’t imagine what Michael was dealing with. The incident at the bank and so many magical people dead. She knew that they all blamed Michael for the deaths...and she also knew even more, that Michael blamed himself. And only himself.

“Andrew,” she asked softly, in a half asleep and half awake state, “Do you think there’s anything I could do to help Michael with all this shit going out?”

Andrew moaned as he slit his eyes open to Kate’s closed eyes, “Kate,” he placed his hand on her back and pulled her closer, “You are doing fine. You are helping Michael as best as you can. There are some things that Michael has to do alone. And if you don’t remember, he is the Archangel.”

Kate laughed gently, “I know, Andrew! Just…” She gazed her eyes open to Andrew, “I worry.”

Andrew assured, “Everything is going to be fine. We have Timothy, who won’t let Pitch do anything. We have the league of angels here keeping a close eye on him. We have Michael. We even have Lucifer’s helping hand on this one.” He gazed his mouth over hers, “And we have you.”

Kate blushed and felt lush tickling her nerves and prickling around her skin, “And I have you.” She closed in and gave him a loving kiss.

Demetrius had looked over the video at least three times so far. He took a swig of his soda as his eyes grew tired looking at the screen. He stretched out his legs as he finished the video. He saw Michael in the corner, biting down his finger and gazing down at the floor, “Anything?”

“Nothing,” replied Demetrius, doubtfully. He stood up from Michael’s office chair, that was the only thing that Michael had black in the office, “So, how was dinner with your brother?” he asked tentatively as Michael slumped back down in pure exhaustion in his chair, “It went fine.”

“And we are one hundred percent sure that he had nothing to do with this?”

Michael sighed, “I think.” He groaned, “I don’t know, Demetrius.” He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes, “This is a disaster. I just wish I could put Pitch out of the way.” He shook his head, “But I need to know how he got out.” He glanced at Demetrius with worried eyes, “I’m hoping Timothy can knock some answers out of him.” He chewed on his bottom lips as he looked at his computer, the video at a stop, “If I can’t get anything out of Pitch, I am going to put an end to him in the morning.”

Demetrius felt his heart thump as he heard that. He was sure that Pitch couldn’t be extra lucky, “You are going to kill him?”

Michael nodded, “Yes. Around noon. Won’t be a showing or anything. I will go in there and slice his neck. I’ll make sure beforehand he’s not a shapeshifter or some illusion.” Michael’s head was going in circles over and over again. He had never felt this stressed before...well, not that he could recall.

Demetrius placed his hands behind him, “I guess I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” He paused, looking at Michael’s upset face, “Is there anything I can do?”

Michael shook his head and smiled, “You are too kind, Demetrius, but no. Have a good night's sleep.”

Demetrius smiled back, but it was a pained one, “You get some rest.” He opened the glossy door and there stood Ashley, her hand reaching for the handle.

“Demetrius!” she said. She walked past him and into the chilly office, “Michael. So, you wanted me to narrow down the suspects. I would recommend looking into everyone, each sidekick, especially the angels.”

Demetrius went back in, grasping Ashley’s hand, “You have a puzzled look on your face, dear. What’s wrong?”

Ashley bite down on her lips and said, putting her other hand on top of his hand, “I was looking through the videos in the basement throughout the time of Pitch’s days here. Remember when Sara was knocked out on the forest floor when of Pitch’s death? We never understood that, and when I watched the video, I saw her going to the basement.”

Michael glanced up, “She was seeing the sword.”

Ashley nodded rapidly and explained, “The thing is, I never saw her at the sword’s room that day.”

Michael swayed his head side to side, “No, Sara, she would never.”

Demetrius remembered watching the video with Sara asking Pitch for a second chance, “Sara wanted Pitch to have a second chance—”

“My daughter would not have done that.”

“Then why was she unconscious that day and where she said that she went to the sword when there is evidence she wasn’t in that room that day,” remarked Ashley.

Michael scoffed, “Maybe she lied …” he stopped short. He knew when anyone lied to his face. “But she guessed that where she was...she said that she never went there.” He glanced up in horror, “My daughter, Sara, she wouldn’t think of letting him out.” His mind barely could wrap around what he was even saying. But somehow, part of him knew that he taught his daughter to do what she believed the most. But she was five. No, she had to trip when she was...when she was what? He never understood why she was in the forest that day and remembered as if that day was yesterday when she woke up, she was confused. “Did you see her go to the basement?”

Ashley sucked in her cheeks and nodded, “No...but she was headed to the elevator when all the cameras glitched.”

He did remember there was a glitch on the camera that day, but he dismissed it as a malfunction. Even in the modern world of the Heroes’ Headquarters, their technology had malfunctioned. Damn it, Sara. “I will talk to her...tomorrow.” He had high doubts that his daughter helped Pitch escape. He knew his daughter was smart, but doing something like that without a flaw, that wasn’t Sara.

“Why don’t you talk to her now?” inquired Demetrius, seeing an anxious strain on his leader’s face.

“She’s asleep,” replied Michael, feeling his heart skip a beat.

Ashley chimed in with an edgy chuckle, “Sir, I highly doubt that your daughter has nothing to do with this. But we need to explore every opportunity.” She grasped Demetrius harder, and in her other hand, she had some files and a flashdrive.

Michael wanted to spite back everyone here always trying to blame his daughter for something, but Ashley wasn’t. She never had done that and looked at Sara almost like a mother figure towards her. He sighed heavily, “I understand.” He placed his fingers on his head in a dreaded expression, “I can talk to her now if you want.”

“No,” said Demetrius, “Let her sleep and most importantly, take a break, Michael. I know you are the most amazing Archangel, but everyone has their limits.”

Michael laughed exasperatedly, “You’re right about that.” His mind went to the death of his sister. He was sure that was Lucifer’s breaking point. “Thank you so much, Ashley and Demetrius. Sleep well.”

Ashley and Demetrius nodded in respect and left the silence-filled office, leaving Michael in his comfortable chair in wonder.

Timothy glanced up at the cameras in the prison room, counting four in total. He leaned back in the chair the angels offered him and felt his back get stiffer by each hour. He knew that Michael was hoping he could get some information out of the warlock. Warlock to warlock, but Timothy was having none of it. He didn’t even try as the clock ticked by.

He gazed at Pitch sitting on the bed, his head bent down looking at the white floor. Timothy wondered how any prisoner would not go insane here. Everything was white and precise, and deadly quiet. The only thing that made a sound was the swallow breathing and the warlocks’ thoughts.

Timothy didn’t know how long he had been in the small room but guessed it was getting closer to nighttime. He glanced at his small, antique black watch and it read that it was close to midnight. He gave a surprised look, not expecting the time to fly quicker, but he was not complaining.

“So, Timothy,” said Pitch as the clock struck five minutes until midnight, “What made Michael decide to trust you?”

Timothy responded, glad to have a discussion going during all the silent time spent, “I have helped the Archangel before.”

“So did I with Lucifer,” said Pitch.

Timothy wasn’t all that sure what Pitch meant by that, “Do you think Lucifer still likes you?”

Pitch answered smoothly, “If he did, he would've helped me get out of this hellhole by now.” He got up from the twin bed and came to the glass, tapping the glass wall with his finger in a light way, “Katerina told me a while back if I tried to break this glass, I would go into a deep slumber.” He gazed at Timothy, “I wonder if it still works. “

“I wouldn’t try it if I was you,” Timothy said. He pressed his lips and went over to the glass, standing in front of Pitch, just a glass barrier closing them off. He felt this was a good opportunity to ask Pitch some questions, Pitch seemed to be opening up, “Just me how you managed to escape the last time,” Timothy outright asked.

Pitch cocked his head up to the other warlock, “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

Timothy nodded, “Yes.” He stood there in his black trench coat and his black hair fluffed out.

Pitch turned his back against the glass and leaned on it, directing his head to the left as if he was going to look back at Timothy, “I like how confident you seem that I will answer such a brainless question, Mr. Watt.”

Timothy had read the texts some hours ago that Michael sent him that there may have been a helper, “Did someone help you?”

Pitch’s head smoothed against the glass, feeling the coolness of it, “You are getting warmer,” he replied, grinning ear to ear.

Timothy’s pulse quickened and he pushed, “Who?”

Pitch swirled around and his lavender eyes sparkled at Timothy’s bright emerald eyes. He lowered his voice down into a seductive whisper, “Don’t you love to give other people a second chance, Mr. Watt? During all this time, I have never hurt any souls or been off the radar. I knew one day that the heroes would figure out I was alive and I thought I proved myself worthy of all the years I kept living. Don’t you believe in second chances?” He smirked and pressed his body to the wall and chewed on his lips, “Certainly Michael’s daughter did.” Pitch took a step back with a wicked smile planted on his face.

Timothy’s heart stopped dead in his chest and breathed out, his eyes gazing shockingly to Pitch’s narrowed eyes, “How did—” But before he could finish the inquiry, he sensed something breaking above him and his eyes snapped up in time to see as glass started to fall in a heavy tremulous shatter as it came down in a heavy pour, but seemingly in a slow motion.

Timothy let out a gasp as he tried to step back, but he was too late, the glass rained down on him. He squeezed his eyes shut not to get them impaled by the shards. The shards razed down on him and he felt pain shoot through his body. Just as he opened his eyes to feel the glass stop falling, he was shot back in a lavender blast of magic, his body arching as he flew back.

Then everything seem to quicken again as he slammed against the wall, feeling his body lurch in horrible pain as he could hear his spine break, but he let his magic expel down his back into healing before he become paralyzed.

Thomas Pitch let out a soft, evil chuckle as he grinned down at Timothy as the alarm came blaring on into a screeching, awful sound. Pitch didn’t even seem to care as Timothy looked nose blooded at him as he grasped at his sides in daunting agony, “Looks like the pretty boy couldn’t stop me.” He squatted down to Timothy as he heard loud footsteps approaching, “Michael isn’t good at picking the right people. Bummer.” He raised his hands as the door blast opened and let his magic electrify the air and paralyzed every angel.

He breezed through the double metal doors and saw the desk angel girl, whip out her sword into a heavenly blaze, “Ah yes, where’s the sword, darling?”

She snarled at him and he waved his fingers to the elevator, letting it stop in its tracks, “Where is it?” He growled and snapped his fingers as the desk girl fell to her knees. He walked away from her as he heard her body slump to the ground.

Pitch ran through the basement, bursting through the doors in a flash. He let the walls explode into million pieces as he flung his hands up, letting the walls crumble into the ground. He saw the glint of steel.

“Pitch!” Michael yelled.

Pitch whirled around and let the walls enclosed between Michael and him and dashed to the sword, seeing it be circled with magic. He punched the magic circle with his fist, all his magic flung to that barrier of magic. He let the shock factor blow the magic into nothingness. The sword floated there now vulnerable and he snatched it up.

He turned just in time to see Michael slicing through the wall, his face twisted in anger, “Pitch! This is enough!” He gasped as he stared at Pitch’s hand, holding the sword.

Pitch chuckled, “Want to play with me, angel?”

Michael snarled, “You can’t hurt me.”

Pitch swung the sword in his hand playfully, “Now I can with this.”

Michael lurched to him, but Pitch let out a bark of laughter as he waved his hands around him. Particles of his magic swirled around like small atoms coming together. The lavender particles touched every aspect of Pitch’s body and as Michael let down his blade into Pitch’s head, the particles burst and Pitch vanished.

Michael sliced through empty air. He gasped, his face stunned by what the warlock had achieved before the Archangel’s eyes. Angels dashed to Michael’s side, but all they were looking at was a basement that looked like it went through a tornado.

***

The first thing Sara could feel was rusty dirt along her body when she woke up. She slowly gazed her eyes opened to the brown sky that gave off a muddy smell. She blinked a few times, feeling some grain in her eyelashes. She gazed her eyes open and rubbed them. She pushed herself up, feeling her body caked in dirt. She stood up and brushed off all the dirt from her clothing and then her hair.

Sara looked around the ashen world in front of her. Everything she saw was dried blood or blood seeping everywhere on the ground and the air was covered in dust and she coughed hard. She could smell iron in the air and the smell of corpses that hung in the atmosphere.

She gave a few timid steps forward, hugging herself tightly, feeling her usual luscious hair now into a greasy lump as it fell to the side of her shoulder, “Hello?” she called out shakily, her voice echoing emptily for miles. “Is anyone here?”

She gazed down at the ragged cloak that she wore for comfort. But now, she felt like she was wearing something heavy on her body, like amour. She remembered she used to dress up in her father’s armor when she was little and she felt the same heaviness.

But the more she thought of what she was wearing, the heavier it got. She yanked off her cloak, feeling it tightening around her throat and she stared down at her new clothing that was not her father’s amour.

She heard whispers through the air all at once of crying, screaming, begging, choking sounds, and sweet words, all in her head. Felt like someone turned up the radio way too loud and multiple of them at the same time.

She grabbed her head and realized that she was wearing a tight tank top that covered her breasts heavily. An iron skirt that weighed her walking down. She shook her head and knew this had to be some kind of sick dream. She tried to pry her clothing off. The tank top and skirt fell and she grabbed her cloak, looking around if anyone was there. “Dad?” Her voice croaked as her heart started to race inside of her. Her eyes darted around afraid “Dad!” She cried out. “Help.”

Dust formed around her like fog and footsteps walked softly in the dirt, “Sara?”

Sara looked up at Michael, his soft eyes gazing at her, “Dad!” She ran to him, holding her cloak tightly around her. She saw him open his hand out and greet her as she hugged him, “Where am I?” Sara felt like she had been here countless times, but couldn’t remember a single thing when she was here.

Michael’s hands stroked delicately down her hair and her spine, “You are so thin, sweetie.”

“Dad,” she said, nudging her face to him, feeling his warmth body shed her from the coldness, “Where are we?”

Michael then gazed at her coldly, “Where I want you to be.”

Sara looked at him confusedly just in time to see him raise a knife to her. She gasped and tried to take a step back, but his arm clutched her and he let the blade plunged into her back, where her beating heart was.

She stared at him as she felt pain erupt inside of her and she fell to her knees, “Dad!” She sobbed, “Why?” She could feel her wound getting quickly infected from the disgusting dust air. Blood ran down her back and floated down her back. She shivered as it hit the nerves of her spine, “Why?” she repeated in a heartbreaking cry.

Michael squatted down and faced her with a sinister smile, “You think I actually loved you?”

He raised the knife and slammed it down her chest…

Sara jerked her eyes open into her cooled bedroom. She felt coldness in her bed and yanked up to only feel that it was her sweat covering her, and not blood. She patted herself down, not feeling any stab wounds, just her dread filling the room.

She buried her face in her hand, her long hair covering her face as she did so. She hated having that kind of dream of her father murdering her. It was nonstop and the worst nightmares she could have. Those dreams always seemed so real at the time. She rubbed her eyes almost feeling the dust particles in them. Her legs ached and she felt herself be weighed down by something.

She pulled her three layered blankets she always slept under and revealed cuffs on both of her legs, chains holding them together. She gave a surprised shriek and then stared down at her clothing that wore a heavy tank top and mini skirt. They were the color of gold and so were the cuffs. She tried to lift her hands to her feet, but now saw cuffs on them that weren’t there seconds before. The chains linked the cuffs both together and all the weight she felt was slammed into her all of a sudden and made her unbalanced. She slid to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Help!” She screamed out. She looked around and felt her neck be restricted by a throat chain nearly choking her.

Now she remembered. This was the punishment she got when she didn’t kill her father.

Sal stepped forward with a glow of pairs of red eyes piercing through the dark room, “You could’ve killed him, but instead, you let him kill you.” He shook his head as he saw her scared expression face him. He smiled, “You look so beautiful chained up.” He touched the chains that wrapped around her, making her flinch “If only you would listen to me, I wouldn’t have to do this to you.”

Sara hissed between her teeth, “No matter how many times you put a trail on me, I will never kill my father.” She shook her body around, seeing if somehow the chains would disappear or loosen. Instead, they choked on her tighter.

“Tsk,” sighed Sal, “The more you fight me, the harder it will be.” He knelt down and faced her, tears coming into Sara’s eyes, “Just like in real life. The more you try to think I’m fake or just some kind of made-up fantasy in your head.” He poked at her head, “I’m real and you know it. The more you deny my existence, you think being tied up like this is hard? Metaphorically, outside your dreams, it will feel like your soul belongs to me the more you fight me.”

“Stop, please,” begged Sara, feeling a burn on each steel chain the more she fought against him mentally and physically on the chains.

He smirked at her and he did feel bad for Sara. But he had no choice. He tried so hard to get her to understand how much he cared for her, how much he loved her, but it wasn’t enough to please Sara. So he would have to try this method or the caring method. He would find out what would work better.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” sniffed Sara. She almost would do anything to stop what she was going through. But it had to be her burden and hers only. She didn’t want to hurt anyone else. She wished she had never asked Timothy to help her. “Sal...I’m begging you. I’m sorry.”

Sal turned to her and smile gently, ‘That’s more like it.” He snapped his fingers and the chains and her outfit disappeared as fast as they appeared. She was afraid in the next split second she would be naked, but she was clothed in her pajamas, “Sara,” he cooed and sat next to her, “I hate to keep doing this to you. But if you do what I want, I wouldn’t have to make you suffer like this.”

Sara glared at him, her eyes pink, “What you want me to do then?”

Sal inhaled her lavender and coconut scent like a wolf, “You know what I want you to do. Kill your father in your dreams. Easy.”

And if she did that...killed her father in those dreams he made for her—and he could move on to the next step.

Sara sighed, curling up into a ball. She didn’t want to kill her father, but during those dreams, he wasn’t even real and she so badly wanted to stop this suffering.

Sal grinned: “That’s more like it,” as Sara remember he could read her thoughts.

***

Sara groaned as she flattered her eyes opened. As she became more awake, her body felt stiff as she knew she slept well. She stretched out her arms, starting to remember her dreams in pieces. She closed her eyes and grumbled. God, she felt so weak every time she cried and bitched in her dreams to Sal.

It just felt damn unfair.

Even waking up from her dream, being chained up like some victim, she had some guilt inside of her that she didn’t know why was there.

It scared her though. Even though she thought Sal was some illusion in her head, it frightened her. She felt the urge to use the bathroom and slipped out of her bed, afraid that the cuffs and chains might magically weigh her down; but they didn’t.

She gracefully went to the bathroom, seeing the stars booming brightly in the sky. She flickered on her night light and saw her back and chest throbbed. She pulled down her shirt, seeing a slight bruising where her heart was. She quickly turned and looked back at the mirror on her back, seeing an uglier bruise. She let her shirt fall back down, ignoring those bruises which she got many times the week.

She chugged down water from a cup and felt lightheaded. She drank some more water and glided back to her bed, not even turning off her night light, feeling tired. She stopped as she saw Sal messing with her phone, “What are you doing?”

“Playing a game,” he answered, “Words with Friends or whatever you have.”

Sara sighed and was too weary to even bicker with him. She went to her bed, “I haven’t played that game in like a few months now.”

Sal grinned, “I played over two hundred points now.”

“Who are you playing with?”

“Some random dude online,” he placed her phone down as she tucked herself in, “You want me to put some ice on your bruises?”

Sara winced as she heard what he said and clutched her teeth, “I’m good,” she finally replied.

Sal stroked a strand of hair out of her face, “You know, your blood keeps me alive.”

Sara’s memory went to Michael stabbing her over and over again. She shuddered, “You trying to play my father? Killing me? You think that’s so funny?”

Sal gave her a daunting look, but she couldn’t see in the darkness, “Sara, without your blood, I would die.”

“Maybe I should die then,” Sara said, aggravated without much thought.

Sal froze in his thinking for a minute and said, “Sara, don’t ever kill yourself.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, “You’re too special for that.”

Sara rolled her eyes and flipped her back on him, “Whatever.” For a few seconds beat, silence hung in the air and Sara asked, “By the way, what time is it?”

“One minute after twelve,” responded Sal and laid down on her bed. The bright moon glistened on the tip of Sal's pointy horns, creating a shine to them.

Sara didn’t want to take his word for granted and turned around, facing him, but peeled her eyes to her clock that read what Sal said. She felt like today—that barely started—was supposed to be something big.

Thomas Pitch is going to die...but what else? Michael had told her and Kate as they headed back to the headquarters. She hoped that Pitch could have some redemption from her father, but she knew better. He didn’t do anything during those years he freed himself. Her words of asking her father to give Pitch a second chance at the video, made her feel childish. He was dangerous...so was she. He had hurt people...so had she accidentally. Expect, she got those chances because she was Michael’s daughter; Pitch with no title—besides being the most powerful warlock— did not.

But besides that, today was something I was looking forward to. What was it? Her mind grated at her.

Sal read her thoughts and clarified, “Happy birthday, Sara.”