Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

17th March, 2024.

8.41 PM

So, as it turns out, perhaps letting your temper rise to the point where it drives you to grab your foster mother, Eleanor, by her hair and smash her head against a wall, isn’t the best idea.

But that was exactly what I had done twenty-two minutes ago.

Now, I was stuck determinedly avoiding the icy stares from Eleanor and my social worker, Jane, as they talked in low whispers. I heard snatches of conversation though, words like:

“...not staying.”

“..nowhere to go…”

“...useless brother.”

My head snaps up at the mention of my brother. “Theo’s not useless.”

To this day, I am surprised by myself at my consistent fierce defence of my brother. After all, it was hardly like he was the model brother - model brothers don't leave you to a bipolar mother off her meds by yourself. Which, of course, was what Theo had done to me years ago. But all the same, the second someone spoke ill of him, I was first to defend him.

Jane and Eleanor stopped their hushed conversation, and Jane turns to look at me while Eleanor stares at me with contempt from her position on the couch, an icepack resting on her forehead, which was slowly forming a purple and nasty bruise. I was in deep trouble. 

“Yes he is.” Eleanor counters, making me fold my arms from my armchair and roll my eyes. “If he’s so helpful, then why couldn’t he take you in? Because he doesn’t care, Niamh. He never cared.I took you in, housed you, fed you and this," Eleanor gestures to her bruising face with wild hands. "is how you repay me? Ungrateful. And just as incompetent as your insane mother and coward of a brother."

“Yes he did! That’s why he’s working, for me! He’s trying to do better, he told me so." Lie. "Just fuck off Eleanor. He’s worked ten times harder than you have ever done in your life, you lazy cow.”

Jane looks pleadingly at me. “Niamh, don't make a scene.”

“I’m not! Why is it such a crime to stand up for myself?” I huff.

“You ungrateful bitch. I’ve taken care of you ever since you were thirteen years old, and how do I get repaid? All you’ve ever given me were headaches and stress. I’m done! I want you out. I don’t care where you go, just know that you’re not staying here. You're lucky I don't press charges.” Eleanor has stood up now, her words full of rage and years of suppressed feelings.

“Ellie, you know she has nowhere to go. I’m sure we can work this out..." Jane starts, taking Eleanor’s hand in hers and clutching it desperately.

“Well, it’s either she goes or I press charges.” Eleanor says firmly, wrenching her hand from Jane’s forcefully.

Jane sighs and I grin.

In some ways, I almost pity Jane. Almost. But after being in foster care for eleven years and having Jane as my social worker the entire time, I believe she’s adapted to all the bullshit I put her through. Her job as my social worker also includes the fact that she has to ensure I don’t get a criminal record.

Meaning, she has to do everything in her power so Eleanor does not call the police on me; I’ll be placed somewhere else and I can finally not have the overbearing weight of Eleanor for the first time in four years.

“Eleanor, I’m sorry but no family wants her. Can she at least stay with you tonight until I can try to find a placement for her tomorrow? Please.” Jane looks like she’s on the verge of tears of frustration and desperation now.

Eleanor stops and thinks for a moment. “Fine. Only for you though, Jane. But I want her away from me the entire night and I want you to pick up her and all of her stuff first thing tomorrow.”

“Trust me, I’m hardly begging for quality time with you.” I mutter, receiving a death glare from both Eleanor and Jane.

“What Niamh means is, ‘thank you very much Eleanor for not pressing charges and letting me stay with you until Jane can find a replacement for me’.” Jane says firmly, narrowing her beetle-black eyes at me from under her thick, greying fringe.

I snort derisively. “If you like.”

More glares.

Jane starts collecting her bag and getting out her car keys, thanking Eleanor profusely the entire time. By the time she’s gone, I’ve already found my way up to my room and pulled out a suitcase from under my bed. I begin stuffing my clothes, toiletries and other personal belongings in.

After a suitcase packed full of belongings and a few bin bags full of clothes, I realise I'd actually made myself more comfortable at Eleanor's over the four years I'd been here than I ever planned to.

When I arrived, I had been extremely volatile. More so than now. Numerous failed families had left me paranoid that I was to be dumped somewhere else again. Eleanor had actually been nice in the start, trying to understand my situation. However, it seems everyone has a breaking point because by the time Christmas came that year, she couldn't even look at me.

She grew cruel after New Year's that year. We argued until we were hoarse, she'd threaten to send me away and I'd go to bed wishing she would. It grew monotonous, and boring. Eleanor became predictable, so I tried to be unpredictable. I stole a necklace her sister had given her once; she'd gotten so angry she turned purple, slapped me senseless and called Jane.

All I remember is my cheek stinging. But being pleased that at least it wasn't just empty threats as always. That, for once, someone actually fought back to me.

9.07 PM

The sky outside is dark now. Outside my window, I hear the sound of the drizzle landing onto sodden and flooded grass and distant police sirens, nothing uncommon for this area. Almost all of my belongings are packed away now, my guitar sits lonely in its case in the corner of my room, my clothes are stuffed into my suitcase with some items with more sentiment placed in a backpack sat on my desk.

I don’t have the energy, willpower or storage to pack everything in my room but wherever I end up next, I plan on getting my new carer to get me some new room decorations and gifts. I know I will anyway; I always get my way. Always.

I hear the creaking of the stairs and the heaviness of the footfall tells me it isn’t Marvin, Eleanor’s morbidly obese cat but rather Eleanor herself. I pray she’s just going to bed or for an extremely long bath.

Obviously, with my minimal luck, Eleanor bursts open my door, grinning widely. And I already know that whenever Eleanor is genuinely smiling in my presence, something can not be good.

“Hear that?” Eleanor puffs out her chest, the grin never faltering.

I sigh and theatrically put my hand behind my ear, mimicking listening out for something. “No. I don’t. Are you actually losing it now? Hallucinations are the first sign of madness, you know.”

“Listen harder.” Eleanor grins down at me.

For the first time, I oblige and listen to whatever Eleanor is talking about. “I only hear police sirens and rain.”

“Come on, Niamh. I thought you were meant to be smart.” Eleanor frowns, mockingly tutting at me. “Can you not figure it out?”

“No.”

“Well then, let me give you a hint. Them sirens? They’re for you.” Eleanor looks positively delighted with herself.

Realisation catches up with me and I realise what she’s done. She kept me in the house to report me, and now, without Jane to back me up or stop her from pressing charges, Eleanor has snitched on me.

I stand up hastily, regretting it when I feel dizzy, but I grasp the bed frame firmly and glower at Eleanor. The siren is right outside now, and I hear a knock at the door.

“What have you done?” I whisper, control slipping out of my hands like oil. My temper rises, and I lose all sense of myself. “You bitch! I was defending myself from you!”

“Oh, but the police aren't going to believe you, are they? No, they’ll believe the poor, helpless foster mum who has dealt with your crap for far too long. You’re done, Niamh. Finished. Now you’ll have to beg for forgiveness from a judge. Not me.” Eleanor quivers, excitedly.

A lot of things annoy me: crying children, slow walkers, but nothing quite like Eleanor.

And one thing about me is, I act on impulse.

So, I grab Eleanor’s pudgy throat in my hands and kick at her shins. I push her as she slams into my empty wardrobe and place my forearm harshly against her windpipe, constricting her of the little breath she has already after walking up the stairs.

She pushes me off and snarls furiously. "You little parasite! You pyscho! You're no better than your shitbag brother! How insane are you to attack me twice in one day?"

Oh, now I'm pissed. "Say another word on my brother and I'll kill you Eleanor, I actually will."

"Ha! You couldn't even kill a fly if you tried! Come on, little girl. Try." Eleanor goads, her toad-like face leering at me.

And try I do. I grab her short hair, wrapping all the split ends in my fingers and tug her head back, exposing her neck. She thrashes and pulls me away from her, shoving me down out of my room and making me stumble onto the hallway at the top of the stairs.

I don't miss a beat, I drag my legs back and then kick at her ankles, making Eleanor lose balance. In her moment of weakness, I get back up and tug her down with me. She lands on top of me, winding us both. I wheeze and groan angrily.

"Stop fighting with a seventeen-year-old! Get over yourself for once!" I snarl in anger and Eleanor laughs dryly.

"As if! I've wanted to give you the smack you deserve since you got here! This is my most fond memory with you yet, Niamh!"

"You smacked me anyways! What are you even saying?" I gasp out, growing tired from lack of oxygen.

Eleanor stands up, using me as a post to push herself up and she looks down at me, smirking as I continue to lay winded on the landing. "You better get up, they'll be in here soon. And I want them questioning you, not me."

And then it snaps. It's not even what she says that particularly pushes me over the edge, but just her horrible face, the one I'd associated with so many episodes of anger since I was thirteen years old.

I grab Eleanor's ankles and pull. The smirk from her face disappears as she tumbles backwards down the stairs.

I watch as she crumples at the bottom of the stairs. She's still alive, because she's whimpering in pain like a wounded animal. I don't watch in satisfaction, nor is it disgust at myself.

I could have killed her.

I wanted to kill her.

I could still do it.

But then, the front door bangs open, as it was left unlocked, as usual. It's the police. They're here to arrest me for smashing Eleanor's head against a wall. But now, here she is, cowering at the bottom of the stairs, with a slipped disc at the very least.

Radio static signals me out of staring at Eleanor's form. There's paramedics trying to support her upright now. I walk down the stairs, moving past them all and walk up to the grey-haired man. I hold my wrists out, solemnly.

"Niamh Horton, you are under arrest for attempted murder, assault and battery, threats to kill and threatening behaviour. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can be given in as evidence. As you are a minor, you have the right to an appropriate adult present during questioning as well as the right to a solicitor."

He sighs and cuffs them, leading me out and into the back of a police car. I don't have the energy to resist. More police cars pull up, as well as more paramedics in a car. How many people does it take to detain one teenager? 

Before I can keep watching the paramedics try to transport Eleanor from the bottom of the stairs to the ambulance, the car starts and drives away. I slump down in the backseat and exhale deeply, unsure about how to get out of this situation.

Jane was probably asleep, and I wasn’t sure how she would react if she had to wake up to bail me out. After all, it's not like Eleanor was an option now.

The drive to the station wasn’t long. I looked at the cloudy night and sat in silence, hearing only the hushed voices of the police officers sitting in the front of the vehicle.

Drowsiness tugs at my eyes, and I yawn widely, but I push away all feelings of tiredness because I refuse to fall asleep in the back of a police car. We enter central London and even at a late hour, it is extremely busy.   Taxis and cabs blur past, young adults stumble drunkenly into yet another bar, billboards echo their glaring advertisements over the city.

The car slows to a stop and I watch the officers exit, open my door and grab a hold of my handcuffed arms again.

I feel distinctly like a dog being punished. Being banished outside my home and told to stay outside for the night, my handcuffs are the chain keeping me from making an escape.

It’s rather humiliating being escorted through a police station as it seems. There’s desks everywhere and I’m taken around offices, up staircases and past the watchful eyes of people working for the law. Everyone’s eyes seem to be on me. I hate it.

I’m escorted to a desk and a tight-lipped woman starts asking me all sorts of questions.

“Full name?”

“Niamh Jasmine Horton,” I reply tiredly.

She purses her thin lips, eyes darting over a computer screen I can’t see from over the desk. “And you’re seventeen, are you, Niamh?”

I nod wordlessly.

“I need a yes or no answer, please, Niamh.” The woman drones.

“Yes. I’m seventeen.”

“Is there an appropriate adult who can come in for your questioning?” She asks, looking at the grey-haired man holding my arm rather than me.

“Why do I need someone here for my questioning?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows, and the woman sighs heavily, getting slowly annoyed at me.

“It’s standard procedure for all people who come in here who are vulnerable or under eighteen. You are seventeen, therefore, you require a parent or guardian with you.” She crosses her arms, making her look distinctly like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum.

I roll my eyes and grumble. “Well if I’m in here for attacking my foster mother, I can’t really think of anyone else to come in.”

“And where is your social worker then, Niamh?” She interlocks fingers, places her elbows on her desktop and puts her chin on her hands.

“Probably at home.” I shrug, losing interest very quickly.

"Okay. Do you have any dangerous objects on you at the moment?"

"Why would I be taking 'dangerous objects' into a police station?"

She scowls at me. "This is procedure. Now," She stands up. "Can you remove your jacket for me?"

"Cheeky,"

 The grey-haired man clears his throat. "You're not in a position to be joking around. Either you remove your jacket or Constable Abercrombe will remove it with force."

I shrug, but remove my jacket all the same. Abercrombe snatches it off me and takes out my phone, AirPods, an old train ticket, and an empty packet of bubblemint chewing gum from the pockets.

"Arms up." Abercrombe instructs and I feel the man behind finally move away from behind me and lean against the high desk.

"You what?"

"Arms up." She repeats.

I huff and lift my arms and she begins to pat me down. "I don't remember seeing this on 24 Hours in Police Custody."

Nobody says anything. The officer who had arrested me hears his phone start ringing and excuses himself to go take the call.

"Ooookay. Hint taken."

Abercrombe, apparently finding nothing on me, puts on an extremely strained smile. “Right then, Niamh. Can you go stand by that wall so we can take a few pictures of you?”

I don’t want to, however, I get the impression that I don’t have a choice. I stand against the wall, and she takes a picture of me from the front, the flash momentarily blinding me. I’m instructed to turn to the right, to the back, then to the left as she takes pictures of me from every angle.

"See how easier it is when you cooperate?" Abercrombe fake smiles, eyes glaring at me as I stand in front of the wall.

As if being in custody wasn't difficult enough - and embarrassing for that matter, I've never felt as watched and judged in my life - but having to deal with Abercrombe was starting to make my temper get ready to flair up again. However, right now, I decide is probably not the best moment to let my temper get the better of me again. With a deep breath and a lot of self-control, I bite back a clipped response and go for a tamer one.

My face remains stony and unimpressed. “Shouldn’t you just be taking my pictures?”

Her laughter stops, and she clears her throat. “I’ll have you know, this isn’t the place for attitude. Especially in your current position.”

The man returns clears his throat and speaks up now. “Kellie, um...you can't take pictures of her without her appropriate adult here. You're gonna have to get rid of them completely. Anyways, I'm getting her out of your hair in just a sec. She's also not legally allowed in a cell apparently. And I need a female officer to escort and watch her. Give me two minutes."

“Yes, sir.” Abercrombe nods obediently.

"I'll have you know, I was actually trying to be nicer then. You just have a poor taste for patience." I snap back at Abercrombe when the older man leaves.

"Be quiet." Abercrombe says firmly. "Keep in mind, everything you say can be used as evidence. Watch your mouth."

That gives me enough incentive to finally hold my tongue so I take a step back and lean against the desk with my back to the policewoman. So much for girls support girls.

A few minutes later, the greying man returns with a middle-aged woman with a harsh face, and I am escorted to a section for juveniles where I am to be monitored by the new woman due to police protocol.

She introduces herself Sergeant Priestnall and is more laid back than her appearance gives off. Priestnall also informs me that the man I'd had with me since my arrest was Inspector Finch, who was divorced and often kept biscuits in his coat.

Stifling a yawn, I slump in a chair in the corner. It's been a hellish evening and I am truly exhausted - physically and emotionally fron this whole ordeal.

My rights are reread to me countless times and I am firmly reminded of the fact I have many options for legal support; more so than any other person in holding currently in the building, despite the severity of my charges.

I'm unsure of how long I'll be waiting on Jane, but I can only imagine her speeding along the streets of London, her rollers still in her hair, sitting anxiously in her floral pyjamas and fluffy slippers. Either way, I already know any humiliation I thought I felt before will only double for Jane and me when she arrives.

I move my head back and let it rest on the wall behind me.

I don't know how long it takes me to fall asleep or how long I'm asleep for. But when I'm woken up, it's by the sound of the lock clanking in the door, and it opens to reveal Finch. 

"Come on, it's time for your questioning. Your social worker's here." He says.

I stand up and walk in front of him. Looking back at Priestnall, I try to muster a smile, having actually been glad of her chilled company. My smile feels wrong and strained but it seems Priestnall feels my gratitude and gives me a tight-lipped smile and a small nod.

I notice Finch after my exchange with Priestnall. He looks tired, the bags under his eyes more prominent than before. The sky outside is edging slowly to sunrise now, the darkness outside becoming a light and hazy greyish blue. It must only be an hour away at most.

Finch takes my arm again, and I'm escorted past the desk of Abercrombe, where she's now taking pictures of a skeletal girl with matted hair and a repugnant smell of vomit hanging near her.

With Finch still holding onto me, I'm walked past desks with more workers there now. I want to get out. I need to. I'm facing pretty severe charges here, and I'm not far from my eighteenth birthday - the eyes of the law would use that against me.

Finch calls over another officer, with a ranking I'm not certain of, but who is clearly trusted enough to handle me.

"This is Niamh Horton, in here for suspected attempted murder. Keep an eye on here whilst I go get her social worker." Finch says quietly to the officer.

He's young and he's undeniably attractive, so I find myself remarkably unbothered by his presence. 

The officer nods in understanding as Finch hurries off to go find Jane. He clears his throat awkwardly, taking hold of my cuffs behind my back. "My name's Officer Sanchez, nice to meet you Niamh."

"Are you meant to be talking to me?"

Sanchez clears his throat and changes the topic. "So, what's your social worker's name?"

"Jane."

"What's she like?"

"An emotional car crash. Not very fitting when working with vulnerable and neglected kids." I say monotonously.

Sanchez clears his throat again, but I hear a little chuckle escape. "That's a shame. Where are your carers?"

"My carer is in hospital, I'll assume. Seeing as I apparently put her there."

"Oh! Right. Where are you going to go after this?" Sanchez tries to change the subject, after shooting himself in the foot.

"You think I'll be let go?" I ask, hopeful.

"I don't know the details. But you're a minor, and they can't keep you here forever. You'll be somewhere soon enough."

My tone falls flat again. "Oh. Yeah. That too, I suppose. I'm not sure. Jane's always had a hard time finding care for me. So I've been with my current - if you can still say that - carer for a few years now."

"So nowhere to go, huh?" Sanchez asks, sounding slightly sympathetic for my situation.

"Nowhere." I can see Finch walking back over to Sanchez and I.

"That's tough. Hope it works out for you, kid." Sanchez says, leading me back over to Finch.

Although I doubted he'd be saying that if he knew the full details.

Before I can give the thought of accommodation, court dates and Eleanor anymore thought, I am finally lead into the investigation room and instructed to sit down. Jane's there. Her face is a mix of fury and disappointment when she sees me. Anger bubbles back up in me now. Why is she angry at me when I was reacting after Eleanor went behind both of our backs?

"Right then. This is Detective Inspector Johnathan Finch and Sergeant Leona Donovan questioning Niamh Horton with her social worker Jane Molenhill. Let's start." Finch starts speaking for what I assume is a tape. "Niamh Horton is charged with assault with the intent to kill involving her foster mother; Eleanor-Maye Merrick. Now, Niamh, what lead you to attack your foster mother?"

"Nobody told me my charges had changed." I say quietly, looking between Finch and Donovan.

"Ah, apologies. Mistake on our behalf, but in light of new evidence we have had to recharge you." Donovan tries to explain, but I can feel the caution in her tone. Caution towards provoking me; as if I'm some sort of wild animal they have to poke to see if I'm alive, all whilst running the risk of having me snap.

"Let's try ask again, shall we?" Finch sighs, putting his hands on his face and pushing his silver hair back. "Niamh. What led you to attack Eleanor?"

"She attacked me." I say flatly. 

Not a complete lie, but not the complete truth. Eleanor had been on top of me on the landing, but it was me that had knocked her down. Eleanor had hit, and scratched, and punched, and tugged. But I had done it all first.

An audible gasp from Jane.

It infuriates me, and it always had, how Jane was so unbelievably blind to Eleanor's mistreatment of me. Everything had always ended up my fault; I'd started an argument, or I'd tried to hit Eleanor, I'd ran away or I broke curfew.

Jane would, naturally, shout at me and give me the usual talk. The talk always consisted of how I was too much of a burden to give to anyone else, because I burned through foster families 'faster than sulfuric acid', and Eleanor was a 'lovely woman' whom I needed to 'warm up to.'

Most of the time, incidents with Eleanor hadn't even been my fault. Jane would never have eyes for the mottled bruises Eleanor was giving me but rather, a scratch I might've given Eleanor when trying to tug myself away from her firm grip.

I can't help but roll my eyes, and if I'd had control of my arms, I would've folded them indignantly too. Naïve, naïve, naïve. Everyone was so fucking naïve.

Why was it always me taking the blows?

Finch clears his throat, snapping me back to reality. "Now what led you to push Eleanor down the stairs of the house? Was she hurting you?"

"That evening or in general? Besides, didn't I just say she was attacking me?" I ask boredly, looking up at Finch, my patience at the situation already beginning to fray.

"Both, please." Donovan looks expectantly at me, choosing to ignore my protests completely.

I keep a grip of my anger as much as possible and take a deep breath. "She hasn't hit me for a few days, but she has in the past."

"Oh, Niamh!" Jane sniffles into her tissue and I feel my body blaze in fury. "Why did you never say anything?"

Oh, now I am the victim! Unbelievable and yet, from Jane, totally understandable.

"Niamh, please just remain focused on our questions. You may speak to Ms Molenhill after the questioning is finished." Donovan cuts in.

See?

Forever my fault.

I hadn't even initiated the conversation with Jane.

"You said Ms Merrick 'attacked you'? Could you expand upon that?" Donovan asks, crossing her legs and scribbling on a notepad.

"She said she had reported to you guys, the police. For the incident from this afternoon. It was an accident, though! I got mad and she just kind of... pinned me to the floor, started trying to punch me, and hit me. She winded me, then held me down to push herself up. She lost balance pushing herself up, her hand slipped, and she fell forward. Down the stairs."

I'm lying through my teeth, and I can feel the disbelieving energy radiating from all the others in the room. But it's better than confessing, I just have to bide my time and keep talking until I can try and think of something.

"And were you or Eleanor under the influence of any drugs or alcohol at the time?" Donovan asks.

I shake my head. "No."

Finch whispers something to Donovan and she nods. "The Detective Inspector and I are now going to discuss a possible court case outside. We won't be long. Please take this time to speak to your appropriate adult and possibly start thinking got a legal time. If needed, we can arrange one for you."

Jane resumes her sobbing into a tissue as Donovan and Finch stand up and leave the room. With a bit of manoeuvring and pain, I reach and I scratch the back of my head and try to smooth down my hair, snagging a nail on a bobby pin dangling at the back of my hair.

An idea creeps into my mind. It's reckless, illegal - most things I'd done recently seemed to be - and, almost certainly, a bad idea. But it was worth a shot.

"Jane?" I say, quietly.

Only sobs greet me back.

"Jane?" I repeat. "I'm really sorry for putting you through all this for so long. But I knew that, if I told you about how Eleanor would really act, you wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever does...even when I'm not lying."

I add the last bit quietly and Jane sobs harder into her tissue. I need to keep up the guilt-tripping act if I want this to work.

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now but, just know that, even though you're only my social worker, you mean so much to me. You've always helped me out. Even when I was caught stealing  jewellery from my old foster family when I was twelve, or even when I hit you for trying to make me return the headphones I stole from that cheap technology shop, and when you never reported me for it even if it meant risking your job for me. You're like a mum to me."

At this, Jane lets out a wail and runs out of the room, crying desperately into her deteriorating tissue. She doesn't take her bag, which goes according to the plan slowly unravelling in my head.

All my words were lies, naturally. I would rather actually go to prison before ever saying Jane was like a mother to me again.

Hopefully, Donovan and Finch are too preoccupied with my possible trial and the sobbing Jane outside to look inside and pay attention to what I'm about to do. I lift up my handcuffed hands and remove the clip from my hair, I clench an end of it in my teeth and bend it down, making a small upside down 'L' shape.

I use my foot to hook the handle of Jane's ugly crocodile skin handbag around my ankle and drag it near to me. I bend over, the pin still clenched in my teeth and reach for her keys. She has an obnoxious keyring on her keys, made by a young boy who recently got put into foster, but the thin small metal wire shaped into a circle is perfect to unravel and unpick my handcuffs.

Time is of the essence now. Donovan and Finch have been absent for almost two minutes and I know I need to hurry up.

I unravel the ring around the laminated picture of a badly drawn Jane gifted from the young boy and it drops to the floor.  I reach up with my hands and bend my neck down, getting the clip and, with a bit of wrist contorting, jam it into the lock on my handcuffs. I do the same process with the metal wire and after a few seconds of bending my wrists backwards and moving the pin and wire in the positions I want them in, I hear the click telling me my plan succeeded.

I probably have only thirty seconds before Donovan and Finch return. Seeing the tape still running on the desk, I stop it and delete the recording. I restart it and speak into it.

"Bring Eleanor-Maye Merrick in for questioning."

I need to blend in. I grab Jane's glasses from her bag and put them on, untie my hair and pull on Jane's coat. As quickly as possible, I walk towards the door, pull it open and walk out.

An alias is what I need right now. Just until I can leave. I need a name, a reason for being here and an excuse to leave.

Hazel Johnson. A young girl who was here to bail out her older boyfriend. If I'm quick and unnoticed, I shouldn't even need the alias.

Finch and Donovan are stood away talking to some other officers and, thankfully, they don't notice me. There's a crowd of people surrounding Jane but I'm keeping a watchful eye out for Abercrombe and Sanchez.

I grab some files from a nearby cabinet, pull off Jane's coat and take a blazer from a coat hook replacing it with the coat. I reposition my hair and walk down the stairs hurriedly.

I walk past the front reception and try to walk calmly out the door. At last, I leave the police station and tug off the blazer and glasses, throwing the files to the side when I'm at least two streets away from there. I'm not sure where to go next but I know I need to hide somewhere secretive. Somewhere they wouldn't expect me to go.

But I've got nothing. No social worker, no foster carer, no brother.

Is this rock bottom? It's starting to feel like it.

Wind blows around my body, making me shiver. The sky's getting lighter, and London is no less busy.

Early morning wind whips my hair and makes my eyes water, the chill biting at me and through the borrowed coat from Jane, making the hairs on my arms rise like heckles.

All I'm willing to do is for my brain to have a breakthrough and think of something, but it comes up blank. For the first time, my brain has failed me. This is rock bottom, surely.

No phone, no money, no family, no home.

The dead might have more than me: flowers, a coffin, ornate gravestones, and grieving families. Is death all that daunting now? Would anyone even be there to mourn me?

I know the answer, but I don't give myself the grim satisfaction of it.

Sirens start up a few roads from where I am, letting me know that the search for me has started. In this position, I'll no longer be a suspected attempted murderer, but an attempted murderer. They know I wouldn't have run if I were innocent.

If I get caught, they might not even ask for my plea and sentence me at the mere mention of my name. Am I being overdramatic? Possibly. But everyone seems to take things so seriously nowadays. Although it wasn't exactly as if I had fantasies and dreams of dying a martyr. Nevertheless, just a small reassurance that not everyone I met was out to make my life miserable would be nice occasionally, to keep me stable.

Spotting a nearby alleyway, I duck into it and pace down, pushing myself up onto a large bin and climbing over a large gate at the back. I land with a small thud, my feet stinging slightly from the impact. There doesn't feel like there's much point in running. After all, it's the police. Once their initial search is over and they still don't have me back, if I were to be that lucky, then they'd have access to citywide CCTV systems, and I'd be caught within hours.

But I refuse to hand myself in, so trying to walk away as far as I can, in as random a possible way, seems my best option. I peek out of the corner of the alleyway and walk.

20th March, 2024.

11:53 PM.  

I've decided that this is officially rock bottom. I've snuck into a gym for a shower, stole a woman's gym set and coat, and slept rough for three nights whilst constantly trying to evade the police. I'm exhausted, dirty, and drained. Is this to be my life from now?

My phone and all my other belongings I had in my jacket, are still in the police station, and there was no chance I was going within a mile radius of there. I have no money, no phone, and have had to steal sandwiches from Mini Tesco's. My list of crimes just seems to be getting ever longer.

I was only just getting ready to find somewhere secluded enough to stay hidden to sleep in when I saw a police car driving up the road and saw it stop outside the park I had chosen for the night. 

The officers hadn't even turned the engine off before I slunk into the bushes in the nighttime and bolted, with no time to even grab the coat I'd laid down.

After it feels like there is enough distance between the park, the police station, and me, I finally slow down. I think I'd genuinely take a lifetime of verbal onslaughts from Eleanor and be stuck with her forever than have to live another day of this lifestyle. Truly, I have never felt more compassion for the homeless and needy.

I shiver as a car honks it horn at me and slows down.

Oh.

Fuck.

"Y'alright darlin'? Want a ride?" The man inside laughs at his innuendo, a thick Cockney accent staining his voice.

"No," I say firmly and keep walking.

"Why don't'cha get in the car? You look migh'y cold, darlin'." The man leers, driving alongside me.

"I already said no. Now fuck off." I say, walking faster, trying to keep my voice steady.

The car just accelerates to keep up with renewed vigour. "Come on, babe, don't be like that."

"I'm seventeen." I scoff.

"I like 'em younger."

I cringe. " I don't usually go for paedophiles."

The car suddenly stops. "You ought'a be nicer to me, lass. I ain't always this generous. Get in the car. Or I'll make ya."

I shake my head, pacing backwards. My body was suddenly paralysed, and my feet were just moving on autopilot. The man gets out of the car and I realise I'm fucked.

He's tall. At least 6 feet at a minimum, as well as being packed with lean muscle. Lord, have mercy on my soul, for I do not know what I could've possibly done in my past life to make you this vengeful with me in this current one.

I don't even take a moment to think before I run down the side road. Pumping my legs as fast as I can, I try to avoid turning back to see if he was close, too scared of the possible outcomes.

I'm nimble enough, but his huge legs give him the power and force to catch up. Ahead, I see a man leaning against the wall of the alley in front, smoking a lit cigarette.

But the man grabs me, I open my mouth to scream, but he covers my mouth with his large hand, basically silencing me. He drags me around the corner into the first alleyway. I try to start hitting at him, to fight somehow, but after days of practically no sleep and minimal food, it's virtually impossible to conjure up any sort of strength.

"Shh, shh, shh. I gotcha." He croons, and I feel the horrible cold metal of a knife blade against my throat.

He drags me with him, my back pressed up against his chest, and his hand remains clamped firmly over my mouth as I try to scream. He glowers down at me and pinches my nose, forcing me to stop screaming. I growl in frustration and, as usual, act on impulse.

I bite at his hand, and he momentarily retracts it, but recovers and pulls me closer to him, digging the blade in slightly, and I feel droplets of blood bead on my neck, making my head spin.

"Ungrateful cow. You should be glad I picked you; I don't just choose anyone. Especially ones walkin' alone. I'm going to show you a fuckin' lesson and when I'm done wiv ya-"

Footsteps. The man I'd seen smoking around the corner walks down the alleyway to the man currently holding me up and with a knife to my throat.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks, an Irish accent distorting his words - Dublin, if I'm not mistaken.

"Fine." The man gripping me says, fingertips digging into my waist, holding me there, and trying to act natural, as he moves the knife out of sight.

"I wasn't askin' you, Leon." The Irishman snarls. "Put the girl down."

"Or what?" The man holding me snaps. It's only when the Irishman gets closer that I realise he's roughly of the same build as the man gripping me, Leon. He's tall too, and his muscles strain at the rolled-up sleeves of his tight black turtleneck. Is this divine intervention? After my week of frightful luck, I'd take anything right now.

"Are you stupid? You want me to hurt you?" The Irishman scoffs before turning to me. "Mind out, love."

He manages to tug me away from Leon and punches him in the face.

"That's for grabbing her in the first place."

Another punch.

"That's for chasing her."

Another punch.

A grunt of pain.

A futile attempt to fight back.

The sound of an arm bone splintering.

"I'll assume that's your car parked over there, too. What were you gonna do with her when you got her, hm?"

I'm frozen on what to do. It feels morally wrong, a small nudge kicks internally at my brain, telling me it is. But it seems that this man had experience in ambushing women, and so, I don't intervene.

"Mind tellin' me how old y'are, love?" The Irishman asks me, holding the slumping Leon in a headlock.

"Seventeen."

The Irishman laughs bitterly, though there's no humour detectable. "And she's a minor? Wow, Leon, well, you've outdone yourself this time."

Leon tugs himself away from the Irishman. "Shut up, Miller! Always interfering in my fuckin' business. You forget I've been a loyal client to your boss!"

Miller throws Leon on the floor. "Begging him for cash twice is hardly makin' yourself his most loyal client. Besides, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know this is how you've been spending his money. On an expensive car to lure young girls into. Very Bundy-esque, I'll say."

"I don't do that shit." Leon spits blood onto the pavement next to where he's lying on the floor.

"Just going to assault her in the alley then? Ugh, vile." 

Then, Miller starts ravaging Leon. I feel disgusted at myself because I simply can't look away - if anything, I'm watching with secret joy as finally, I get retribution for something. Leon takes blow after blow but Miller continues the vicious attack upon the weakened man, who I think is now pleading. Leon flops onto his stomach and tries to crawl away, unsuccessfully.  I don't even register the gun Miller pulls out of his coat before it goes off, and there's a bullet right through Leon's head.

My eyes widen and my stomach rolls at the sight of the blood pooling around Leon's head. But at the same time, what are the odds? Almost getting assaulted and then a man with a gun - in England of all places - shows up and saves me. I look at Miller, stunned.

But Miller silences me. "Wait here until the police come. Tell them what happened. Then say how you saw Sebastian Miller here. Yeah? Thanks. See you around."

And like that, he walks away casually.

"No, wait! I can't go to the police." I say. Judging by the fact, Sebastian has just shot a man dead in front of me and seems to already have quite the reputation with the police, I decide I may as well tell him. "I apparently tried to murder my foster mum. I've been...on the run.. kind of? Hiding. Yeah, hiding."

Sebastian's eyebrows raise. "What's your name?"

"Niamh."

"Niamh, what?"

"Niamh Horton."

Sebastian's face splits into a grin. "Niamh? Ah, of course, I saw you on the news."

On the news? My case was bigger than I expected. I was surprised I'd gone this long evading capture if I'd been broadcast and set the whole of London on a witch hunt after me. I dread to think how the newspapers have twisted the story and villainised me in the public view. Perhaps I'd rather not know.

"Didn't know you were famous, eh?" Sebastian muses. I shake my head. "Let me make you a deal. Come with me. I'm sure I can get you somewhere to stay. My boss has heard of your little...escapade. I think he'd like to meet you."

"I don't know. Ever heard of stranger danger? That's not a deal anyway, that's a proposal." I huff, shivering slightly.

"God, no wonder your foster mum didn't want you. You're an argumentative thing. Just trust me when I say, you're going to want to come with me." Sebastian pushes.

It's weird. I shouldn't. For all I know, he could be worse than Leon lying dead behind me. But I'd been roped into a strange situation now, and this seemed like my best option. I really didn't want to be caught by the police. Again.

"Fine," I relent, much easier than I should have.

Sebastian grins. "Perfect."

It wasn't like I had much else to lose at this point, was it?

21st March, 2024.

12.47 AM.

A little while later, Sebastian and I watch the police sirens speed past the car he drives with me in the passenger seat of his car.

"Where are we going?" I ask, staring ahead out the windshield at cars and taxis on the road ahead.

"You." Sebastian corrects.

"What?"

"Where are you going? I'm dropping you off." Sebastian says, looking briefly at me.

I look back at him and take in his appearance properly for the first time. Slight stubble splatters his jaw and cheeks, shaggy blond hair sticking wildly, a long scar running down his cheek.

"How'd you get your scar?" I query, peering at it.

Sebastian turns away. "Don't ask stupid questions."

"Forget I asked then, Christ." I huff. "You never answered me before, by the way. Where am I going?"

"Well, Niamh. There's someone who's been wanting to see you for some time now." Sebastian smiles wolfishly, red traffic lights gleaming on his face through the glass of the windshield.

"Who?" I glance back at him.

"Ah, ah, ah. Stupid question." Sebastian tuts, the grin never leaving his face.

"No it wasn't."

"Manners. Or I might just drop you back off with D.I Finch. I know about your little stunt you pulled there at the station too. It was nothin' special, but credit where credit's due. For a newbie, that was pretty good." Sebastian shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight impression.

"'Newbie?'"

"Yes, newbie. You've got a bit of a track record already. And you're, what? Fifteen?" Sebastian snorts and I scoff.

"Seventeen. I've already told you that."

"Whatever. Shoplifting - a lot of it to be fair -, assault and battery, attempted murder ." Sebastian looks over at me at his last words, seeing if they were getting the reaction he wanted.

I shift in the passenger seat, eyes not meeting Sebastian's. "Could've been actual murder, if she was slimmer. She would've snapped in half rolling down them stairs otherwise."

"You almost sound wistful. Missing out on what could've been?" Sebastian asks, cocking a mocking eyebrow at me.

Then something clicks. "Hang on. You know about me. Shit, how didn't I realise sooner? You know about what happened with Eleanor? And my track record? Who are you?"

Sebastian barks with momentary laughter. "I didn't lie about who I was. Not my fault you're slow."

"I'm not slow. Just...in shock. I was almost assaulted just then; it's hard to think." I huff.

"I wouldn't have let that happen." Sebastian shrugs, turning the steering wheel at the corner.

"Well...thank you for that. If you are who you say you are, then what's your involvement with me? I told you in the alley that I tried to kill my foster mum. You acted like you didn't know me, but you were also conveniently right there where I was, ready to jump in and save me."

"Finally. Better question. Honestly, I did just happen to be there at the time. It's my night off. But, I do know you. I know more about you than you probably know about yourself." Sebastian relents, eyes trained on the road ahead with laser sharp precision.

"How?"

"I work for your uncle."

"I don't have an uncle," I answer instantly.

"Hence, how I know more than you do about yourself."

"Wait, what?"

Sebastian sighs heavily. "He's been tracking you for a while, keeping tabs on you. He'll explain better himself."

"Is that who I'm going to?" I ask.

"Nope. You, Niamh, are seeing your brother ."

Sebastian stops the car outside an apartment block. "Key code to the building is 3209, Theo's apartment is 1102. I don't know if he's in or not, but if he isn't, well then that'll be a nice surprise for him to come home to, won't it?" Sebastian grins.

"You're being serious?" I look at Sebastian incredulously.

"It'd be a pretty cruel joke to play if you weren't," Sebastian takes out a lighter and a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag. "You can go now."

"You shouldn't smoke them," I state.

"I know, you can't really stop addiction, though, can you? Besides, I'm not taking life advice from a fifteen-year-old."

"This is my third time saying I'm seventeen." I roll my eyes, opening the car door.

"Whatever. I'm assuming we'll be seeing each other soon. Slán." Sebastian drives off the second I'm out of the car, and the door shuts from the force of his acceleration.

I watch his car disappear, then turn to face the apartment building with apprehension. It almost felt too good to be true after searching for Theo harder than ever in the past few days. And yet, by chance, I'm taken to him one random night?

Approaching the block, I reach the front door and enter the key code Sebastian had told you for the door. 3209. And it opens. Tentative and surprised, I push the door open and walk into the foyer of the apartment block. It's a modern minimalist style, and I advance to the lift. There's thankfully no one out at the late hour as I press the button for the eleventh floor.

My own breathing sounds loud in the silence of the lift climbing up the floors, apart from the sound of the whirring of unseen machinery. With a ding, the lift stops on the eleventh floor. There are only two apartments, which is odd for such a wide building. Theo's apartment must be huge, so what is he doing for work?

Stopping outside his front door, I try the handle, and it just opens. I try to control my breathing as I step inside, stunned at the prospect that soon I am going to be seeing my brother for the first time in seven years. By now, he would be around twenty-three.

I wasn't sure how to feel. My brother had left me when I was ten, out of his own selfishness.

The death of my father when I was nine had sent my mother into a downward spiral. She drank a lot and liked to make you cry when she was drunk, which was more than when she was sober.

She'd beat Theo in front of me and make me watch, shout at me, and blame me for my father's death. One time when I was nine, she killed my pet rabbit in front of me. It had felt like the end of the world at the time. That was when I first realised she didn't punish Theo and me because we had been bad, it was because she liked to punish us.

So when I was ten, and he was sixteen, Theo packed a bag and ran away in the middle of the night. He left me with my mum for nearly two years before I returned home from my first day of year seven to see my mum dead on the musty carpet of the living room, beaten and bleeding. Not long after, I was taken into my first foster home, and my downward spiral continued.

Since then, I made up false images in my head, as if my mind was trying to paint a better picture of Theo than the one I already had stored away. But now, faced with the reality of the situation, I am cruelly reminded that my brother isn't fair for leaving me when we needed each other the most. It was selfish of him, and perhaps, if he'd never left, he would've kept a better grip on my mum's alcoholism than I tried to do. Maybe she wouldn't have angered someone so much that she got jumped within her own home and beaten to death. Maybe I'd have never gone into care and never have met Eleanor.

Potentially, it's unfair to chalk all of my misfortunes to my brother, but it's easier for me to pin them on him than to take responsibility. So that's what I do. I let my mind twist the story and let Theo become the antagonist within my mind.

But then, a sudden noise snaps me out of my reverie. A rustling from behind one of the doors, as well as the sound of items being thrown around inside the room. I pace over curiously and crack the door open.

There's a man in Theo's bedroom. I think at first it is Theo, but when he continues to tear apart the room, I notice it is definitely not Theo. He's muscular too, a common trend it seems between the three criminals I'd seen tonight - and even more telling that this man is certainly not my brother-, although I can tell from context that whoever this man is, he shouldn't be in Theo's bedroom.

With black hair and a face that represents East Asian heritage of sorts, soft lips, and a clean-shaven face, he's quite attractive.

My thoughts catch up to me, and I realise that I should move before I am seen by the intruder. Backing away quickly, I move into the living room. Where the fuck do I go in this situation? I'm still staring around, trying to think of somewhere to go when the door opens behind me and the frantic man appears. He looks slightly startled to see, which feels like a welcome reaction, because I'd rather that any day than being sized up like a meal or as an incompetent, angry child. 

"It's you. From the news." He says to me, and I pick up an Australian accent laced in his words.

I don't trust myself not to say something to shoot myself in the foot, so I opt to nod solemnly and try to look as imposing as possible, which would be easier if I weren't in dirty, stolen gym wear and with a cut on my neck from Leon. Perhaps I look rugged. I'm getting the strong impression I just look like a woman deranged though.

"What are you doing here?" The intruder asks me, eyes trained to flit towards every small jolt of a muscle. It is evident to me that he is trained in combat.

"I could ask you the same thing," I retort, checking over him and noticing the knife tucked into a sheath on his belt.

"Theo has something of mine. I want it back. But of course, you must be the sister. Your name was in the papers. Something Horton and... Theo Horton. Oh well, don't let me get in the way of what - I'm sure - will be a touching sibling reunion." He mocks, moving further into the living room with a certain grace about him.

"Then get out." I snap.

He just raises an amused eyebrow at me that says 'Really?', a smirk dancing across his face. "I'll be out of your hair right as I get what I need." 

We just stare at each other momentarily before he shrugs and continues back into the wrecked bedroom. I look back t him before I heard the telling sound of someone entering the lock code for the apartment as the door swings open, revealing my, now adult, brother. 

He hasn't seen me yet, and I wonder about how poor his spatial awareness must be. He hums quietly as he shuts the door behind himself before, finally, looking up and seeing me. He jumps back in amazement, clearly startled at the unexpected presence in his apartment. 'Fuck me," He curses quietly.

His voice is deeper, that of a man now, not of my awkward teenage brother. I turn and meet his gaze, feeling just as dumbfounded, despite having actually expected to see my brother. 

"What the hell? Niamh?! No... what ?" Theo's eyes widen, looking at me like I'd risen from the dead, like I was the one who left.

"Hi," I say stiffly. "Someone's broken in by the way."

I turn back to the bedroom and look at the man, who's currently staring daggers back at me. Theo immediately rushes over, pushing past me into the bedroom.

"The fuck? Oh. Chris. It's you. You know if you wanted it that much, you could've just asked for it back." Theo shrugs, leaning against the door frame, with a grin at the frantic man.

Chris grabs Theo by the collar and slams him into the wall. "Where. Is. It."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You really want me to beat your ass in front of your sister?" Chris asks, flicking his head sideways to me.

I raise my hands in front of my chest. "Don't get me involved."

"Please. As if I'd let you do that. I don't have it. My uncle took it back. Go talk to him if you've got a problem." Theo scoffs arrogantly.

"Don't lie to me, Theo." Chris snarls, pressing his arm against my brother's trachea.

"Fine, fine. Bottom drawer, taped to the top." Theo relents. "Now, will you please go? I've got a sister to reunite with here."

I think Theo and I are both in shock. We just keep glancing back at each other, as if to check the other is still really there. In my case, it's to make sure he doesn't disappear on me again. It's not some emotional, run-sobbing-and-hug-tightly moment like from a movie. Just...shock.

"Where's she been this whole time?" Chris asks, nodding at me, crouching down to a chest of drawers where all the clothes are strewn in front. Chris reaches his arm in and feels blindly on the bottom side of the drawer above the bottom one, grinning when he feels what he had ravaged Theo's bedroom for. All I can do is shift from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Foster care," I answer for Theo, who nods once, confirming my answer.

"She doesn't look much like you." Chris stands in front of Theo, looking him up and down, then looking at my face.

"Is she meant to be identical? Doesn't matter much. We both came from the same place." Theo shrugs, starting to pick up the clothes littered around his room. I can only imagine Chris wasn't too fussed about throwing them haphazardly around the room rather than leaving them in their ironed, neat piles.

Looking down, I notice a hard drive being spun nimbly in between Chris's pointer finger and thumb. He sees me looking at him, grins before holding the drive up as if to show off his triumph then turns back to Theo.

"There we go. Weeks of negotiation, for it to be that easy? Invite your sister over more if her presence persuades you to play this nice. See you around Theo, and you...I wanna say Naomi?"

"Niamh."

"Close enough. I'll let you two catch up." Chris twists the hard drive rapidly still, pulling a jacket on and leaving the huge apartment with a slam of the door.

When the door slams shut, Theo and I stare at each other in awkward silence. One thing I'd never anticipated when I thought of seeing my brother again was how to start a conversation after seven years apart.

"What the hell do you do for work?" I demand immediately, and Theo grimaces.

"Come on, go into the living room. I'll answer all your questions and more. I promise." Theo says, gesturing for me to follow him. I do.

We sit in the living room, well, I sit, and he stands in front of me.

"What do you do for work? How are you affording this? And why has everyone I've met that's been associated with you have a fucking gun or weapon of sorts?" I ask, looking up at Theo, who just sighs, as if it were a tedious task for him to have to explain.

"It's a long story. Really long." Theo says. "But, I promised."

He sighs heavily. "We have an uncle. Dad's brother. He's also the reason Dad is dead."

"Do you work with Sebastian?" I look at Theo, taking in all his new features he's gained with age, since becoming an adult.

"How do you know Sebastian?"

"He brought me here. Found me."

"And you just went with him?" Theo asks incredulously. "Jesus, Niamh, I would've hoped you had a bit of a better grasp on stranger danger by now."

"He helped me. This guy grabbed me, Sebastian...shot him." I say slowly, trying not to send him spiralling, and Theo's eyes widen, swooping back to the cut on my neck, but he opts not to lose his train of thought and bites back whatever he wants to ask about my injury to continue with his own story.

"Right, I see I don't have to beat around the bush. I'll explain to you in a nutshell, then ask me whatever you want to know more about. Alright?" Theo says, slightly agape at my blunt explanation, and I nod.

"Okay, so. I work for our uncle. His name is Sean. Sean Horton. He's a, well, he calls himself a consultant. People go to him when they want a crime carried out, second-hand. He employs people who do it for him. There's Sebastian, he's got killer aim. No pun intended. That man is truly the best shot in the world. There's me, I handle hands-on missions, undercover stuff, and whatnot. We're like his right-hand men. There are hundreds of other employees, but Seb and I are the main ones."

"Yeah, right." I snort slightly.

"Seriously? After all this from tonight, you don't believe me?" Theo snaps. "Just shut up, and let me finish, okay?"

I suppose he's right. It feels unrealistic to hear, but after everything else I'd encountered, why shouldn't I believe him? I sigh and nod for him to continue.

"He, Sean, or Boss to me, I suppose. He's found out about that thing you pulled to your foster mother, and what happened that night at the station. It...intrigued him. He wants to meet you. He wants you to work for him too. And I know, it sounds insane but, really, it's the best option. Look around, Niamh, I have everything I've ever wanted. And, you'd be with your family again, and you wouldn't have to worry about the coppers anymore."

I sit there dumbfounded. "I- what? Theo, what would I even do?"

"Whatever you're good at! We'll figure it out, you were always pretty volatile and judging by the crime report from the incident with your old foster mum, it seems you can fight pretty good."

"Theo, this is mental, all I did was push her down the stairs. That doesn't mean I was asking for a life like-"

"Please, Niamh! You'd have somewhere to call home, and it's pretty damn exhilarating doing this as a job. You'll be paid too, and when you're eighteen, you can move out. Get a place of your own."

"Theo, listen! I am seventeen, and you want me to be some sort of contract killer-"

"I never said killer!" Theo cuts me off.

"No. Let me finish." I say firmly, and Theo stops, blinking owlishly at me and falls silent. "Thank you. I don't know this 'Sean'. To me, he's the reason Dad is dead. I don't see how you're so okay working with him, whether he's our uncle or not."

Theo groans, sitting next to me and putting his head in his hands. "It's...always a thought. But, Niamh, you haven't met him and... you don't have much of a choice. It's this or homelessness or prison! And then you'd have your own uncle as an enemy, and trust me, Niamh, when I say, you do not want that. Please, for me. Kip here tonight, and come with me to see him tomorrow. We can all figure out what you'll be good at."

I pause. "And I don't have a choice?"

Theo shakes his head. "I wish you did. I wish I could keep you sheltered from this world for at least another few years. But it was always inevitable you'd be involved. Since dad died, and since mum lost her shit. And since I...ran away. It was bound to happen."

"Fine. Where's your bathroom? I've had a long night and I need a shower." I say wearily, standing up.

"Come on, I'll show you." Theo offers, standing up too.

I turn to him and stare him in the eyes. "I'm furious with you by the way. Don't think I've just forgotten the last seven years."

21st March, 2024.

10:32 AM

The drive to the residence of my newfound uncle is painstakingly awkward in the car with Theo. Theo tried to start a conversation, I gave short answers, and neither of us tried again.

London bustles by us as we drive through the dense city centre, and I try to swallow back an impending sense of dread. I don't know what to expect going into this; I don't know if it is a private meeting, or if I have to do some weird initiation thing, or if he'll bring up my file from the police station.

A million different thoughts race through my head, some at slower paces than others, lingering in my brain and causing my doubts. It is only when the car slows and the engine turns off that I realise that my time for stress is now over.

"Come on, follow me," Theo says softly, as if worrying he'll trigger an outburst of emotion from me.

I glare at my brother for belittling me, but I get out of the car, following him all the same. The building where Sean lives is grand. If I thought where Theo lives was fancy, it looks like a crack house compared to that of my uncles.

The foyer is all white marble, chandeliers, and fountains. Theo walks with me over to a front desk where a man adorned in a suit sits behind the desk, eyeing me suspiciously. An old T-shirt of Theo's and a pair of his sweatpants made me stick out like a horribly casual sore thumb amongst the grandeur.

It is only now that I take in Theo in a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a tie, and navy dress pants. Although I suppose, Theo mentioned working closely in undercover work, and being such a highly regarded criminal, he must work with very wealthy, very powerful, and very dangerous people.

Suddenly, Theo's back by my side, leading me to a lift and taking in my own appearance.

"Yes, I know I look a mess. I didn't have any clean clothes." I huff at my brother's slightly disapproving gaze.

"First impressions are important." Theo urges. "Family or not, I need this to go well. For you, and for us."

"Well, tough luck. If he knows of my situation, which he does, then he can make do. We can go shopping after this." I snap, waiting for the lift to finish its ascent.

Theo makes a small noise of concern, obsessive compulsion clouding his mind. The lift stops and I walk out, Theo following close behind, taking my arm and leading me along corridors, past a security-guarded door, and to the front door.

It's no less grand than the foyer, more if possible, everything, even just from the outside, screams pure wealth, and I wonder who else could be so disgustingly rich to afford such homes.

Entering the key code for the door, it buzzes unlocked, and my brother gestures for me to follow him into the apartment. We step in together, Theo seeming very familiar with the environment as I gaze at the high ceilings, the kitchen island, which was bigger than Eleanor's entire kitchen, the L-shaped couches, the doors, and the hallways that seemed to lead everywhere yet nowhere.

"Ah, you both made it."

The click of expensive dress shoes resounds across marble flooring, as I look up to the sight of what I initially think is my dad.

My eyes widen and I have to backtrack before realising, it is definitely in fact not my dad, because of the small reason that he, my dad, is dead. He, Sean, catches onto this and chuckles slightly, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"I understand the resemblance is uncanny. We were twins. Although I'm almost offended, he never said anything about me. Ah, well, not much he can do now." Sean grins, taking slow steps towards me and holding out his hand.

I shake it a few times firmly. "It's not exactly something to drop in during a tea party."

"No, I suppose it isn't, is it?" Sean lets go of my hand and stares at me with dark eyes, eyes of ink that, despite their dark colour, seem to burn holes into my irises. "So, Niamh, we meet at last."

I nod. "A lot's happened."

"It has. Putting your foster mother - well, ex-foster mother now - in Intensive Care is quite the feat on its own. Then getting arrested for it, escaping from custody, watching Sebastian shoot someone dead and reuniting with your brother. Quite the hectic few days you've had, I'll say." Sean muses, gesturing for me to follow him to his living room.

I sink into the plush couch, my uncle standing in front of me, the same grin never leaving his pale face.

"Shall I go even further back? Are you referring to when you pushed your foster sibling out of a tree, breaking his tibia? Or when you stole custom-made headphones from a small business?" Sean lists, sitting on an ottoman, raising a smug eyebrow at me.

"All child's play, of course, but that's what was in your file. Angry little thing, aren't you? You, Niamh, are a ticking time bomb. I just want to find out how I can control your...detonations."

"You've really done your research, hm?"

"It didn't even take me ten minutes to find that. Niamh, I could make a timeline of all seventeen years of your life from birth to the present, including all the details you've forgotten." Sean says, dark eyes boring into my own, unblinking and serious. His previous light-hearted tone was replaced by a cold one.

"Impressive," I say, unsure of what else to say in the situation. But at my simple word, it's like he wakes up from a dream because he resumes his smug eyebrow raise and playful tone.

"It is, isn't it? Now, I shan't beat around the bush. I want you to join my team. I can see the potential in you, Niamh, and trust me when I say I have never said that to anyone else, nor will I ever again. You've been hesitant to grasp fully onto previous opportunities, but with me, oh, you'd be in for such a treat."

"I can do whatever you want me to do and more. You'd never go back to foster, you'd be with darling Theo, you'd have something actually worthwhile happening in your miserable life." Sean propositions, and it's like a more persuasively-toned version of Theo's speech to me from last night.

"What would I do?" I ask, seeing as Theo couldn't think of anything I was good at enough last night to even try think of a possibility.

"Well, you're good at languages. Saw that in your file too. You could handle international affairs. You've definitely got a temper that could be harnessed and polished." Sean suggests, raising a small eyebrow at me.

"So?"

"Ooh, alright, madam. All in due time. I can disclose more details when I get one, teeny-tiny thing from you." Sean grins, stepping closer to me.

I'm skeptical. "Which is?"

"Your loyalty. After all, I don't just employ anyone. Never mind someone so close to me. So, Niamh, you're going to sign just a small little contract and then you're free. Free from Eleanor, from the police, from anyone that's going to take you from Theo again." Sean says.

Seeing him so close is like seeing my dad again, only this time I'm seeing him almost eye-to-eye. I'll never get that anymore, because of the man in front of me.

"I'm mad at Theo right now," I interject, and Sean cracks a wider smile.

"Is that so? I'd based a lot of my persuasion on him, that's a shame. I suppose I'll have to cut it short. So? Let me make it up to you. I took away your comfort, but I can give you it back, with more, and with such ease."

I stare deep into his eyes. They're darker than my dad's were. His were chestnut brown, but these, the cold, unfeeling eyes of my uncle, are eyes of deep ink. Of dark seas in the winter. Of the unknown. I realise I must have been staring because Sean raises another smug eyebrow at me.

"Reminiscing?"

My throat feels dry. I want to understand the severity of this situation more, but it's like I can't bring myself to. Clearing my throat slightly, I nod. "I don't have parents because of you. It's not as simple as that."

Behind me, Theo groans slightly, listening in now. He's getting worried I won't accept the business offer.

"Wrong, you don't have parents because of your father's poor resistance and your mother's mental issues. I gave your father an opportunity he couldn't refuse, yes, but your mother's self-sabotage? Honey, that had nothing to do with me." There's a shift in Sean's demeanour as he speaks now.

I fall silent, and the atmosphere in the room changes again. It's ever-changing, and I can't keep up with it currently.

"How did you even force my dad to shoot himself anyway?"

"Well, because I didn't. I struck him a deal, the terms of which he agreed to. I'll have his signature somewhere. Still, we made a deal, and he knew the consequences if he failed. He just shot himself before I could get to him. The most I did was send him a gun after his failure. I gave him the easy route if anything. Don't believe everything you've been told about your dad." Sean says casually, as if playing Russian Roulette with your brother's life was a normal occurrence. No remorse is evident in his voice.

I'm silent again. I want to argue more; I should argue more. This was the man who was the cause of possibly everything that had gone to shit in my life. However, I was here now, and I knew I didn't have a choice. Truthfully, I'd prefer to be here than juvie and, later, a prison cell.

"So? Do I have an answer yet?" Sean demands, a bit more force to his voice, the smile gone as he clicks his fingers at Theo, who brings over a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Pass me the sheet." I tell Theo, who visibly sags in relief and drags me to the kitchen island to sign the paper at once.

My brother thrusts the pen into my hands and taps impatiently on the dotted line at the bottom, but I stop him with a firm glare and read the fine print thoroughly.

Striding over slowly, Sean peeks over my shoulder. "You're very thorough, aren't you? Cautious. Wary. I'll be keeping an eye on that."

I can hear the smile in his voice as I finish reading, clicking the pen and signing my signature at the bottom.

"Bravo, dear. I'm glad to see my only niece has some sort of brain. I can definitely tell you which side of the family you both got it from." Sean chuckles, pacing away and out the front door.

Looking up and seeing him walking away, I cock my head curiously. "Where are you going?"

"Business. Goodbye now."

The front door shuts, the sound waves echoing throughout the luxurious room and all its marble furnishings.

"Try...try not to ask too many questions, yeah?" Theo advises, running a hand through mussed brown hair. "He doesn't like that. Or stupid questions. Or alcohol."

Now that takes me by surprise. I lean against the counter with a confused expression on my face. "Alcohol? Why?"

Theo shrugs. "Don't ask me. It's just whenever Sebastian or I come back drunk, hell, even if we're tipsy, he goes absolutely mental. I've never seen him drink, he's just...against it."

"Well, seeing as I'm not of legal age, I think I'll manage." I scoff, trying to play it off, although what Theo's told me definitely raises some flags in my head.

"Yeah, well. You're not far off eighteen, and I don't want you blowing up at the wrong person, Niamh. I don't care how angry you get; you don't take it out on him. Is that clear?" Theo says firmly.

It's not often he plays the big brother card - although I suppose, a seven-year absence helps that - so when he does, it takes me by surprise and shows me that I actually must listen to what he's saying and take him seriously.

"Got it." I say stiffly.

"Go pick a room."

"What?"

"Pick a room." He repeats.

"Why?"

"Because you're going to live here." Theo says, as it were obvious.

"Since when was that decided?" I snap, getting frustrated that Theo's making more plans for me behind my back. I never asked to come here in the first place.

"This morning on a very lengthy phone call, when you were asleep. You're going to live here until you're eighteen at least."

"I don't want to! I hardly know him!" I splutter indignantly before Theo cuts me off.

"Stop throwing a temper tantrum, I'm getting there! Uncle's hardly ever in the house as it is, and if anyone's here, it's me or Sebastian. I'm hardly forcing you to share bunk beds with him, am I? It's a huge place anyways, I have no doubt you'll find every way to avoid him."

Falling silent, I glare at Theo. "If I live here, will you butt out of my business and stop deciding everything for me?"

"Yes."

"Pinky-swear." I hold my pinky out expectantly.

"Seriously?"

"Go on. Pinky-swear." I goad him and Theo begrudgingly trudges over, interlocking his pinky finger with mine and pressing him thumb against mine.

"There. Happy? Gonna stop whining now?"

"I'm not whining."

"Are too." Theo scoffs derisively.

The front door opens again and Theo and I both turn to the sight of Sebastian Miller entering. "So nobody killed each other? Better first impressions than I expected, I'm pleasantly surprised."

"Hey Seb." Theo says, eyes flitting over to give Sebastian a nod of greeting.

"Y'alright now?" Sebastian eyes me curiously.

I nod once and Theo looks between us. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"Oh-ho-ho. Didn't she tell you?" Sebastian grins, taking a seat on a stool at the kitchen island.

Eyes widening, I shake my head furiously at Sebastian, who seems to enjoy my desperation not to let Theo find out about the incident with the elusive, and now dead, Leon. I didn't want Theo fretting unnecessarily, something he was skilled in when I was little.

The age gap between us meant he was constantly trying to look after me, especially after our dad's death.

"Tell me what?" Theo asks sharply, turning to me. "Tell me what , Niamh?"

"Nothing!" I defend, leaning against the counter, crossing my arms.

Theo scoffs turning back to Sebastian. "What happened?"

"You remember that Leon Spencer guy? Came here begging for cash about eight months ago? Then again, like, four months ago?" Sebastian asks Theo, grinning happily whilst I scowl at him.

Theo nods wordlessly and Sebastian continues speaking. "Well last night, I'd gone out for a drink. I went out for a smoke when I heard footsteps in the alley behind and I saw young Niamh here get dragged backwards by dear old Leon. He'd seen her walking alone and tried to drag her into his car. Had some freaky shit in it too, I sent a tip in to the coppers. S'pose you could say I was feeling lawful."

"He what? Did he hurt you?" Theo rounds on me again and I sigh heavily.

"Startled me a bit, but he didn't hurt me. Sebastian found me and literally shot him." I say, looking at the floor.

Theo looks back at Sebastian, eyebrows raised in respect. "Good. Fucker deserves it then. Why didn't you tell me that anyways?"

"I did!"

"Conveniently not the part where he grabbed you and tried to drag you into his car, though? Of course! Why would you?"

"Wasn't worth the hassle when I'm here now perfectly fine and he's lying in a morgue," I whine.

"As if!" Theo tries to argue, but Sebastian cuts him off.

"Oh, please, mother hen, you're the worst for worries. I can see why she didn't say too much. But seriously, if she's here now, Boss will not be happy if he gets even a slight idea she'll be a weakness to you or us." Sebastian says, tone changing and showing he was deadly serious.

"I know, I know," Theo says, a little snappishly, like he's already been told this.

"Just warning you," Sebastian raises his arms in mock surrender. "Shall we get started with your training then?"

"Training?" I raise an eyebrow and Sebastian sighs deeply as if I were someone mentally challenged.

"Yes. Training. What? You expected to go out into the field right away? Fat chance. No, you're gonna do it like we all did and train. Got it?" Sebastian explains condescendingly, making my temper prickle.

I nod wordlessly.

"Neither of you are big on worded answers, are you?" Sebastian grumbles, climbing off the stool. "Follow me. Just you, Niamh. I don't need Theo there getting all pissy at how you handle it."

"Twat." Theo growls, stalking off.

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian beckons me over, giving me a once-over. "Do you need a change of clothes? Or can you manage physical activities in them?"

"Should do." I tie the drawstrings on the baggy sweatpants to make sure they don't slip down.

Sebastian just shrugs. "That'll do. C'mon then."

Leading me out of the penthouse, Sebastian and I walk through vast marble halls, down staircases, past guards, and into a lift which takes us down into a basement.

Inside the basement, there is gym equipment, weapons of all sorts along the walls and perimeter, and targets to hit. I notice some projectors on the floor and cock my head curiously at the sight. It all feels very dystopian, like, instead of training to assess strengths and weaknesses. I feel like I'm training for the Hunger Games.

Sebastian notes me looking around and grins proudly. "I put it all together, with special fundin', of course. It's good, isn't it?"

I find myself nodding. It's obviously benefitted Sebastian due to his muscular build, so it was clearly doing someone good.

"How's your stamina?" Sebastian sits on a bench press, looking over at me.

"'S alright. I was normally in the last, like, ten or twenty in the bleep test at school." I think back, although the last time I'd done the bleep test had been Year 10, when I was fifteen.

"Hm. Do you know how much you can bench?"

I shake my head.

"Can you run fast?"

"Moderately."

"You good at climbing?"

"I wouldn't know."

"God, are you good at anythin' ?" Sebastian huffs.

"I'm decent at stealing things." I try, and Sebastian sighs.

"That's a start. Can you take things off people ?"

"I said stealing, not pickpocketing." I oppose, making Sebastian roll his eyes.

"Jesus, you're a difficult one. Right then, new approach. Are you any good at pickpocketing ?" Sebastian says slowly and loudly, as if explaining it to a very dense person.

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "I've never tried pickpocketing. But I'd be willing to."

"Don't bother, it's useless. Nobody pickpockets anymore, apart from in major cities. We'll work with the thieving thing, which could be slightly more useful. What's the most expensive thing you have successfully stolen?" Sebastian asks, brushing his blond hair out of his eyes as he looks at me.

"Hm. Got some AirPods off a girl at school once, a pearl necklace from an old foster mum, nothing super expensive. I'm just better at not getting caught."

"You have been caught, though, haven't you? I remember the boss mentioning it. Nicking headphones from a business?" Sebastian scoffs. "Are you sure about what you're saying?"

"So? That was one time."

"Ah-ah. Not quite. There was another. Hold up. What was it? Ah, right, more jewellery from a foster family, wasn't it? My God, you're like a feckin' magpie." Sebastian chuckles to himself.

"Does it matter? That's two times out of tens, maybe even hundreds. Everyone makes mistakes, and both times were when I'd only just gone into the system. I couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. Fine then, I can get out of places undetected. I got out of a police station the other night, didn't I? You even complimented that yourself. I can be good ." I insist.

Sitting up, Sebastian nods. "Better attitude. You're right, you can be good. We'll use that. Try and get you in somewhere, get something, and get out undetected. Now that can be useful."

"You mean that?" I ask, leaning against a wall.

"I always mean what I say."