Nonetheless, his actions and words seemed to work out just as he hoped. They dispersed into the crowd of men in expensive suits drinking expensive wines and eating expensive foods with cheap interactions and even cheaper morals. The minute they exited the foyer into the living area, encouraged along by Angelica,  Delaney pulled Atticus and me to the side. 

“You know what you’re here to do,” he murmured, eyes flying around the place, analyzing every man down to the bone. “Watch out for my girls. Make sure these men are paying up. Rustle them up a bit if you have to, but remember this is business. Don’t do anything drastic that would reach the ears of any of my other clients.”

“Are you really all that worried about business, though?” Atticus shifted in place, folding his arms over his chest. “You looked awfully ready to give up Firebird and Angelica for a mere lump of cash. Easy, aren’t you?”

“I’d give you up for a single buck so watch it,” Delaney gritted out. “Back on the center of the matter, tensions between Nathanial and I have been high longer than you two may think. If this is truly the last time he’s accepting my services, I intend to squeeze every ounce of cash out of him that I can.”

“That’s it?” Atticus asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought Nathaniel was some of the better business you have? You don’t seem to care as much as I thought you did.”

“Not anymore,” Delaney shrugged. “What just happened attests perfectly to that. Clients come and go. I’ll find new and better ones.”

“You talk about this as if you’re running a family restaurant,” I said before I could even consider reeling the words back in. “This isn’t a business you’re running. This is crime. The money you make doing this might as well be painted in blood, sweat, and tears.”

Delaney looked at me for a good while before simply saying, “rather ironic falling off of your lips, Valorian,” and walking off to intermingle with the sea of men.

“Fuck,” Atticus said under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t noticed the building tension in my body or he’d simply had the clever foresight to neglect to mention it. “I’m sick of this shit.”

I couldn’t help but agree.

It felt like a genuine effort for her to put down the pen. Ragged gasps left her lips in a continuous, pained stream. She felt so out of control of her body and it was close to the most horrifying thing she’d ever experienced. When she finally broke out of it, she threw the pen across the room with a shrill cry, hunching over and holding her head in agony. 

The ache far surpassed that of the average headache at that point. It felt like her head was mere seconds away from exploding. Even with her dark eyes squeezed shut as tight as possible, small tears escaped the orbs and left trails down her cheeks. A telling wetness emerged from her nose, some of it managing to seep into her mouth leaving an irony tang on her tongue. 

“Please…” she whispered, barely discernible in the shattering quiet in the room. “It hurts so much…”

She struggled up into a standing position, leaning against the wall for support. She stumbled her way towards the door, breaths heavy and disquieting. 

If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now positive she had to escape. Up until that point, she’d always thought she was unbreakable. The longer she stayed the greater her uncertainties grew about that particular belief.

“Help…” she gasped.

She had no idea who she was talking to. There was no one there to help her. Even if there were, she’d never needed anybody's help. She believed she was perfectly capable of standing on her own even in the roughest of times and the direst of situations.

The second she reached the door, a hand braced against the rough wood, her eyes widened dramatically and she collapsed to the floor with a stone-cold smack.