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· 🙤 ꕥ •° · ︻╦デ╤━━╾ ·°• ꕥ 🙦 ·
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Realizations.
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FLARE HAS ALWAYS BEEN IMPULSIVE. One of her strongest assets, yet biggest flaws, is her tendency to let those split-second urges get the best of her. As a wise man once said, "Look before you leap," except with her, there is no looking—only leaping.
And yet, somehow, luck is always on her side. When she accidentally ignited that restaurant in 2019, she survived. When she attempted to murder Five with a screwdriver, he survived. And when she set off that grenade only an inch between their faces, they both survived. Even back then, throughout her entire five years of being on the run, she survived.
Despite everything, she survived. It all managed to work out in her favor.
In the back of her mind, however, she wonders. Would that still be the case? How long can she continue this pattern of recklessness until it catches up to her? It is only a matter of time before her actions put her in the ground.
A cat has nine lives, and Flare certainly isn't a cat. If anything, she is more like a very clumsy, rabid dog—fierce and inept, but brutal. She only has one life to live, so, she should be careful with it. Cherish it.
Five, on the other hand, is far more similar to a cat. He's calculated, nimble, and—hell—he's mysterious. He has escaped death numerous times, and whenever Flare gazes into his eyes, she sees a boy who has lived one too many lifetimes.
She shakes her head. Now is not the time to be thinking about Five.
When the Hargreeves siblings tracked down Harold Jenkins after discovering his false name, Leonard Peabody, they found him lifeless in a pool of his own blood, with dozens of knives lodged into his torso.
The crime scene was bizarre. Everything appeared untouched. There was no sign of a struggle, despite the violent manner in which he died. The only place they found blood was beneath his body, as if the man had laid still for someone to stab each blade into him. It felt very, very odd.
The eye belonged to him. Flare checked. That meant Harold Jenkins was indeed the cause of the apocalypse. With him dead, the possibilities of doomsday were eliminated. In a strangely anticlimactic way, Flare's biggest problem had been solved, and she didn't even need to get her hands dirty. She should be celebrating.
But something doesn't feel right.
Yes, the apocalypse has been stopped, but the little paranoid voice in the back of her mind can't stop screaming. No matter how many times she tries to shake it off, it persists. Something is about to go wrong. She can almost sense it. This end feels too easy.
Since it's late in the evening, the café remains rather empty. Flare sits at a cozy booth in the corner with a warm latte in her hands. Her eyes are trained on the seat in front of her, completely zoned out as she sips the drink.
Where is Five right now? Surely the end of the apocalypse wouldn't suddenly cause the Commission to lose interest in her—much less the boy himself.
If anything, wouldn't that give them a reason to capture her by force now? She just stopped a major event from happening. Surely they would send an army to retrieve her before she does any more damage to the timeline.
Something is very wrong. The Commission still has eyes on her—they have no reason not to. That must mean the timeline hasn't changed. If they haven't intervened, then 2019's course is still charted for doomsday.
Is that even possible?
No, Flare tells herself.
No way her mission failed. Harold Jenkins is dead—the man behind the apocalypse had his plans foiled, whatever they were.
Her mind goes back to the conversation with Five in the restaurant. He had said something about the eye; that if she discovered its owner's identity, it wouldn't change what's to come.
That should be a sign, right? Although, he could have been lying just to throw her off. It would make sense. The boy really wanted her to join The Commission, and she almost did.
Pushed far back into the deepest corners of her mind, Flare knows she nearly made a mistake. An irredeemable one. She had been so close to taking him up on his offer and abandoning her purpose. That kind of fickle behavior . . . it's becoming more of an issue. Usually, the girl's hastiness is merely an inconvenience to others, but this time, it nearly caused her own downfall.
She always believes her choices are made by her head, not her heart. But looking back, that isn't true in the slightest, is it?
That's what scares Flare the most. The fact that her own impulses nearly got the best of her. Perhaps, without realizing it, she's thought of herself as invincible—as someone who could just wing it, hope for the best, and have everything work out in the end.
The problem is, nothing in life comes easily, and it would be idiotic to think so. Especially something as big as saving the world. A memory flashes across her mind.
"Learning the identity of the eye's original owner wouldn't have changed what's to come," Five said, "but to answer your question, yes, it does belong to someone involved in the apocalypse."
How could she be so oblivious to the most important piece of information he accidentally let slip?
Flare slams her cup onto the table. She slides out of the seat hurriedly and books it out of the café, not giving a damn about the crowd of confused customers watching her go.
She needs to find the Hargreeves siblings, and fast.
