My hands were slipping, straining against her grip. Her fingers wrapping around my wrist, her knuckles turning white and my skin turning red. But I knew I was almost there. I've done it a hundred times. It was all muscle memory now. Still, she was putting up a fight but I knew it wouldn't matter. She wasn't strong enough to beat me. Not because she was a girl but because she was simply weak.

I repositioned myself and connected my hands correctly, holding her firmly in a headlock. Her body limply followed my movements as she couldn't get out. I stood still, waiting for the signal to let her go. But it was quiet. Everyone else was watching us, standing in a circle surrounding us, their arms folded behind their backs.

I looked up at Mother, waiting for her signal. "Show me final step," she said.

"What?" I looked at her confused. The girl struggled in my hand, her small breaths squeal as she wriggled around trying to break free.

"Show me final step," Mother repeated, slightly irritated this time.

"But...we never do that," I said.

Mother corrected her stance, staring at me sternly. I was talking back and that was not tolerated. "In order to improve, difficulty must increase. It is not same anymore." I look at her worried, nervousness creeping in my belly. "If she won, I would tell her same thing. Do not disappoint me now." I stared at her, slowly processing that she was serious. "No weakness. No mercy."

I lower my gaze, fixating on the back of the girl's hair, her hair cut short like mine. I tense my arms, taking a deep breath. I know what to do. We've practiced before. But this was the first time I had to do it for real. "No-" the girl whimpered, knowing what I had to do.

Mother couldn't hear me or I would be punished. No weakness. No mercy. I was mother's favorite and I didn't want to disappoint now. So I leaned close and whispered only so the girl could hear me. "I am sorry, Marie." And with a jarring movement, I let her fall with my arms rigid and hands free. I quickly stood up, averting my eyes from the ground.

I looked at mother frightened but eased seeing an approving smile form. "You did good," she said. Everyone else tensed up, not making eye contact with me. She never compliments us. And they all knew that.

I snap awake, sharply inhaling. I sit up slowly, looking around the room while taking a slow breath. I am in my room. I am in my apartment in Washington D.C. The clock says 8:32 in the morning. Tuesday morning. It's drizzling outside. I'm still wearing my clothes from yesterday. I'm alone in my apartment. I am safe. Everything is fine.

I slide off my mattress, a pounding in my head taking over. Slowly, the memories of yesterday come back to me and hit me like a truck. Brendon. He was killed. I glance down at my clothes, the griminess creepy under my skin as I haven't washed off his blood that sprayed me. I stumble out of my room, trudging to the kitchen, my body shaking.

Brendon was killed. Yesterday isn't coming together coherently. I can't remember. We were talking...we were laughing. Then we were taking fire, he went down. I hit the shooter then took them out. Brendon had a vest on and he was fine. Then he stood up. No, I stood him up. Then. Gunshot. We both fell. Why did I fall? I didn't get shot. Why did I stand him up?

I was sprawled on the ground. I couldn't move. I didn't do anything. The second shooter got away. Why didn't I do anything? The police came. I couldn't move. Why didn't I move?

Suddenly, I was at the office. They had me tested for an eval. Needless to say, I failed it badly. And I was sent home. I don't remember driving home. I remember opening the vodka though. And I remember not bothering to get a glass, just drinking it straight from the bottle. I remember drinking the vodka. That's where everything stops.

I stumble into the kitchen, trying to get my bearings. My vision starts fading on the edges, my body weightless and floating as my blood pressure drops. Slowly my sight trickles back and I keep going. I grab a glass, filling it with water from the faucet and then fumbling in the cabinet for painkillers for the headache. My prescriptions aren't where I usually store them. They're out on the counter. I don't remember what happened yesterday, I can't complain. My head is still spinning and I feel the grime still plastered on my face. I never washed myself. Only haphazardly wiped it off with a dry towel they gave me.

Brendon's gone. He was killed. He...Sarah. I pat my pockets down, searching for my phone. It wasn't on the nightstand, was it? I glance around, spotting the black screen on the island counter. The battery is very low as it didn't charge last night. Several notifications pop up on the screen. Texts from Frank... What? Missed call from Frank? Last night? Why did-we had dinner plans... I completely forgot. Everything shut down. I'm going to have to explain why I stood him up now. But I can't explain until I read the complete report, including the civilian report that will end up being the cover story.

I see early this morning missed calls from Sarah. Oh god...at the very least, she's worried about why he never came home yesterday. I don't know what to tell her. I press her contact, my hands shaking as I hold the phone up to my ear. It doesn't ring though. It's off. I end the call and go to her messages. "Hey, Sarah, call me back please." I send the message, staring at the words. Those words don't do anything justice. Her fiancé was murdered. There's nothing I can say to her that will make anything okay. There's nothing I can do that will comfort her.

"Gerard?"

My heart drops to my stomach and a shot of adrenaline spikes in me. "God!" I whip around, nearly falling over on the floor, barely catching myself on the counter. They run toward me, grabbing my arm and holding me. "Frank?" I cry out.

He looks at me worried, still gripping me tightly even after I've regained my balanced. "You're okay, you're okay."

"Wh-how'd you get in here?" I ask, easing up. My heart is still racing.

"I came in last night," he says. I look at him confused. "We had plans for dinner."

"I...I don't remember last night," I say, trying to slide out of his grip but he doesn't let go.

"You were drunk," Frank says. "And on the floor."

"Where were you?"

"I slept on the couch but I heard you get up just now."

I hold the side of my head with my free hand. "I-why didn't you just go home?"

He widens his eyes. "Because I was worried about you...I didn't know what to do but I could just leave you." I look down, sighing. "What happened?"

"I need to go," I say.

"Gerard, please, you're scaring me."

I purse my lip to the side. What do I do? I can't tell him anything until I read the civilian report. But if he was here last night, he knows enough. I have no recollection of him coming over so I don't know if I said anything or if he saw anything. I don't know how much he knows but he does know enough and I can't get out of this one easily. But no one ever said this job was easy.

"I don't want to talk about it," I whisper. "I just...I promise I'll explain when I myself know more." Frank's grip loosens but he doesn't completely let go. "Frank, baby, I need to head out. And I don't think you should stay here or you'll be late."

"I want to know if you'll be okay."

"Of cou-"

"Because yesterday, you snapped," he says sternly. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I will be," I tell him. He looks at me, trying to see if I'm telling the truth. Even if I was, it wouldn't matter. I put on a smile for him and lean down, kissing him gently. "I'll make up for yesterday, I promise."

"Okay, I love you," he says, letting go of my arm.

I smile. "I love you too."

Frank heads out and I quickly shower and change, washing the remnants of yesterday off. I check my phone, still no reply from Sarah. I make my way to the office and maybe it's just because my headspace is clouded and toxic but the office is not the same. The white noise is muffled and the fluorescent lights are more obnoxious. The others walking step in slow motion. Everyone's eyes glazed over and the atmosphere muted.

With each step I take, I feel the weight sinking heavier on my shoulders. Each step I take in, another set of eyes falls on me, another sigh of sympathy, another silent condolence running through their head. Across from my desk is an identical one. Except the computer monitors are on the other side, there are neat rows of sticky notes with scrawly handwriting scribbled down in shorthand, an arrangement of pencils and pens in a coffee mug with a picture of his dog. And over his desk, bouquets of flowers. I don't know who those flowers are for. I know they're meant for Brendon. But he's gone. He can't take them. They'll just sit there until they wilt, wither and die. He's gone. That's not his desk anymore. It's just a desk.

"Gerard." I snap my head, seeing Akari a few feet over. Their eyes red and puffy. I can't feel my legs as I stride over to them, kneeling down and hugging them. Akari grips me tightly, their hands shaking as violently as mine do. "I am sorry."

I hate hearing them apologize. They did nothing wrong. But I know deep down, what they feel. "I'm sorry too."

Akari lets go and I pull back, standing up. My knees threaten to give out but I fight it. "Gerard, they-" Akari glance back and aimlessly gestures behind. I narrow my eyes. "They have Sarah in interrogation."

"What?" I grit my teeth together.

Akari looks at me wide-eyed but not threatened. "Room 2." I freeze for a moment, processing what this means. They know Brendon broke the rules. They have Sarah. But Akari's eyes snap me out of my thoughts. I need to get her.

I storm off, heading down to the narrow corridor with the steel doors sporadically placed along the wall. One of the probationary agents stands against the door with the number 2 painted on it. "Move," I demand, standing inches away from their face.

They're younger than me, slightly afraid, which is what I need. "They're in the middle-"

"I'm not asking you again," I say. They glance down, quickly stepping to the side. I yank the handle, ripping the door open. In the small room, a single light hangs in the center of the ceiling. Below, a table with Sarah sitting there, staring at photographs and across from her Agent Stump.

"Way," Stump says, looking at me softly. He's surprised to see me here.

Sarah glances up, her eyes streaming with tears, the whites completely gone, morphed into a dark red. Her face is damp and dripping. "Gerard," she barely squeaks, afraid to move out of her chair.

I rush over to her, taking her hands gently and pulling her away from the table. She breaks down crying, throwing her arms around me and burying her face into my shoulder. I place a hand in her hair, gently running my fingers through her long strands. She's been growing her hair out.

I rest my chin on the top of her head, holding onto her as she's the last part of Brendon I have left. But I would call Sarah my friend and I want her to be okay. But in the world we live in, being okay is too much to ask for.

"What's happening?" she sobs against my shirt.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I'm so sorry."

"Agent Way." I don't move as I hear my name called from the hallway. I know Macy was on the other side of the glass and she watched me storm in here. But I don't care right now. I don't respond to her. I just stare ahead at the dark, blank wall, the color seeming less like a color the longer I stare. Agent Stump collects the papers from the table, sliding them into a manilla folder and steps out of the room. Sarah pulls away, covering her face with her hands and hanging her head down low.

"I won't let them do anything to you," I whisper. "Just stay here until I get you." I hold her shoulders and she nods. I give her a squeeze before letting go and turning to Macy. She's not mad, which I am surprised about. But people don't act the same after a loss. I step out of the room, shutting the door behind me. She opens her mouth but I cut her off. "Leave her out of this."

"Way, you know you can't be here," she says softly.

"Macy, leave her out of this," I say again.

"You are not permitted to work, you shouldn't be here." Macy tilts her head down, looking at me calmly. She knows that I'm not planning on heading out right now so she replies to me. "We need to be thorough."

"She knows nothing," I say, glaring at her.

"I wasn't the one that brought her in," Macy says. "Look, I'm not saying that she's guilty of anything. But Brendon broke the rules."

"He was in love. And it never interfered with his work as an agent."

Macy looks at me softly. "It's not about that. The rules are set to avoid weaknesses, something that our enemies can hold against us. Even if it wasn't the case for Brendon, he still broke the rules, which requires an investigation."

I take a breath, easing myself to keep it together. "You brought her in, you did background checks. You've followed the rules enough. For the sake of Brendon, let her go." Macy's gaze falls and she sighs deeply. Then she turns away, walking down the hall.

I step back in the room, glancing at Sarah. She looks up at me, sniffling and still shaken. "What's going on?"

"You're okay, I'm going to escort you out," I tell her. She glances around, slowly getting up from the chair and walking toward me like a frightening animal. I hold my hand out and she takes it, leaving with me. I quickly walk through the corridors, passing the desks in a blur with Sarah jogging to keep up with me. Her hand is behind me but I don't let go of her. There are people that glance at our direction but they don't make direct eye contact at either of us.

"Er-Gerard," Sarah says, as we make it to the elevator.

"Yeah?" I ask. The elevator dings and I gesture for her to step in. She nods her head, hopping in and then I follow her, pressing the ground floor.

"They-um, they picked me up, could-"

"Yeah, don't worry." The two of us head out, going through the parking lot. She gets in my car and she finally takes a breath, her head falling against the headrest and tears fall. I shut the car door, unsure if I should comfort her or just drive. Part of me wishes I kept tissues in the car though. "I'm sorry, Sarah," I tell her.

"It's not your fault," she murmurs, her hair sticking to her damp face. She scrapes the strands away and sighs. "I know what happened. There was...there was nothing you could do." I beg to differ but I'm not going to argue with Sarah about this. I'm sure I could have done something differently. I didn't have to stand him up, I could have called for back up, I could have been more cautious. Anything. Even if his death was inevitable, I could have reacted better. Found the sniper, caught direction, gotten a bearing of the scene. I was a witness and an agent yet I did nothing. I just sat on the ground frozen like an idiot. "Gerard, I hope you don't feel guilty."

I shift my jaw to the side. "But you see, I do. And I know I shouldn't but I do."

"The only one guilty is the shooter," she says. "And...I also know you-killed the first shooter."

I look up at her worried. I know I've killed people. It comes with the job but normal people don't know that. "It was an impulse thing," I say. "I'm...I'm not dangerous, it's-"

"No, it's okay," Sarah says. "If you ever find the second shooter, deep down, I hope you're impulsive again." I look at her surprised. For some reason, I perceived her to be...different. But it looks like we have more in common than I thought.

"I can assure you, those were my intentions." he nods her head solemnly. Even though revenge makes things feel better, it won't bring Brendon back. But I'm too angry to be morally correct. "Anything you need, I'll do what I can," I tell her, placing a hand on her arm.

She looks up at me, her lip trembling again. "If-if you could come over...for dinner." She takes a breath, trying to calm herself down to speak. Understandable she wouldn't want to be alone. "If there's anyone you know, just bring them, please."

"What?" I ask. She closes her eyes, exhaling deeply. "I think you might need time so company wouldn't be the best but I'll be-"

"Please, there's so much food," she whispers, shaking her head. "The caterer wouldn't take it back. I don't know what to do with it all. There's too much and...it's all going to go bad and I can't eat it all. But I just want it gone." I catch my breath, looking at her. "Please, you don't even need to stay, just take it, take as much as you want, please. I can't, I don't want to see it."

"How much do you have?" I ask.

She sighs, turning and sitting sideways in the seat. "The only thing I could cancel was the cake, which is for the best. But...everything..." She holds her head in her hands, crying more. My throat chokes up, seeing her like this. They were so happy. They had a future. And it's gone. "Everything's a lie."

"Huh?" Sarah keeps crying. "What do you mean?"

"He's not who I thought he was," she says, choking on her words. "A part of me can't tell if he really loved me or-"

"No," I quickly say. She looks up at me. "No, that's not true. Brendon did love you. He told me he hated lying to you but it's the job. He wasn't supposed to have any affairs but he still wanted to marry you. You were worth breaking the rules to him." Sarah wipes her eyes with her sleeves, which are covered and stained with makeup and tears. "He wanted to tell you the truth and planned to after you were married. He was an agent so he had to lie but loving you was always the truth."

She chuckles under her breath, easing up. "Thank you, Gerard."

"His last thoughts were of you," I tell her. Her face falls solemnly. "He was thinking of...your first dance at the wedding. He was thinking of you and he was smiling. I don't know if that's comfort but he was happy and he was thinking of you."

"In a sense, it is comforting. It hurts but...unlike everything else, it hurts good." I look at her, seeing some of the pain leaving her temporarily. "I know...you and I are not that close but I'd say you're a friend."

"I'd say the same," I tell her.

She gives a smile. "Life is...the life you guys live is very unpredictable and even if no one else knows that, it doesn't mean others can't be jarred by it." She swallows thickly, her breathing returning to a steadier pace. "If I could see Brendon again and say one thing, I would tell him I love him. I've told him thousands of times before but I'd tell him again. No matter how much you say it, it's still never enough."

"I understand."