⟾ 13 | GONE GIRL

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ATTENTION!

This chapter is dedicated to the AMAZING veraberkshire_ becuase I love them so much, and they are a SUPER TALENTED editor ( louisaesthetique on instagram ) who made a TWISTED edit!! It's insanely beautiful, and you should definitely check her work out! I'm serious hehe, go do it!! 

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TRIGGER WARNING! (Mild).

guns, daggers, knives, blood.

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LOUIS 🗡

Monday, 9:54pm

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THIS HAM SANDWICH TASTES STRANGE.

I'd been ordering the same thing from Greggs for years now, but for some reason my dinner has a different flavor to it. It doesn't taste good, it doesn't taste filling—it's bitter and horrid, just laying in my stomach like a virus.

I thought it was some expired mustard at first.

But now I realize it must be guilt.

I'd marked her off as a subject of my job; only a mission that needed to be completed. I tried to ignore the fact that she brought out confusion in my mind, when I used to be so sure, and it scared me to the point where I just wanted to stop. I hated being confused. I grew up knowing what I wanted, and suddenly she waltzed in and made me rethink my life.

So I turned her in, pretending the strange bond we'd made was nothing more than a game.

But that's what's so strange about this whole thing. Her, I mean. We shouldn't have exceeded a point where we questioned our own morals, dancing around an unclear line between enemies and whatever the hell we were almost at.

We were opposites, but we were twisted together.

And now I can't seem to untangle myself from her.

"Damn sandwich," I said, tossing it into the bin, "I paid for a meal, not to rethink my life."

I needed to talk to her—I'd been avoiding her cell at the bottom of the SIS, too ashamed to see her face—but I knew I wouldn't be welcome. There wasn't much I could do, either. I couldn't let her out. In a sense, she deserved to be in jail, but it was only my own personal interest that wished she wasn't.

Once again, my job doesn't concern my personal interest.

It concerns the citizens of London, and letting a pyrotechnic, arsonist, criminal run loose was inherently dangerous in an obvious sense.

Grabbing my suit from the coat hanger, I cast a suspicious glance towards William's corner of the office. He said he went out to grab some paperwork, but he still hasn't returned. Must have run into a co-worker and stopped to chat. I wasn't entirely concerned about him.

Slipping on my suit-coat, I ruffled a hand through my hair, making sure I looked at least somewhat decent by the time I reached the containment unit. I'd been carrying around the dagger I found in the trailer park, wondering whether or not I should keep it or throw it away. It was like she could use it for anything anymore. Usually only the watch-guards were down there, but since I was a verified Agent, I had pretty much free ground to observe.

I'd never bothered to see inmates until now.

Then again, I don't usually make out with them before arresting them.

But let's not dwell on the past.

Turning a corner, I prepared to grab my (new) ID to the entrance guard, but was surprised to see no one standing there. In fact, the entire hallway was deserted and empty. Where was everyone? This was a besmirch on the SIS guidelines—the jail cells should be guarded at all times—I'd have to report this.

Furrowing my brows, I used my badge to unlock the door, slipping inside. [y/n]'s cell would be isolated from the other inmates, due to her family's importance. The Ash case was treated like  gold among the rest.

But as I approached her containment room, I stopped.

There were voices inside.

Immediately feeling a sense of dread, I pressed myself up to the wall, my ears straining to hear what was being said. There was the voice of an unfamiliar woman, who was rambling on about something I couldn't hear clearly through the muffled steel door. It sounded like an argument. And suddenly it went silent.

Something tugged inside my chest, and my stomach started to swirl with uncertainty. Something was wrong.

Going with my gut feeling, I swung open the door, coming face to face with a decadence portrait of betrayal—but it wasn't mine this time.

William was leaning up against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked upon the scene before him. A woman who I didn't recognize was holding a pistol up towards the bars of a cell, where another girl stood frozen.

Ash.

I didn't give myself a chance to think, before I found myself lunging across the room, arms out and splintering towards the woman with the weapon. It was almost like feeling myself moving in slow-motion; I felt like I was running on a time limit, and I'd be too late if I waited a second more.

Crashing into the unfamiliar, I tackled them to the ground, anger rising into my soul. Their head hit the ground, knocking them out almost immediately. 

But then I heard the gunshot.

And then I heard the scream.

Even though I had managed to take down the woman, her finger still had a chance to pull the trigger in her hand. My head snapped towards the cell, eyes panicked and searching for the girl trapped inside.

"[y/n]," I said quickly, ignoring the woman I tackled, "Ash, are you okay?"

Grabbing my ID, I didn't even hesitate to slam it against the scanner, watching as it flashed green and slowly opened the bars to the cell. I didn't care if I was letting her loose, the only thing mattered was that she didn't get shot.

But I didn't have a chance to take another step inside, when I felt someone grab the collar of my shirt, yanking me back out.

"Partridge," William spat out.

"Franklyn-Miller," I spat back.

Was this revenge? Who was that woman—who was now unconscious from the tackle—beside him? His eyes were evil and unreadable, but I didn't bother stopping to ask before I swung a punch at him. He tried to kill Ash. And I was going to kill him for it.

My fist went crashing into his jaw, leaving the man stumbling into the wall behind him. He was never trained for combat. He was the assistant—I was the fighter. But I didn't spare him any mercy as I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the tiled walls, my blood boiling with pure anger.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled, my eyes burning into his.

The man smiled devilishly. "My job."

His job? He wasn't even licensed to kill, how in God's name would being an accomplice to murder be his job? There were a few possibilities, but only one made sense. The woman he was with. Not SIS trained, I could tell by her outfit and the way she aimed the gun towards the cell—she was an external agent.

Making William a double-agent.

Remembering the dagger I had found, I slipped it out of the loop of my belt, pressing the blade up towards the man's neck. It felt like it didn't belong in my hands. But that didn't matter at the moment.

"Who do you work for?" I urged, "who?"

His lip was already starting to bleed, and his cheekbone was turning a sickly-shade of yellow and purple from the bruise. It was probably the first time his face had ever gotten hit, but I didn't regret a single part of it. I trusted him. He betrayed not only me, but the organization we worked for.

But he didn't seem to care.

"I don't think that's what you should be worried about," he smirked, nodding his head towards the cell behind me, "let me know if she bleeds out."

Ash.

Immediately releasing him from my grip, I spun around, eyes frantically searching for the girl I came here for. She was laying on the concrete ground, her hand clutched over her upper-arm, and her teeth gritted in pain. She had gotten shot in the arm.

William used my distraction as an escape, immediately slipping out the door when my back was turned, but I didn't care anymore.

I had someone else to worry about.

"Ash, give me your arm," I said, slipping the dagger back and kneeling down beside her, "it'll only get worse the longer it goes unhealed."

I reached to take her hand, but she sharply grabbed my wrist, pushing it back to my side. She didn't say anything, she just glared. No words, no expression, just anger digging out of her gaze and stabbing me in the chest—and I felt the guilt again. 

She didn't want me to touch her.

Pressing her lips together, she grabbed the sleeve of her grey uniform, ripping off the thin sleeve with narrowed eyes. She tied it tightly around the wound herself, using her teeth to pull the strands where her other hand couldn't. She wouldn't let me help.

But then she stood up, with dead eyes and an unreadable expression, and began to leave.

"Ash, wait," I called out. I nearly choked on my words, but suddenly they just slipped out of my lips before I could realize what I said. "I'm sorry."

And for the first time in a while, I apologized to someone. I hadn't done it in years, because I thought my job excused me from any form of admittance or vulnerability. But I didn't care about my job right now—I made that mistake earlier, and look where it got me.

She turned around, and I nearly flinched at the steely gaze in her eyes. There was no fire there. There was only the resemblance to her name—the burned remains of her brash personality reduced to ash.

She took a step towards me, hesitant, but then began to walk.

I didn't move.

I didn't know what to say.

So when she stopped in front of me, I didn't say anything at all. I could see the hurt in her eyes, and I could see the way her hand flexed closed as she tried to work her way through the pain of her wound.

When she raised her hand, and I thought she was going to hit me.

But she didn't.

Instead, she grabbed the handle of her dagger from my belt, pulling it out and slipping it into the band of her shorts without so much as a blink. I didn't resist—it belonged to her, not to me.

"Where will you go?" I asked, "they'll look for you no matter where you run."

She didn't answer me.

"Ash, you're not safe out there."

She still didn't say a word.

She simply turned on her heels and approached the door, swinging it open with her uninjured hand. And I thought she'd leave, but she paused once more, turning to look at me once more.

"Go to hell, Partridge," she said.

And then she disappeared.

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