[Revised]

His name thumped inside Zara's head, in time with her heart.

Son of Fernando Rubair, owner of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in America. Student at Cornwell High. She connected the dots: the Butterfly was a drug, Maximilian went to her school, and now he wanted her head.

Zara walked along the empty sidewalk on automatic pilot, the awareness of her surroundings diminishing as she focused on the storm raging within. She didn't care for drugs, never did, never would. But one of her friends did since they had been desperate enough to steal from a pharmaceutical giant. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

How?

The whirlpool of her emotions spun frantically around that one word.

Was it worth it?

Of course not. Now they would all be persecuted until they either returned what they had stolen, or their heads were all on pikes and lining the entrance of the company's headquarters; a warning to all. But what would be the right thing to do? Pointing fingers, or take on the responsibility of finding the real culprit?

A sudden, horrible thought wiggled its way into the back of her mind.

What if the Butterfly...was in that house we just robbed?

Saffron hadn't gone into the specifics of the guy's place of employment, but the essentials were there. Vincent was a researcher at a pharmaceutical company. There were dozens of those in the state alone, but what was the probability that his employment was at the company? Then again, why would he keep highly-classified prototypes in his bathroom cabinet? 

Zara's stomach lurched once, twice, then all its contents were spewed against a wall. She clutched her stomach as she hurled a second time, then sucked her teeth as she leaned heavily against the building to recover her breath. The acrid smell of stomach fluids and that evening's fast-food remnants hung in the cold air, an ending worse to the start of the day. At least she managed not to get any of it on her shoes or clothing; she spat onto the floor to eliminate most of the bad taste, then started walking again, more slowly and less confidently this time.

I need to stop thinking about this. I'll sleep on it and hope that the night brings counsel.

In an effort to distract herself, Zara rummaged through the front pocket of her hoodie and pulled out her cellphone. She brought it to life, frowning when she saw the battery symbol flash red. She had about five minutes to check the log for any missed calls from her grandfather before it died. Why wasn't anything working out for her?

She jabbed the keypad with her thumb as she speed-scrolled through the 'missed calls' section of the log. Nothing, Nada, Zilch. Not even a "Where are you?" text asking where the hell she was at two in the morning. Since when did Simon not spam her phone?

A despairing feeling of loneliness slowly began to settle into her bones, like forlorn waves oozing upon the seashore after a ravaging storm. Not even a single message from her friends, wondering whether she had gotten home in one piece. She really could have died up there, on the roof that building, and nobody would've cared.

Not her grandfather, not her friends.

Her hand went limp after pocketing her phone. What energy remained trickled out of every pore of Zara's body as she continued to direct herself towards seemingly nowhere. That's when her eyes caught a neon sign, flickering the logo in ubiquitous lights tinted green, orange, and blue. She squinted, shielding her face with her hand.

Joe's groceries, open 24/7.

Grim thoughts still weighing heavily on her shoulders, Zara dragged herself up to the sign, taking a closer look to ensure that it wasn't a hallucination. She smiled. If her memory didn't fail her, the apartment was only two blocks away.

She covered the remaining distance in long strides and jogged up the front stairs. Relief washing over her, Zara leaned against a wall and took a deep breath, allowing herself to slide downwards until she was sitting with her knees up to her chest. Finally, she was home. She lifted her hands and patted her face, happy that she was still in one piece, and more importantly, sane. The recent events were abnormal enough to send anyone to the local mental asylum.

Zara watched from the shadows as a group of drunken teenagers lumbered down the opposite side of the road. They talked loudly and laughed louder, the only splash of youthful life in a neighbourhood beaten and battered by decades of poverty. Zara found herself relating more than she should've to them—behind closed doors lay problems too big for any adolescent to handle, but in public those were washed away by cheap alcohol and clamorous voices

Once the group was gone, she stood and brushed the seat of her pants off. Her mind already worked towards a plan of action for sneaking into the apartment—she couldn't just waltz in through the front door jangling her keys in the air, in case her grandfather actually turned out to be at home. She would have to slip into her room through the window. 

Ugh, not this again.

Another occasion where she would have to use the fire-escape ladder, twice in one night. She tried to think about it objectively as she jumped to her feet and skipped down the stairs—this was yet again the only option she had. At least no one was trying to kill her this time.

The alley on the side of the building floated into view. A moment of hesitation brought her to a halt.

"Is anyone in there?" she said in a low voice. Zara wrinkled her nose. That sounded exactly like a line from a bad horror movie.

As expected, the alley responded with silence.

When the silence remained cryptic for another full minute, Zara slowly started to make her way towards it, her confidence level rising with every step—she made it out alive once, so she could do it again. She started looking for the fire escape ladder, and to her advantage, it was already dragged down. For once she didn't have to do backflips in order to get into an apartment.

She planted her foot on the first rung, pushing it back and forth to ensure that the contraption was stable and wouldn't disintegrate under her weight. It creaked loudly, flakes of rust from the joints floating to the ground. She stared at her foot, suddenly thinking that climbing was no longer a good idea.

Then again, it was either a dangerously unstable ladder or a dangerously unstable grandfather.

Before she could further overthink things, she started to make her way upwards, stopping when she felt like the ladder would give away beneath her. It rattled violently with every step, but Zara trekked onwards, slowly lifting herself up to the platform in front of the first floor's window. A pair of curtains were tightly pulled together, blocking her vision of the apartment's interior, but she could tell that the lights were off and whoever was inside was long fast asleep. Her apartment was on the third floor, meaning that she had another two excruciating ladders to climb. Sighing, she continued to make her way upwards, the prospect of slipping into her warm bed driving her will.

After what felt like ages, Zara finally reached the platform for the third level, immediately crouching down in case her grandfather was roaming in between the rooms. She leopard-crawled up to the window, shivering when the metallic floor touched her exposed wrists, and when she reached her target she raised her hand, feeling around for the bottom rail of the lower sash. When the two connected, Zara held her breath, checking if underneath it was a channel for her hand to slip through.

Karma must've been feeling charitable at that moment because there was indeed a gap, about two inches in height. Shifting her weight onto her knees, Zara slowly began to lift the sash, using both of her hands, until she heard the metallic click which meant that it was held in place. Then, Zara stealthily crawled through, rolling across the floor to smoothen the impact.

Standing up, she went to the window and slid it downwards, blocking any more cold air from invading the room. She was suddenly submerged in a wave of tiredness as she pulled her scratchy hoodie off, and didn't think twice before kicking her shoes off and collapsing onto the bed. Zara reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, then, as an after-thought, reached into the other; thankfully the money was still there, rolled neatly and tied together with an elastic band.

I have to stash it. 

She chucked her phone onto the bedside table, then stuffed the roll of bills underneath her mattress.  Zara had a secret box for her money, but right now, it was important to get it out of sight, and in a relatively safe place. After shifting uncomfortably for a couple of minutes Zara stretched out onto the bed one last time, finally felt her eyelids grow heavier and her consciousness slowly starting to slip away.

All of a sudden, the door to her room flew open and the lights came on. 

Zara sat up with a start on her bed, and she attempted to scramble into a fighting stance, but the unexpectedness of the intruder made her miscalculate her moves, causing the blankets to entangle themselves around her arms as she fruitlessly attempted to prevent her imminent fall. She ended up in a tangle of cloth and limbs on the floor, her face heating up in embarrassment and shame, the culprit staring down at her in an icy rage. Not only had she been caught, but she had solidified her guilt by appearing like a fool in front of the man that could legally confiscate all her gadgets as well as grounding her. What an ugly word.

Great. Things can't get any worse.

"Look who decided to come home," he said, his passive-aggressive stance only enhancing his controlled rage. As he straightened, one hand still ont he light switch, he reminded her of an infuriated grizzly bear, ready to rip her arm off with a single swipe of its paw to then use it to beat her to death.

She remained frozen in her spot, blinded by the light and as shocked as he was. Zara hadn't expected him to be back, at least, not now. Later in the afternoon, tomorrow, even, but not in the morning. It was as if the bad luck from the previous day bridged into the following day as well; Zara wasn't superstitious, but she started to believe that whenever a smidgen of luck was on her side, it amplified the ensuing bad luck.

"Where the hell have you been?" He repeated bluntly, obviously struggling to keep his anger under control. This was the emotional stage where he was the most dangerous because it was impossible to tell whether it was going to escalate from there and become violent, or if it was going to calm and recede away.

Zara attempted to swallow the lump in her throat, sitting up with her blankets wrapped around her waist, she looked up at him, her eyes glowing with boldness."Out," she replied, her voice shakier than she had hoped. Her grandfather dropped his hand to one side and curled it into a fist.

"Out," He mimicked, chuckling sarcastically, "Where have you been?" He limped up to her and grabbed the hoodie off from the bed. His face scrunched up with disgust.

After selling off the goods at the pawn shop, Zara, and the gang, had celebrated with a couple of drinks and weed—this tiny detail had escaped her mind as she watched her grandfather gag and bring the hoodie away from his face. His green eyes narrowed into slits as they scanned it. "Jesus Christ. Who's is this? This isn't even yours!"

"My friend Orion made me borrow it because it was cold outside..." Zara began, but her grandfather cut her off almost immediately.

"Have you been smoking weed? Have you been fucking smoking?" He asked, half-whispering, half-yelling.

"No! You know I don't smoke, I'm better than that!" She lied; Zara did smoke a joint every once in a while, but not when she knew that she had to walk home late at night. Simon leaned in and inspected her eyes with his own, but didn't see anything out of the norm. Good thing her eyes didn't grow red after she cried. 

"You know what time it is?" He asked after a snort, limping over to the alarm clock and snatching it from the bedside table. "Five o'clock in the morning. What curfew have we established?"

"I know, grandpa, but I have a good reason..."Simon flipped around, cutting her off with his renewed hostility. His hand clamped the clock so tightly, she thought he was going to disintegrate it.

"What's your damn curfew, Zara?"

"Eleven o'clock, no later," Zara said robotically, almost rolling her eyes. She knew that he wouldn't lay a finger on her, but that didn't mean she was ready to push that boundary.

"And what time is it right now?" He asked for the millionth time, breathing through flared nostrils.

"I dont know...four o'clock?" Her eyes darted to the alarm clock, confirming her answer. 

"Have you been drinking?" Gosh, he was on repeat like a broken record disk.

"No..."

"Stop goddamn lying to me, Zara. You reek of alcohol!" Simon thundered again, smashing the alarm clock on the table and limping away from it, heavily leaning on his cane. He had a deformed leg—Zara didn't know whether it came from an accident or was simply a birth defect—which he lugged around like a ball and chain.

Zara stood up and placed the blankets in a pile on the bed. He didn't know the half of it.

"How did you get home?" He asked, the volume of his voice lowering. He passed a hand through his silvery hair, the bags under his eyes suddenly becoming more evident. Simon really must've stayed up all night to wait for her. She looked down at her feet, knitting her fingers together.

"I walked."

"Walked? Walked?! You know how dangerous it is at this time of night? You could've gotten kidnapped! Or someone could've killed you," Anger gave way to worry as his eyes drilled into her forehead, "I can't believe this. How could I allow this to happen? I am such an idiot," He leaned against the wall, his tall frame folding onto itself. "Why didn't you answer me?" He said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

He had to be joking.

"Why didn't I answer you? Stop acting as if you cared about me, grandpa. You didn't call me once. Didn't even bother sending me a text asking if I was okay. It literally takes two seconds of your precious time," It was Zara's turn to scream now, her voice shrill even to her own ears.

He was being a hypocrite. He couldn't go around imposing rules when he didn't follow them himself! Simon's eyes widened and he pushed himself off the wall.

"What did you say?" He took a step towards her, hostility wrapping itself around him again.

"Why didn't you call me? Where have you been for the past two days?" He had disappeared on Thursday morning and only now decided to show up; she had to prove him wrong. She picked up her phone from the bedside table and jabbed the keypad, hoping to revive it from its temporary slumber. When it failed her yet again Zara pursed her lips together and placed it back on the table. "It's dead right now, but I have proof that you didn't call me, not even once, because you fucking disappeared!" 

Simon gave her the look. "Give me the phone, Zara." He ordered without breaking eye contact.

"W-Why? W-what?" Zara's voice cracked halfway through the word. She couldn't allow him to get his hands on her phone, not now, when she would need it the most, and not when he was dodging her questions like bullets. 

"You're grounded. No cellphone for a week. Now hand it over without complaining, or I'll be forced to make your sentence more unbearable," Simon stretched his arm out, his hand motioning her to give it in.

"It's not fair! You don't understand what I had to go through in order to get home! You have no right to do this to me!" 

"What you had to go through?" He laughed dryly, tilting his head back, "Sweetheart, you have no idea. I suggest you give it to me now. My patience is running out."

"No!" Zara retaliated, holding the phone to her chest like her life depended on it.

"Very well," Simon said, slowly nodding his head in apparent comprehension. He reached out to Zara's desk and tore the laptop from its charger, putting it under his arm and walking towards the door, his mouth set in a thin line. Zara stared at his back vehemently, unsure of how to react. When he reached the exit of her room, he stopped, and without turning around he said grimly, "You're not allowed to leave the house except for school and work, for the entirety of a month. I'm very disappointed in you, Zara."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Zara shocked and confused in the centre of her claustrophobic room. 

-:-