"What're you doing?" Tristan asked, leaning against the wall. A thorn from a rose bush jabbed at his side though, so he moved away. Not that there was really anywhere to move in Kira's garden room. The eight by eight cement building housed a variety a plants, mostly flowers, that crammed the space and left little room to walk. On top of that, ceramic pots and bags of soil were shoved underneath the tables and made for some difficult tripping hazards.

Kira sighed, flicking her auburn-gold hair over one shoulder. "Making a magic powder that'll stop you from asking annoying questions." She poured a green powder into a leaf-patterned pouch and pulled it shut with a rope. "Must you be in here with me?"

Tristan shrugged, navigating his way towards her workbench, which was littered with flower petals and specs of powder. In front of her was a grinding bowl and a number of thorny stems. "Looks like something dangerous."

"The opposite, actually." She dangled the pouch in front of her blue eyes. "This one has healing properties, specifically for burns. Anything made from a Pyracantha is generally associated with burns. Makes for a good offensive powder too, though, so you're right."

Tristan's eyebrows went up. "Did you just say... I was right?"

A green gloved hand suddenly clamped over his mouth. "Don't repeat that. Ever."

Somehow, Tristan thought it wise to never repeat that.

The two of them had grown somewhat close over the course of a few weeks. Tristan had simply felt this compulsive need to be around Kira. It wasn't a romantic feeling, in any way, but more like a platonic attraction. He wanted to make sure that he was around at all times, should something ever go wrong and put her in danger. Kira, naturally, had reacted somewhat rudely to the constant wet dog smell.

"If you're going to be around me at all times, for whatever reason, you can help me relocate some of these flowers." Kira said, an irritated tone to her voice.

Tristan nodded, not being able to reply, and Kira took her hand away. She tied her previously made pouch to a vine around her waist and bent down to dig around underneath the table. Tristan looked around at all the colourful arrangements yet to he planted and sighed.

"I'm supposed to dig up flowers," he muttered, running a hand through his messy brown curls. "Not plant them."

Kira stood back up, a brown pot in each hand, and rolled her eyes. "Shucks."

She thrusted one of the pots at him and he took it reluctantly. Why have I doomed myself to this existence?

-----------

The familiar walls of the Samurai base gave Briannon a heavy homesick feeling. She'd been away from the compound for months, and was only returning to pick up a few things, but the memories that crowded every room and hallway were unforgettable. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and swiftly navigated her way back to the exit.

The base was never built for luxury, that much was obvious. Each room had the same steel grey walls and simple wooden furniture, some of which was broken or eaten away by termites. Briannon passed Callum's and Jack's rooms, each of which was roughly the same but with subtle colouring differences. Callum's room was mainly black and red, while Jack's was splashed here and there with different shades of blue. She ached to see them again, but knew her chances of finding either of them were slim. As far as she knew, Callum was with the Shadow King and Jack went MIA. She shook her head quickly and hurried for the front door, pushing back the tears that were threatening to give away her loneliness. Not that anyone's around to see them, she thought.

Passing another doorway - this one leading to Callum's enormous training room - Briannon caught sight of her reflection in a dirty mirror opposite the room, and nearly jumped out of her skin in fright. The sense of paranoia that someone had been following her was bad enough.

Her curly brown hair was finally beginning to spiral down to her chest, after months of growing it out. Her matching brown eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and she still had a fading bruise on her cheek from the recent battle. For disguise, she'd worn a denim hooded jacket that masked her face in shadows, despite being olive-skinned already, combined with black skinny jeans and trainers. I look like a stray cat, she thought, running a hand delicately across her bruise.

"Which probably suits me right now." She said aloud, surprised at how hollow her voice sounded.

Finally, she shoved open the front door and pulled her hood up over her head. The crunchy Autumn leaves provided absolutely no benefits whatsoever regarding stealth, but no one lived in the bush these days anyway. She decided to climb up the slope that lead to the old Crime Lords base and see if she could salvage anything.

She jogged lightly around the outside of the power station, keeping in the shadows of the tree line to avoid detection. Anyone with ears could've heard the leaves crunching under her shoes, but being recognised was Briannon's main concern. Luckily, no one seemed to notice her, and she reached the slope without a problem. The rope, however, had been cut near the top, and the rest of it was lying in a dusty heap at her feet.

"Well," she mumbled. "This makes things easier. Not."

She slipped her bag off her shoulder and lobbed it up to the top of the rocky hill. It didn't roll back down, luckily, so she did a couple of lunges to stretch out her legs a bit. The last time Briannon had climbed up this thing without the rope had been years ago, and she wasn't excited to relive the scratches.

She sighed, flicking her hair over one shoulder, and crouched into a cat-like position. The jeans, she realised too late, were a bad choice, but she also hadn't been expecting any high-velocity movement. Nevertheless, she jumped up onto the slope and continued to scale it using her hands and feet, like a panther. Once she reached the top, she stood up and retrieved her awaiting backpack before turning to face the treehouse.

Only, the treehouse wasn't there.

What once was a grand structure of wood and ropes high up in the ancient oak tree was more or less a small platform of broken shards and nails. Gazing around in surprise, Briannon could see various pieces of furniture and belongings discarded amongst the surrounding trees, and couldn't help but feel sympathetic. A number of wooden rods were still nailed into the trunk, with only a few missing here and there, and they still lead up the ex-treehouse. The trapdoor had been taken off, Briannon realised with a pang of sadness. However, what she saw through the hole where it used to be replaced that sadness with relief.

"Fancy seeing you here." She called, putting her hand on her hip. "Mind if I join you?"

A familiar face with shaggy blonde hair and hazel eyes met her with a sigh. "I suppose, but there's not much room to sit."