Chapter 113

It's been weeks since Henry Jr's murder.

No sign of Hannah. Demons and warlocks scourged the earth looking for the girl on Wyatt's orders. They had her description and they checked every young girl who matched it, but every single one of them was a stranger.

In all honesty, Wyatt couldn't care less about Hannah. If she wanted to be with family, she would have come to them by now. After all, he and Chris were her last living relatives. Wyatt would have liked to end the search and refocus on other things, but he kept up the pretense of his interest only for Chris' sake.

It was Chris that still held hope for finding Hannah. Every day, Wyatt watched his younger brother mope around their living quarters, asking about any tidbits about Hannah. Chris tried to find her himself, going around the nearby towns of their old living shack. But, he came up empty handed.

Wyatt hoped that would end Chris' desire to find Hannah, but it didn't. He just became more determined to the point Wyatt often used his magic to put Chris to sleep in order to stop him from stressing over the situation. He tried to reason with his brother once, but Chris chose to become deaf every time he spoke.

It was getting a bit annoying.

But now, he had no time to dwell on his brother or cousin. There's been another uprising in Gambia. There have been burst of uprisings here and there, but lately, a few that have become more of a challenge. None of them were as note-worthy as the Resistance, but they still caused problems Wyatt wished he didn't have to deal with. It made him wonder if these uprisings had former Resistance members organizing them.

Which then made him believe that Chris might be involved.

He knew his brother. Chris could act sad and depressed, but he's a Halliwell. There's always a fire brewing in their souls. If Chris felt it necessary—which he always does when it comes to "the greater good"—he would do the impossible. Just like their mother. If he had his heart in it, it would be done.

Another reason why Wyatt preferred Chris to be on his side. Chris' spirit combined with Wyatt's power…they would be unstoppable. At least, Wyatt would. Their family legacy will rule as it should always have. No one will puppeteer them. Their strings were cut. Free to do as they wish, just as it should have been for their mother.

Wyatt was living the life his mother truly wanted. Free from the confines and restrictions that the Elders and have to live in fear of demons. He had absolute control.

The sound of doors opening made Wyatt blow a huff of hot air out as he turned to see Matt striding across the room.

Matt bowed. "My Lord, I have some grave news."

Wyatt gestured for him to continue.

"There's been another reported uprising in Boston," Matt reported. "Double the size of the revolt in Chile."

Wyatt growled in frustration. If he could simply snap his fingers and end all those who dared to even think of betraying him…life would be easier for him. He strolled to his chair, plopping in a seat as he leaned back, hand on his forehead.

"How many are witches or other pathetic forms of magical creatures?"

"About fifteen reported, My Lord."

Wyatt dropped his hand to his lap. "Who is handling the situation?"

"I believe Lucian is in the lead, My Lord."

Wyatt's fingers gently tapped on his knee as he thought. If these uprisings kept going, he was going to need to create another stronger team than the one he has now. Perhaps send the Elite team to clean up the mess.

He stopped tapping. No. Not the Elite team. He had a better idea.

"Send Chris," Wyatt said, his iced eyes rolling up to Matt. "He'll handle the situation."

Matt blinked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next. "Are you sure that's a good idea, my Lord?"

Wyatt's eyes fell to slits at the question. "Are you beginning to question my leadership now, Matt?"

Matt's eyes bulged. "No! Never my Lord! I would never doubt you. However, I do not see how Chris would fix the situation."

Wyatt rose to his feet, walking around the desk. Once situated in front, he leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "These uprisings are most likely organized from a former Resistance member," he said. "Having Chris there to end the uprising will break not only their spirits, it will put Chris in his place. Make him realize this is how the world runs now. And his place is here now."

Matt understood. "I'll send him out right away."

"Good." Wyatt said as Matt headed for the exit. Before Matt reached the doors, Wyatt called out to him again. "Matt? Do not question my orders again…ever."

Matt swallowed before making a very deep, apologetic bow. "Yes, my Lord."

Wyatt waved his hand, pushing Matt out the doors and slammed it shut in his face. Wyatt returned back to his map, working on the next agenda. But, his mind kept returning to the uprising in Boston. Chris was going to learn exactly what a second-in-commander does in this new world order.

Chris will detest it. He may even fight over it. But, Wyatt knew Chris would complete the task. Because, if not, he'll hunt down Bianca once again. He already heard that she's been running around Europe at the moment. His tracker demons have kept him updated on her whereabouts in case he ever needed to remind Chris his promise.

He was sure Chris would be angry with him. Yell and insult at him. Possibly try to use magic against him and flee, but Chris will always come right back here. It was his destiny. No matter how many times Chris fought him or tried to run, he always ended back at his side.

He'll make it up to Chris. He always does and it will all be forgotten. It's what being a brother is about. Accepting and forgiveness. And, no matter what, they were brothers. Always.

Nothing would ever change that for them.

Nothing and no one.


Chris wanted to strangle Matt.

Mostly because he couldn't strangle Wyatt. Matt was the next best choice. When he received the news that he was to handle the uprising in Boston, he wanted to go straight to Wyatt and give him a piece of his mind. Or…possible a good telekinetic shove.

But, Matt said Wyatt didn't have the time to argue with his brother and wanted Boston to be taken care of immediately. Matt informed Chris that Wyatt would speak with him after he completes his task. In response, Chris orbed Matt in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Chris went straight to Wyatt, hoping to get an audience with his brother, but found himself constantly transported away at every attempt to talk to his older brother. It appeared Matt was correct. Wyatt was not going to speak with him until he handled Boston.

He mentally cursed at Wyatt, hoping his brother heard before he orbed to Boston, the location of the rebellion. He easily located the situation. There were several hundreds of people rebelling, protesting against the demons that started shooting fireballs at the protesters. They would run and cover under the dismantled buildings and cars before retaliating in their own way.

Chris surveyed the destruction from the rooftop, watching it all unfold. Boston never looked so bloody and broken since…well, since the Revolutionary War.

He heard a shimmer behind him and knew the demon previously in charged arrived to brief him on the situation. Rather than turn around and face him, he waited for the demon to speak.

"My Lord," the demon finally spoke after a moment of silence. Chris cringed at the title. He detested it as much as he hated demons. "Most of the rebellious effort is near the Commons. From what our intelligence gathered the leader appears to be a woman in her..."

Chris let the demon continued speaking, but he wasn't interested anymore. Intelligence? Demons? He doubted very much. He almost wanted to point that out to the demon, but decided against it. He took one more look at the crumbling city and turned to the demon.

It was as ugly as he expected. Horns spiked out from its head. Red lines painted over its scaly face. Lucian, if Chris had to guess the name of this particular demon. Not a pleasant demon from what he gathered, but based off his posture and stance at the moment, the demon feared Chris more.

Chris stepped away from the ledge. "I'll handle the leaders below," he said. "I want the people below to disperse the crowd in a non-lethal way. If any resistance, arrest. Not kill."

"But, my Lord!" Lucian cried out. "These traitors need to be taught a lesson. No one is above the law! Above Wyatt Halliwell's reign—"

Chris simply had to look at Lucian and the demon shut his mouth. He obeyed the order and shimmered away to let the others know of the nonlethal rules Chris Halliwell evoked. Chris turned one last look at the city of Boston, sighing longing at the thought that this once historic, beautiful city fought against a tyrant and won. But, now…Chris only wondered how long many of these protesters will live.

He turned away, unable to look at it anymore. He breathed deeply before orbing down to the location where most of the heavy fighting took place. Once the blue orbs filtered away from his eyes and he took in the scene of fiery pits and crumbling bricks that now littered the street. He took a few steps glancing this way and that as he watched protesters throw the loose bricks at the demons who were now trying to restrain the protesters without using their magic.

At least they weren't throwing anymore fireballs. The city had enough destruction as it is. No more lives need to be lost. Chris moved through the fray, every now and then helping the protesters avoid the rougher demons. He orbed some away from the fight—the innocents that simply got caught up in the battle and the fighters that nearly got themselves killed by demons.

As he strolled along, ensuring everyone was obeying his commands, he nearly missed the figure that jumped from above and landed right in front of him, dagger to his throat. Chris stopped. He knew he could immediately telekinetically turn the dagger away from his throat and to the ground without any concentration.

However, at the moment, his concentration was all drawn to the face in front of him.

Chris faltered in his speech. "M-Mist?"

Mist's eyes widened upon recognition of the person before her. "Chris?" she said, tentatively almost suspicious of the person before her. She had yet to lower the dagger from his throat. "Is that…is it really you?"

Chris slowly nodded. "Yes…it's me Mist."

The dagger vanished from his throat, replaced with two strong arms wrapping around his neck instead. He felt Mist's body pressed against him, tight and snug as if she hadn't seen him in years.

Mist buried her head in the nook of his neck. "Oh Chris! Chris…I cannot believe it," she cried. "I can't believe it's you. You're here!"

Chris embraced Mist, returning all the warming feelings and relief at seeing her alive in that one hug. "I'm so glad to see you too."

They stayed in the embrace for some time, ignoring the destruction around them. Finally, after several minutes passed, they broke apart. But, Mist kept her eyes latched on Chris. "I can't believe you're here. The last thing I heard about you was that you were still locked up with Wyatt. That… you lost your powers…"

"Yeah… a lot of things happened since I last saw you," Chris said, recalling the last time he saw Mist's face. It was back on Valhalla. At Jen and Ryan's wedding. So many months ago that it almost felt years passed between them.

They were both different from that time in the past. New environments. New people. New situations. Everything affected them, grown to this point. Separated so long, they could no longer pretend they were the same people. It hurt Chris that he couldn't be the same man she remembered. He's been tainted after spending so many months with Wyatt.

He stepped back, afraid he may have contaminated her already. "You need to get away Mist," he said. "Far away from here."

"What are you talking about?" Mist said, bewildered by his desperation. "Chris… I am here to stay! To fight against Wyatt's reign of terror. Like what we did—"

"That's in the past now, Mist," Chris said. "We can't change anything. Go! Hide! Live your life as best you can."

Mist blinked at his desperation. "What do you mean? Chris—what's going on? Why are you here?" she inquired. "I would have thought Wyatt wouldn't let you out of his sight."

Chris couldn't confess. He didn't want Mist to look at him in horror. To see all the he sacrificed. To see the man he became. "Please Mist…leave. Don't fight anymore. Just go and live as much as you can," he said, turning away from her. He couldn't look at her anymore. Didn't dare to see the horror that etched into her face. But before he completely run away, he requested one more thing from Mist. "Please tell Patty that I love her very much."

"Patty's dead Chris."

Chris stopped dead in his tracks. The veins in his body all froze, stopping his circulation. His heart ceased.


"She died months back."


"Poisoned athame," Mist answered. "It happened on the day we attempted to rescue you and her from Wyatt's clutches. We tried to do everything but—"

Mist gasped as a car flew up into the air and right down the street, crashing into a roaring ball of fire. She backed up against the building, looking from the destroyed car to Chris' contorted face.

Chris' fingers curled into fists. Face reddened by the sudden rush of blood. Anger. Hate. Crazed whirled in those tortured green eyes, spiraling into an abyss that Mist feared he may not recover.

More objects rose from the ground, rising overhead. Trucks, fallen trees, chunks of buildings and more rocked over their heads. Some of the fighters (on both sides) stopped to look up at the floating objects. Fear tripling at the sight of who could have such power to do perform that trick. And the blood drained from their faces when they realized that only one name had the ability to show off that much power.


People began scattering while others returned to the fight. Only Mist stayed where she was, watching as the objects above smashed into random parts of Boston. Explosion after explosion when the objects fell back to the ground. Mist flinched at the might the explosion, but her worries fell on Chris. Anger was taking full control of him. And…it scared her.

Unable to watch Chris break down, Mist ran to him, grasping his hands to stop the telekinetic power that was going berserk. "Chris! Chris! Please!"

Chris' eyes fell on her. "She's dead! He's dead!" he cried. Everything around them started shaking. The buildings creaking and whining. "THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"

It was all his fault. Patty. Henry. Hannah. The others. He was responsible for everything that happened to them.

The lamppost groaned as it began to bend and twist.

Mist squeezed Chris' hand tighter. "Chris…I'm so sorry! We tried so hard."

Chris shut his eyes, dropping his head. "It's all my fault. I should have…I should have fought harder. I should have," he said, unsteady. "It's my fault. I failed them all."

Mist's heart thumped, tuned to Chris' own heart. Both beating in pain together. "Chris? Chris, please look at me." Mist curled a finger underneath Chris' chin, pulling it up to look into those pained eyes. "You haven't failed yet. There's still hope. Patty—she said something about you. Before she died. Something about if you live, then everyone will live."

Chris pulled out of Mist's grasp, cheeks flushed a brighter crimson color. "To hell with me!" he roared. "What makes me so goddamn important than the rest? Huh? Why do people still look at me life I'm a savior?"

His face darkened, matching the environment around them. "Everyone and everything around me falls apart. Dies. You place your faith in the wrong person," Chris pointed, the tendrils of despair latching on his soul. "I'm no savior, Mist. If anything, I brought the destruction to this world. I destroyed everything you held dear. Wyatt killed your sisters, destroyed your home because of me. You lost all your friends because of me."

Tears fell freely from Mist's eyes. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The Chris she knew would never believe in such words. She shook her head, despairingly. "No…I don't believe that. I won't believe in that," she declared. "You didn't destroy this world, Chris. You tried to save it! Don't you remember? All those fights and rescues we did? Think about all the lives we saved."

"And all the lives I cost," Chris retorted. "I got my friends and family killed Mist. Innocent blood coat my hands."

"Not your hands," Mist insisted, before correcting, "Wyatt's. He rained hell on this planet. Not you!"

Chris darkly chuckled. "But I helped. I gave my brother power. I let him corrupt himself," he said. "When I was younger, I saw him falling off to the deep ends, but I chose not to save him. I let him slip and now I am paying the price for everything that has happened since."

"Don't you see now, Mist?" Chris said to his old friend. "I've never been the man you thought I was. I'm not your savior. If anything, I'm your destroyer."

The lamppost gave one final groaned and it timbered over, the glass shattering along the street. Mist jumped at the sound, but she didn't turn away from Chris. She couldn't believe what she was hearing still. How did Chris fall so far? Where did that spirit go? He always had such hope? The belief that the world could still be saved.

What happened to her Chris? What did Wyatt do to him?

Mist stepped closer to Chris, hands reaching for him once more. "Chris…please! It's not too late," she pleaded. "There's still hope! There's always hope."

"Come with me," She begged him, hands rubbing up his arms. "I'm rebuilding a new resistance. We can really use your help. Come back with me! It'll be like old times again. The two of us fighting for justice and saving lives."

Chris stared emptily at her, but Mist kept imploring him. Passion driving her to reach Chris. She needed to reignite that spark. She needed the old Chris to return. She needed her Chris.

"Please! Chris! Come with me," she beseeched. "Come back to me."

Chris' eyes blinked away from her and Mist's heart plummeted as Chris took a step back, away from her. He shook his head, hopelessly. "I can't, Mist," he murmured. "It's… It's too late for me. Save yourself, Mist. Forget about me. Just—just forget me. There's nothing I can do to save anyone. Not anymore."

He pulled away from Mist, leaving her floored and stricken. "I-I…I don't believe this," she muttered, sadness crept in her voice. "Chris… what happened to you?"

"A lot of things happened."

Mist brushed the tears away from her welling eyes. "I can't believe I am hearing this," she choked. "I—you're not the Chris I know. I don't know who you are. But, you're not Chris! You're not him!"

Chris cringed at the statements. Little did she know that he was same Chris. He just realized that his actions all brought them to this point in time. He was no savior. No matter how many believe him to be so.

He heard Mist's cries and he wanted to wrap his arm around her one more time, to ease her pain. But, there was no point. He would only hurt her more if he did so. It was too late for him. It always was the moment his mother died when he was fourteen.

He just wished he knew it then.

"Leave Mist," Chris insisted. "Leave before the demons find you."

Mist breathed deeply, regaining her Valkyrie control. Her eyes pierced him. "I'm not afraid of demons, Chris. Even this different version should know that."

"It's not the demons I fear."

"I'm not afraid of him either."

"You should be," Chris warned. "He won't be merciful if he finds you here, Mist."

"Like he was merciful with Bianca?"

Chris' heart seizure in his ribcage. He swallowed with some difficulty. "That wasn't his mercy. That was mine."

"If you think Wyatt would let you hold that amount of power, you are wrong," Mist argued. "He'll kill her and anyone else he deems as enemies to his empire the moment he has the chance."

Chris shook his head violently, refusing to listen. "No…we made a deal. He swore he wouldn't—"

"And his promises hold worth, do they?"

Chris didn't speak. He simply stayed silent. Mist shook her head, distraught at the breaking of their friendship. "Why are you doing this Chris?" she asked. "Why are you letting yourself fall?"

"I-I don't have a choice."

Mist shook her head again. "That's not true. You always have a choice."

"Maybe I did at one point," Chris admitted, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "But, it's too late for me to do any much good. I'll always pick the good side, Mist. You know me. But… I cannot help you on your path. I cannot save everyone. I'm no hero. I never was."

Chris glanced around, spying that the battle was slowing drawing to a close. He looked back to Mist, hurt to see that the tears still ran down her face. "You need to go, Mist. Please! I'll still protect you as much as I can from Wyatt and his demons. But you must leave now."

"Not without you," Mist argued.

"Without me," Chris stated, strongly. "Be the hero the people need. Be that person I can never be. Okay? Just… be the friend I remember on Valhalla."

Mist's face crumbled, her arms cradling her chest. "Chris…"

Chris backed away, turning as to not look at her despaired face. He breathed heavily, forcing himself to keep walking. To not turn back. He cannot look back, despite her pleas.

"CHRIS! CHRIS! Please don't do this!" Mist called out to him. "Chris… please don't leave me!"

Breathing became harder. His pace quickened to the point he almost sprinted away. Soon, Mist's voice faded into the rumbling sounds of the leftover destruction. Demons captured a few resisting fighters, all forced on their knees. Lucian spotted Chris immediately.

"We rounded up only the more violent fighters, my Lord," Lucian said. "Where would you like us to do with them?"

"Send them to the nearest jail," Chris said. "Let the law decide their fate."

Lucian clearly rejected that plan, but Chris knew he wouldn't dare challenge him. He bowed and started barking at the other demons. Soon, the demons yanked the prisoners to their feet and dragged them away. A few of the prisoners glared in Chris' direction. One even tried to spit on him, but he was too far away to actually land a hit. One of the demon guards prepared to pulverize the prisoner, but Chris waved his hand to let it go.

Boston fell back under control and Chris knew Wyatt would be somewhat pleased and displeased. Chris didn't care too much about his brother's feelings about what happened in Boston. He was too caught up with his own to worry about Wyatt.

Seeing Mist again…it brought another dose of heartache again. And, hearing about Patty only crippled him even more. He cannot take another death. Henry Jr. was dead. Patty's dead. And, now Chris was hundred percent sure Hannah was dead as well. He doesn't know why he didn't feel her death like they did with Henry, but Chris was certain she was dead.

Once everything was cleared, Chris orbed back to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head in his hands, fingers gripping his scalp.

Mist was wrong. He was no hero. No savior.

He held no light or hope. Just darkness and suffering.

He should know best after all. He had experienced it every single day his entire life.

Nothing good came out of his life. And, if he did find a little bit of goodness, it was snatched away so quickly that it was almost like he never had it at all.

No, he was right to leave Mist behind. He's not the hope the people need.

He never was.


Mist watched Chris turn his back on her, on everything they once stood for. She never expected to see Chris Halliwell give up on everything he ever stood for. And, Patty—she believed Chris to be the one person to make everything right. On her deathbed, she declared Chris as the savior, stating over and over again that Chris needed to live. No matter the cost.

Yet, after what Mist just witnessed, she could not see how. Chris surrendered. He gave up. He let go of everything and everyone. Patty must have been mistaken. Her premonition wrong. But, how often were here premonitions wrong? Everything Patty saw came to pass. The attack on her house. Chris' first death. Attack on Magic School. The fall of Valhalla. Chris' second death. They all occurred. And, Patty was so sure that Chris was the savior. That he would save the world and everyone's lives. Her last words were of her declaring Chris to be the person who would save them all.

Patty couldn't be wrong, unless… the future changed since then.

It was possible for many futures to occur. Perhaps, Patty saw that one particular future before she died, but Chris fell off that path. A new future laid ahead. One much darker than Patty predicted.

Mist wiped her eyes again as she stumbled her way down Boston's streets, dodging the demons that still lurked in hopes to snatch another fighter. She wiped her eyes again, unable to stop crying.

"Miss Excuse me, Miss?"

Mist jumped at someone calling her by such title.

She looked up to see a woman around her age standing before her, looking concerned. "Are you okay?"

Mist's body involuntarily shook. "No," she answered. "No I'm not."

The woman took out a handkerchief, passing it to Mist. "Here. Wipe away those tears from those pretty eyes," she said to Mist.

Mist stared suspiciously at the cloth before accepting it and dabbed her eyes. "Thank you."

"No problem," the woman smiled. "Are you hurt?"

Mist shook her head. "No…but I am in pain."

"From what?"

"From a broken heart."

The woman looked gravely at her. She stretched her hand out and patted Mist comfortably on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Mist was surprised that she let this complete stranger get close to her. She knew better to never let a stranger get close enough to attack you. But, she felt warmer, comfortable within this woman's presence. As if she understood what she was feeling. The betrayal. The brokenness inside.

The woman's long blonde hair was knotted in a bun, eyes bright, but dark as well. Like most people who live in this world. There were no more innocence in this world.

Mist dabbed her eyes again, hoping that she wiped away all the tears. "I'm so sorry," Mist apologized. "I'm usually not emotional."

"It happens far more often than you think," the stranger replied. "But, you shouldn't worry about that anymore. Your broken heart won't hurt much longer."

Mist hoped she was right. She cannot lead a Resistance team in this state. Chris—her Chris—wouldn't want her to be in this state. He would tell her to stay strong. To hold onto that hope and keep fighting to the greater good. To keep fighting for everything that was worth living for. And, she will. If not for everyone supporting her, then at least for Chris and the others that didn't survive to this point.

She'll stay strong and fight for them. In their honor.

Mist passed back the handkerchief. "Thank you," she said, grateful. "It's nice to know compassion has yet died amongst strangers."

The woman accepted the handkerchief, pinching it between two fingers. "Of course."

Mist brushed her hair out of her face, looking back to the stranger in better view. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name."

The woman's lips peeled back into a tight smile, which slightly unnerved Mist. "I never said," she replied. "but, if you must know, my name is Caroline."

Caroline. Mist has heard that name before. She thought back, thinking where she heard it. She thought Bianca said the name to her. A Caroline who was an empath…

Mist about to inquire more when she felt something cold slide into her throat. She gasped, attempting to cry out, but all that came out was a gurgling noise. Blood rushed into her throat, filling her lungs and drowning her insides.

Mist's eyes rolled from Caroline's smug smile to the hand that had once padded her shoulder in comfort. In her hand was a small athame blade. Small enough to tuck inside her palm.

Choking on blood, Mist tried to grab Caroline's hand, but the empath only dug the athame deeper into her throat.

"Silly, silly girl," Caroline mocked Mist. "So lost in your love and sadness to see the threat in front of you."

Caroline yanked the athame out of her throat and kicked Mist in the stomach. Mist stumbled and fell onto the street, blood trailing out of the gaping wound and coating her neck. Caroline approached Mist's fallen form, standing victorious over the struggling Valkyrie. "Did you really think you could lure Chris back? That his love for you is stronger than his love for his brother?"

Yes, Mist thought or at least hoped.

Caroline snickered at Mist's dying breaths. "You're a pretty thing, but you were never going to have Halliwell's love," she mocked her. "Even if you did, he would never have been yours. He's not your future. He's mine."

Mist glared at Caroline, wishing nothing but to kick her ass. But, alas, she left clinging to life as much. Her only thought was on Chris. She reached for him, lips moving.

"C-Chr…Chris," She gurgled through the blood. "C-Chris…"

Caroline huffed and shook her head. "He's long gone, sweetie," she replied. "He's back where he belongs."

Mist closed her eyes. She pictured Chris. Her sweet, brave Chris who always wore Feeny's old leather jacket and smiled brightly at the littlest things. "Chris…" Mist choked.

Caroline wrinkled her nose, disgusted at the pleas for Chris. She twirled the athame in her fingers, no longer enjoying the slow death that she thought she would enjoy. She took a knee and with another twirl, plunged the athame into Mist's heart.

Mist's lips parted once more, the ghost of a name on the tip before her eyes rolled back and her chest heaved. Her whole body stilled. She was dead.

Pleased, Caroline wiped the blood off her athame and strode away from Mist's bleeding corpse. She walked a few extra blocks until she met up with Matt, who was speaking with Lucian and other demons to get the full report.

When Matt spotted her, Caroline marched up to him. Matt forgone pleasantries. "Is it done?"

"Yes," Caroline replied. "Her blood runs the streets."

Matt bowed his head in approval. "Good. Wyatt wants us to eliminate as many Resistance members as possible. Without Chris knowing."

"There were no witnesses."

Matt appraised her, an eyebrow arched. "There's something else."

Caroline frowned. "I never realized you were an empath yourself, Matthew."

Matt scowled. "I'm not, but that doesn't mean you're good at hiding your own emotions," he commented. "You're agitated. Something happened?"

Caroline turned, her nose scrunched in disgust as she thought of Mist. "She loved him," she whispered. "She loved Chris…even after he broke her heart. Even when she was dying, she still loved him."

Matt snorted, locking his arms behind his back. "Well, look on the bright side, Caroline," he offered. "You eliminate one more competitor for Chris' affection."

"Yes, I know," Caroline said, softly. Then she spun around, her eyes dark. "That leaves me with one other person."

Matt tilted his head, knowing exactly who she was referring to. "Well, good luck with her," he said. "I heard that the tracker demons are having a hard time staying up with her."

"I'm not afraid of Bianca," Caroline scoffed at Matt's credit to the traitorous witch. "She's just like that stupid Valkyrie. Alone and brokenhearted. She'll be easy to conquer and kill. Just like that dead Valkyrie."

A smirk tugged on the corners of Matt's mouth. "Perhaps," he said, wondering. He grabbed a few folders from the makeshift office they made during the siege of Boston. "I must report back to Wyatt. He'll want to know everything that has happened before he speaks with Chris. I pray you stay on your best behavior here?"

"Bite me, Matt," Caroline snipped in return.

"I'd rather you didn't."

And, then Matt blinked out of view, returning to Wyatt. Caroline slouched on one of the accommodating couches, resting her tired body. Her day was eventful. She had fought in the North End of Boston, turning protestors against each other when she received orders from Matt on Wyatt's behalf to eliminate the Resistance leader. It wasn't too hard to find the leader. Caroline recognized Mist from the files they had at the home office. She knew exactly who she was looking for and was grateful when Mist stumbled into her.

It was all too perfect. Mist was dead. Bianca was next.

Soon, Chris will only have her left to love.