Zara stumbled into her apartment and closed the door with a bang; she collapsed onto her knees and buried her face in her hands. Every cell in her body gave in as she sagged to one side, begging her to take a rest. She was emotionally and mentally exhausted, unable to face her problems anymore. Zara needed a nap, right there and then.

She awoke later that afternoon, in the dark and disoriented. With a groan, she rolled over onto her stomach—the weight of her backpack crushed her lungs, making it difficult to breathe, but it was better to die from suffocation than with a bullet in her skull. Nine days left and she hadn't achieved anything. The only new information she'd gotten was from Maximilian, and it was something he should've told her much earlier. It certainly simplified things—at least she knew what to look out for—but it didn't make any more of a difference. New York City is a labyrinth, full of false-turns, dead-ends, and villainous people. If she found the Butterfly, it would be miraculous, but truthfully, Zara didn't even have faith in that anymore.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket; the sound travelled through the uneven floorboards and into her ear, amplifying the migraine.

Can I ask you something? The message read, most of the words scythed by a black line running down the middle of the screen.

"Now when did this happen?" She shot up with indignation, the action sending her mind spiralling. Zara had to take a moment for the dizziness to pass, then another to stand up and fumble for the light switch. "And what the fuck do you want, Saffron?" she added in a mumble, once the shoebox-sized room was bathed in a honeyed glow and her narrowed eyes were on the tiny screen again. As much as she wanted to cuss him out for disturbing her self-deprecation, she sent him a cautious 'sure' in response. It showed that she had read his question, but wasn't too interested in the answer. 

By the time he replied, Zara was sat at her desk with her homework scattered in front of her and a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich in her hand. Two questions, actually, the phone buzzed, shimmying its way towards the edge of the table. Sorry btw, had to shower.

She had half a mind to ignore him for the same length of time he'd been MIA, but this was the chance for her to ask him about Vincent. If he'd never told her about him, the question of his employment would've never nagged her as much as it did.

Np. Shoot. Just ask the damn questions already.

As she waited for his reply, she scribbled the final sentence for her History notes on World War two.

Bzz. Bzz. 1. Are you still mad at me?

Zara paused with the point of her pen still on the page. She rolled her eyes when she saw the message.

Bzz. Bzz. 2. What did Max want?

She dropped her pen and took a large bite of her sandwich, mulling over her responses. "Oh, you know, talking about drugs and shit. Just the normal stuff," Zara said once she swallowed the misshapen lump. She placed the sandwich back on the plate and picked up her phone.

1. No. 2. English hwk.

The first was true, the second obviously wasn't. But she wasn't going to delve into either—she didn't have the luxury of a smartphone, of unlimited texting, and she wasn't in the mood of filling the thousand-character text box with carefully-chosen words. Whatever lie he wanted to hear he'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Really? Are you sure? Referring to the homework, ofc.

101%. Ask him if u don't believe me. Her fingers were already tired and their conversation had just begun.

Let's cut to the chase.

My turn. Vague but assertive, just the way she liked it.

For what?

To ask u a q. She took another bite from her sandwich then shined the light of her desk lamp off to one side; the glare was making it hard to read the screen.

K.

Do u know where Vincent wks? It occurred to her that the question awfully specific only once she hit the 'send' button. Zara shoved what remained of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed on it angrily.

Yeah.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't think he'd remember or even care about such a detail—considering that this man was his father's archenemy—but he surprised her. Her heart began functioning normally again, albeit at a slightly elevated pace.

Where? She asked when he didn't reply right away.

"Come on, man, don't leave me hanging like that!" Zara tried to distract herself from his annoying behaviour by reading her notes, but after re-reading the paragraph three times in a row, she gave up. The affair had taken over her mind again, and until Saffron gave her an answer, she wouldn't be able to think about anything else.

Frustrated, she double-texted him with a string of question marks and exclamation points.

I'll tell you in exchange for something.

Zara swore and slammed her hand against the table.

Just tell me!!!!! 

I'll tell you if you go ice-skating with me. 

"What the hell! You got to be fucking kidding me!" Zara jumped up and paced around the room, trying to unleash her wrath on her walking rather than on the furniture. 

"What the hell! You got to be fucking kidding me!" Zara jumped up and paced around the room, trying to unleash her wrath on her walking rather than on the furniture. The buzzing returned after what felt like a century. She pounced onto the chair and picked up her phone.

Kidding! Here's a hint: Max.

Zara dropped it from the shock. It landed with a dull thud against the carpeted floor, face-down. The phone felt the same way she did and was hiding its face from her. It buzzed with another message, but Zara's mind was already elsewhere.

What if Vincent has something to do with the Butterfly?

He had been completing a deal at the diner. The Butterfly in exchange for the money. It was a prototype, one, that if mass-produced, could make millions. In the wrong hands, it could make millions and birth thousands of addicts, making even more millions. It would be a catastrophe.

Zara scrambled for her phone. In the process, she banged her head against the edge of the desk—she yowled and as she massaged the throbbing spot, scooped up the cause of her pain with her other hand. That will teach you to be so impulsive.

"Not right now," Zara warned, still licking her own wounds.

She slapped all the textbooks shut and stacked them onto the table, concentrating on the action of lifting and lowering her arms. So you really think that Vincent's behind this, huh? How are you going to prove it?

"No clue—and I'm not entirely sure, it just seems to line up. It can't be just a coincidence." Zara gathered up her pencils and forced them into the tiny pencil-case, her lower lip stuck between her teeth. Are you going to tell Max about it?

"Are you going to stop asking me questions?" Zara snapped. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. "Alright, sorry. That wasn't fair."

I forgive you. She just apologised and forgave herself. She really was nuts.

"I won't tell him anything." Zara took the plate and padded to the kitchen, placing it in the sink whilst simultaneously texting a reply to Saffron's why'd you ask?

Out of curiosity. Gtg cya x

"He'd be my ticket to the nuthouse. Without any physical proof, my words don't mean jack. " Zara walked back into her room and pulled a sheathed dagger from underneath the mattress. She lifted the hem of her jeans, strapped it on, then pulled it back over. "I won't say a thing until I find it."

The Butterfly? Seriously?

Zara pocketed her phone, switched off the desk lamp, and hurried over to the front entrance. "Yep."—she slipped on her coat, pulled on her beanie, and put on her boots—"and I know just the guy that can help us."

-:-