"We're here," Mason announced, shutting off the Ford's engine. I glared around the parking lot, overlooking the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts. It dawned on me, as we stepped out of the car to cross the street, that I'd never actually been to the Upper East Side.

"Wow," I forced out light-heartedly, as Mason and I neared the stop light. "I suddenly have a massive urge to cry in poor."

Crossing the road, we found ourselves treading onto the patterned walkway, two disheveled figures in a sea of young bodies, milling about, like ants all over a stone dart board. As we passed building after building, my eyes followed the gargantuan shadows they cast to the fountain in the center of the plaza. Revson, the plaque resting under pumping jets of water read. A couple of college kids were standing near it, laughing and talking amongst themselves. I found myself wishing I'd taken a shower and changed before coming here.

"Yep, told you your boy was loaded," Mason said, his eyes trained on a blonde girl in the group. His eyebrows shot up at the Nirvana hoodie peeking through her lavender coat.

"Still can't believe he goes to frickin' Juilliard."

The news came as yet another blow to my already fragile heart. After Mason and I wasted the entire morning freaking out, and stalking Logan's demolished workplace, we were faced with the possibility that we wouldn't find him. Not on our own at least.

"We are not calling Kevin," Mason had proclaimed decisively, leaning against a street light. We stood across the street overlooking the charred ruins of club Paradise, frustrated and tired, ready to scream at the top of our lungs. "The last thing I need are his self-righteous punishments. I can't afford any more of those."

It was hard to miss the way his amber eyes lingered on his left wrist, tucked in the sleeve of his leather jacket.

"I didn't say that we should call him. I said that we should call help."

I had never been so thankful for the fact that I'd memorized some of the emergency contacts Kevin kept in his office desk. We called several people, both in the fire department and the paramedics involved in the 'Paradise' fiasco last night. No one was willing to help, not without Kevin's express request, especially when they learned Mason was involved.

"What?" I shrugged at him after I'd hung up the phone. That was the fourth person we'd called in the last hour. "You don't exactly have a good track record with any of Kevin's contacts. And at this point, they know that the only reason I would call them is to get you out of trouble."

Mason huffed, pouting his lips.

"Whatever," he proclaimed with deceptive indifference. My eyes immediately darted to his shaky fingers tapping against his leg.

I sighed and glanced at the phone's clock.

12:26 pm. Exactly three hours before Adrianne Litchfield was set to die.

-We're running out of time.

I set to calling again, and we finally caught a break. After a lot of back and forth a contact Kevin had in the Brooklyn Heights Police Department finally agreed to help. Though Sargent Frank (Grumpy Frank, to Lilian and Mason) wasn't too keen on doing me favors without the Almighty's blessings, he'd agreed to give me at least some info about Logan. A painful, hour and a half long trip to Manhattan later and we found ourselves heading toward the student housing complex near Julliard's campus.

Mason wasted no time when we reached the entrance of the small, five-story building Logan had called home. Shrugging out of his jacket to reveal a striped black and green sweater, he grabbed an empty pizza box from a nearby trash can and buzzed the intercom. Remembering the drill, I ducked out of the way, to hide from the camera posted above the entrance.

It was on the second try that he managed to convince someone to open the door.

Rushing into the dilapidated building hallway, we skipped steps to the second floor and stopped outside the apartment marked with the number 413.

Before we even got to the door, a bang echoed from inside.

My stomach churned, and I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. I could have sworn I could smell the stench of smoke and burned meat permeating the hallway.

"Gotcha," Mason murmured under his breath and turned to face me.

"Remember the plan?"

I inhaled, and dug into my coat pocket, tracing the syringe with my quivering fingers. I could feel the tranquilizer liquid in it heating up. Or maybe that was just my nervous skin.

"Yeah, grab him and stick him before he runs, got it," I spat, and instantly felt my skin shudder in protest.

"What?" Mason prodded, crossing his arms on his chest.

"It's just... can't we talk to him first? Get him to see reason?"

"How did that work out for you the last time?" He snickered, his lips tightening into a firm, white line. "Talking is not gonna work now. You saw that. Besides, I don't have time to wait around for you to try and baby him back to his senses."

My thoughts immediately drifted to the last time I glanced at the car radio clock before we left for the plaza.

2:02 am.

I exhaled and nodded in defeat. This was for Logan's own good, not just Mason's.

-Awesome. Now I just have to stop feeling crappy about it.

He tried the doorknob softly, but when he realized it was locked, he knelt on the 'welcome' mat and pulled out some lock picks from his back pocket.

Another loud bang echoed from inside, followed by something which sounded like muffled growling.

-Jesus, what's he doing? Is he freaking out again?

I could envision Logan in there, going ballistic on the furniture, the same darkness I saw overflowing in his sad eyes, once again consuming his mind.

-He won't hurt us.

I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling thick, sour blood slither across my tongue. I wondered if the Kowalskis had thought the same before cold, ashen hands dealt them their end.

Mason shook his head, as if to shrug the distraction off, and continued to work on the lock with steady hands. The noise was growing louder and louder, and I prayed none of the neighbors were around to notice the commotion.

"C'mon, Mason, hurry," I urged, tapping my foot.

"I'm going as fast as I can. This ain't..." his words died on his lips when the front door abruptly swung open with a loud crash.

The scent of smoke and charred meat washed over me, and I nearly fell backward in surprise.

"Get up," A voice from the darkness hissed.

I tensed as a black figure stepped closer to the apartment entrance. The hallway light illuminated him enough for me to discern his narrow shoulders and the gleam of the chain belt hanging loosely around his hips.

His face was hidden behind a blanket of sticky, tar black hair, yet his eyes still managed to peak through the strands.

His eyes.

Two lost planets, two eclipsed moons, so wide they were all I could see. Eyes so like Logan's, yet not.

For Logan's eyes, as dark as they became, were still a foggy blue, that blended in with the gray of his whites.

These eyes were a harsh nut brown, poisoned by the sticky blackness of fear.

And they were staring at us over the barrel of a shotgun.

* * *

Guess who's back? Back again?
Yep, we are back with the first update in months. This is a short one, but don't worry, the follow up is coming soon. So be sure to stick around xD.
Enjoy guys 😁

With love, Thea and Ivy 💜