Stupid fucking alarm clock. Stupid me.

Zara jogged across the zebra crossing, her eyes on the pedestrian stoplight. Turned yellow, it was a gamble choosing to cross the road or not. She decided to go for it at the metaphorical flip of a coin and had only barely managed to stumble onto the sidewalk as the light turned red. Zara cursed herself over and over between wheezing breaths; because her alter hadn't set an alarm, she'd woken up at one in the afternoon. The entirety of Saturday was a mystery to her, as well as the activities that had gotten her so exhausted.

Thirty minutes late to her appointment with Max, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had decided to storm out. Zara was already untrustworthy as it was, being a lowlife thief and all, and this would be just another minus sign on her reliability card.

She hurried around a corner—almost bumping into another pedestrian in the process—and ran as fast as she could towards the coffee shop they'd set as their meeting place. The famed green logo hung above the discordance raging below, promising the customers of its coffee shop free wi-fi and a relatively quiet place to recharge their batteries. Truthfully, at three in the afternoon, it wouldn't exactly be 'quiet', but it was better to sit inside with a coffee rather than stand outside in the cold. November had only just made an appearance, but it hadn't done so quietly. It already felt like winter.

Zara pulled her beanie off as she pushed the door open, already feeling a waft of warm air envelope her in an embrace. The place wasn't jam-packed, but each register had a line and almost every seat was occupied. If Maximilian was honestly trying to be discreet, then he'd failed; there wasn't a corner where one could sit out of earshot from everyone else. Then again, I'm half an hour late and I think this is peak-hour.

Tugging at her scarf helped her calm her nerves as she bounced her gaze from table to table, hoping to catch those familiar emerald eyes and sleek, dark hair. Someone gruffly pushed past her, so she stepped away from the entrance and moved to one side, slightly flustered but still on the look-out for her target. When she found him, sitting at a booth at the far end of the shop with his head bent over his phone, her throat tightened. He was there, but she could tell by the way he played with his drink that he was beyond pissed.

As if sensing her staring, he looked up from his phone and stared right at her. A sheepish smile crawled onto her face, and she gave him an awkward wave. Her hand wilted as she neared his table, and the butterflies in her stomach dropped dead. With his long hair let out and his unshaven jawline, he looked even more menacing than he already was.

"You're late," he said simply, throwing daggers at her with his eyes. Zara plopped in the seat across him, banging her arm against the edge of the table.

"I'm really sorry,"—she winced, but her awkward smile didn't falter—"I forgot to set my alarm."

He finished fiddling with his phone and placed it face-down on the table, beside the plate with a half-eaten donut. "You do realise that I'm finding it hard to accept that excuse, considering that I've been waiting for a fucking half hour." His black sweatshirt hugged his upper-body nicely; even the brand name, Guess, teased her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and looked away, through the window where her mind couldn't conceive dirty thoughts, which were after-after effects of the alcohol. "I don't know what to say—I'm telling you the truth." Zara unzipped her jacket. Keeping her hands busy would prevent her from feeling so embarrassed. He stared at her throughout the whole ordeal. It made her skin crawl, but not with disgust. "So you already got something without me," she said with an awkward chuckle, eyeing his cup. Zara caught a heart and three digits around its bend, right before he grabbed his drink and took a sip.

Max shrugged and placed the cup back on the table. "I couldn't just sit here empty-handed."

"Right," Zara muttered, annoyed at herself for being annoyed at him. Who wouldn't write their number on his cup? "Well, if you don't mind, I'm gonna get something to drink too. Please look after my jacket, it's the only one I got."

She returned fifteen minutes later with a steaming mocha coffee and a chocolate donut. Her acne-prone skin would most likely rebel come nightfall, but Zara hadn't eaten anything, and this would be both her breakfast and lunch.

"How much?" Max asked as she sat down, his wallet open between his hands. Zara frowned.

"How much what?"

"Your order, stupid. I'm paying." His features softened. Is he teasing me?

"I forgot."

"Sure you did,"—he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it across the table to her—"I believe in paying the bill."

"This isn't a date, though." She stopped with her drink halfway to her mouth, then went right on to take a sip. The whipped cream and chocolate sauce were excessively sweet; if the coffee's bitterness didn't balance them out, she wouldn't be too happy. 

"I know," he snapped, closing his wallet and hiding it away, "but I'm paying anyway, so deal with it."

Zara sighed and, with a smile, pocketed the twenty bucks. She'd let the little boy have his way just this once.

"Now show me what we came here for." He kept his voice low and his arms crossed on the small, rectangular table. Zara muttered an 'oh' and immediately dug into the pocket of her hoodie for the package. Right before she'd gone to bed Saturday morning, she'd transferred the Butterfly to an empty tuna can, which she taped shut and hid underneath her bed in case she didn't wake up being 'herself' later that afternoon.

She slid the can over to Max, who looked at it intently. The muted tinkle of the pill inside was hard to miss with the surrounding chatter, but judging by his facial expression, Max had heard it very well. Discreetly—and in a gesture awfully similar to brooding man's—he swiped the can off the table. Underneath, his hands worked quickly to open the box up and pull out the gem inside, which took its place between his cup and plate. It was invisible to those around them, but not to those who'd made the trade.

Zara nibbled on her donut as Max scrutinised it, trying to keep her thoughts optimistic. If it wasn't it, he wouldn't have been staring at it for so long. It must be! She swallowed the rich, chocolatey confectionary and looked at him expectantly. 

"So?" she whispered, leaning abruptly over the table. 

"It's the one," he said, his words betraying the shock he worked so hard to hide.

"H-how do you know?"

"The butterfly design. It's not a random shitty drawing a three-year-old would be proud of—it was inspired by the Blue Morpho Butterfly." He smiled. "I knew I'd made the right decision in trusting you."

Zara's eyes widened and she cradled her face between her hands. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. That if it weren't for a gut feeling, I would've been dead and gone?

"If anyone else had been sent after you, we wouldn't be talking here today. I can assure you that." He finished his donut in such an elegant manner, it distracted her from the ominous undertone of his words. Max may have looked like Tarzan, but he attracted the attention from almost every female customer that passed by their table.

"Maybe not..."—she blinked, regaining her composure—"but I could've, would've, sent either of you in a body bag home. I was just holding back." Zara took a snobbish sip from her cup and crossed her arms, mimicking him.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he chortled. She knew Max was mocking her, but it was so contagious, she couldn't help but grin. After knowing that she hadn't risked drug stupefaction and a beat-down for nothing, she felt a lot more relieved. Even Max seemed less gruff, less tense in his movements; she'd gotten him to laugh, and that hadn't been easy to do.

Once he sobered, Zara asked him the question that had been scratching her mind since that morning. "What happens now?"

The light in his eyes dimmed and he grew serious again. "Frankly, I can't give you a concrete answer now. Where did you say you found this, again?"

"At the Halloween party on Friday night. Do you need me to write it down or something? Stop cracking jokes, for God's sake, what's wrong with you?

"Right—I remember now, you told me over the phone. You also had some other stuff to tell me."

Zara swallowed. She needed something to drink, like water, to get rid of the sweet taste in her mouth, but for now, she'd have to suck it up. What do I tell him? About Vincent selling drugs—possibly the Butterfly prototypes—or that strange man with the curly hair who gave me his number for a booty call?

"For starters, I can prove to you that me and my friends weren't involved in this shit. At least, I can say it with 100% certainty for Saffron and Orion."

"Oh really?" He challenged her with his gaze.

"Yeah. Orion was with me at the whole time, and Saffron was doing family stuff. I'm not sure about Aurora, though—but...I guess," Zara began stumbling over her words as she came to the realisation that none of her actions were provable. She could've easily hidden the prototypes at her home and then made up an elaborate story to cover her tracks.

"Look," Max cut off her verbal diarrhoea with a hand, "I'm not saying that I don't believe you—you're easy to read, despite you probably thinking otherwise—it's the fact that I don't have any evidence that what you've just told me is true."

Right on the money. Of course.

"I can't let you off the hook just yet, not with something that concretely points me towards a different culprit."

Zara looked down at the remainders of her donut, fighting back the tears. She'd mentally prepared herself for this, she knew he'd say something along those lines, but hearing it out loud was drastically different to imagining it in a million different scenarios. "Am I...am I still going to die in a week?" Zara kept her gaze on her food; if she made eye-contact with him now, she'd break down.

"No. Technically, you did kind of return what was stolen." In her peripheral vision, she saw his hand slide towards her. 

Zara snorted and tossed her head with a tight-lipped smile. For some, disgusting reason, she was grateful. Grateful of the fact that her life had no artificial time-lit anymore. Being reduced to nothing more than a pawn, in a game involving high stakes and powerful people, made her feel like nothing but a door-stopper. Zara had her role in the match, but upon her removal, would get replaced in a heartbeat. "Since I got nothing more to add, I guess I should go now," Zara said, draining her drink before standing up. How long have I been here, ten minutes?

"I need your number first. I'm assuming that you recorded mine, so call me."

Zara reddened and did as she was told. "Your pal isn't going to be too happy tomorrow."

"He had it coming." He recorded Zara's number and slipped his jacket on. "I'll shoot you a message when I need your help, but for now, I'd worry only about mid-terms."

Aye-aye, Captain Reaper. 

-:-