Lucas' pacing and paranoid mutterings made it difficult to focus on picking the lock on the sentinel's apartment door.

"Hurry before someone sees us," he said, eyes darting back and forth down the hall. He noticed me watching him. "Stop ogling and get that door open."

I hid my grin. "Stop acting like a junkie in need of a fix so I can concentrate."

He stopped pacing and chewed on his bottom lip. "You've done this before right?"

"I got the shackle off you, didn't I?"

I went back to the lock, using my pick to push the pins up in place. A final click and we were in. I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped back, clearing the way for Lucas to enter first.

"After you, sir," I said in my best Alfred voice, giving him a deep bow at the same time.

"I'll never question your skills again," he said, hurrying inside.

I followed, walking into an OCD nightmare. Clothes, plates with food still stuck on them, loose-leaf papers, a few mismatched shoes, and a dead plant welcomed us into Dougie's abode. The place reeked of moldy gym shorts and lingering farts.

"Why couldn't he have, I don't know, plastered his master plans on the wall or something? Made it easy for us?" I muttered. This would take a while.

Lucas grinned. "Where would you like to start, my lady?"

I gestured to the overladen desk pushed into the corner of the living room. If there was a computer, it was buried under fifty feet of paper.

"Good luck." He made his way down the hall.

I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves, and dug in. Resisting the urge to sweep everything on the floor, I shuffled through tax returns from the last four years and learned sentinels were paid shit. Two prescription painkillers for a Georgia Grey. Sixty or so to do lists with not very many things checked off.

I was learning a lot about our friend, Dougie. Wasn't sure if my opinion was improving or declining.

My fingers ran over a manila folder, dirty smudge marks marking the front. Gross. It was as close to a smoking gun as I could find though.

As soon as I opened it, my heart pounded in my ears.

"Lucas, I found something," I called, hoping he could hear me.

There were pictures of Terrance and Lilly and few other teenagers I didn't recognize.

"What did you find?" He asked, coming over.

I didn't take my eyes off the contents. Behind the pictures were pages of notes written in the world's tiniest handwriting. I squinted, trying to make out the words.

I didn't get past the first sentence before my ears picked up the sound of a key going into a lock.

Shutting the folder and grabbing Lucas' arm, I pulled him after me while I ran toward the bedroom. I didn't look behind to see who was coming into the apartment. Once inside the room, we hurried into the open walk-in closet.

Footsteps thundered around the living room while Lucas quietly closed the closet door plunging us into darkness.

Fear was driving my demon senses into overdrive. I could hear everything as if it were happening right next to my head. I'm pretty sure I heard a cockroach scurrying in the walls.

The footsteps got louder. Lucas' hand grabbed mine and squeezed, a little bit of comfort amongst the terror.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It did nothing to slow my breathing or the galloping hoofs of my heart. We would be okay. There was two of us and only one of him. Lucas had magic, and I had—

Shit. Why did I never come to these things prepared? Damian kept all the good weapons locked in the basement, refusing to let me have one or two. Damian always said a weapon in an untrained hand was more dangerous than going against an armed opponent naked. He overlooked that he'd been training me to take down foes thrice my size since I was six. Thanks a lot, bro. What would you suggest I do now?

"Come out, come out, where ever you are," the sentinel sang off-key.

This guy was TV tropes come to life. I expected him to yell Outlander we have your woman.

Everything went quiet as if I'd been struck deaf. I snapped my fingers next to my ear but heard nothing. Lucas' grip on my hand tightened to the point of pain. Whatever was happening to me was happening to him, too.

I didn't dare speak. Without the ability to hear I had no way to know how loud my voice was. I put my hand on Lucas' shoulder, trying to reassure him non-verbally.

His body shook. He dropped my hand and fell to his knees. Without sight or hearing, I felt helpless. I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't fix it. All I could do was wait and prepare myself for the inevitable confrontation.

Tension tightened every muscle in my body as the seconds crawled by and nothing happened.

There was no way the sentinel didn't know where we were so why hadn't he flung open the closet to deal with us?

I squatted down, feeling for Lucas. He'd moved away from me. In the darkness, I could barely make out his shape pressed against the furthest wall, scrunched up in a ball as if he were trying to make himself small enough to be invisible.

Whatever was happening was affecting him worse than me. I feared if I didn't do something, he'd deteriorate completely.

I took three deep breaths, told my body to prepare itself, and rushed out the closet door with the tiniest hope I'd take him by surprise.

No such luck.

He was waiting for me on the other side smiling, the big bad wolf who'd just blown my house down.

Three runes glowed with a sickly greenish light on his bare chest. Magic, of course. I didn't know what kind of magic this was though.

I swore that if I survived, I'd read every boring book Damian shoved at me cover to cover.

He lifted a bloody finger and smeared it against another rune. I charged, hoping to spear him before he could fling some new nightmare my way.

Whatever he'd activated worked because one moment I was the Flash, the next I was on the ground, clutching my head as the screams of a hundred mourning mothers seared into my brain.

I barely registered him towering over me, Goliath ready to stomp poor David. He did nothing but stare down at me, lips curled into a vicious smile, drinking my agony like a fifty-year alcoholic.

I tore at my temples until my fingernails were bloody. Pulled my hair until my scalp burned. My body reacted without thought, its only goal to end the pain. Even if that meant embracing the silence of death.

He would not be a merciful angel of death.

"Fuck you, Dougie," I said.

At least I think I did. I still couldn't hear anything over the wailing.

Movement at the door caught my attention. Dougie turned to see what I was looking at but it was too late.

This time, Wes went for the headshot.

Gore splattered against my face. Blood and brain flew into my mouth. I didn't care. The screaming had stopped inside my head.

The blessed silence only lasted a moment before beginning again, only this time it came from Wes' mouth.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to piss on a bear?" he yelled. "Do you want to get dead? Because this is how you get dead."

Wes could berate me all he wanted. I was still breathing. Lucas was still—

I rushed to my feet and back into the closet. Lucas cowered in the corner, face planted between his knees, gasping for air. I knelt at his side, putting my hands on his shoulders.

"Lucas?"

He lifted his head, eyes wide, face pale, cheeks wet. I pulled him into my arms and stroked his hair. I itched to know what was wrong and ask what kind of magic could cause this. I kept my mouth shut. The consequences of pushing him weren't worth sating my curiosity.

"Hurry," Wes yelled. "Before someone shows up."

The effects of the magic lost its grip. Lucas' strength returned. I helped him stand on wobbly legs.

"Lex!" Wes yelled.

I wanted to punch Wes in the face right now regardless of the tiny little fact he'd saved my life. Again.

"I'm okay. I just haven't had an attack like that since--" Lucas shook his head. "Never mind."

I ignored the dangling morsel he'd put in front of me. He'd tell me in his own time. Or he wouldn't. Wes wasn't wrong we had to get out of here. Gunshots are loud.

We followed Wes out of the room, Lucas no longer needing to lean on me. I still held his hand though. For support.

"How did you find us?" I asked Wes, making a detour into the kitchen.

"Your brother has me playing stalker. Doesn't trust you or something." He turned to look at me. "Wonder why."

I opened the surrounding drawers.

Wes sighed. "What are you doing?"

Finding what I was looking for, I pulled out a stained dishtowel. I held it under the running faucet.

"Can't very well go around looking like Patrick Bateman."

He tapped his foot, exaggerating the movements as I wiped Dougie off my face.

"Can you please maybe not mention this to Damian?" I asked, having zero hope he would let this slide.

Wes let out a short, humorless laugh. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"What good will telling him do?"

I stuffed the red towel in my pocket, most of it spilling over the edge. I didn't know why I bothered. I didn't need a mirror to tell me that the chances of not garnering unwanted attention were nil.

"He can talk some sense into you."

I scoffed. "You should have just let the sentinel kill me then. Save us all a lot of time."

"That's not funny," Lucas whispered.

I hadn't expected him to side with Wes.

Wes turned and looked at him, acting as if this was the first time he'd noticed the nephilim. "Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"Chill," I said. "You can interrogate him later. We've got to go, remember?"

Wes turned his icy glare at me. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under.

Wes stomped out the front door, Lucas only a few feet behind him. Something itched the back of my neck. I was missing something but couldn't figure out what. Glancing around the room, I noticed the leather jacket I had admired before. I picked it up and held it for Wes and Lucas to see.

"Think it'll fit?"

"No, but I'll buy you one that does if you get your ass moving." There was a hint of affection in Wes' voice. He might be pissed, but he still cared.

I smiled as I traipsed toward the door. There's nothing like not dying to put one in a chipper mood.

At least I wanted it to appear that way. I didn't want either of them to know the doubts swirling in my head. I had been careless and almost gotten myself and Lucas killed. And for what? A folder?

Folder. That was what I was missing. I hurried over to Dougie's desk and grabbed the incriminating evidence that would never see the inside of a courtroom.

Neither would Dougie. His little murder spree was at its end.

I might not be able to bring back the dead, but I could at least bring some peace to the victims' families.