She dwelled in a world of black and white.
A world where her vision was welcome, enhancing and refining the wispy smoke she remembered for all those years. What once had taken great concentration now came to her with ease.
The one gift, the one blessing this destruction had given her.
And Faine was going to use it to end him.
The first floor was surprisingly empty. Everywhere and nowhere, Faine spread out the very essence of her mind, casting a wide net over the entire bottom floor. What she could see were rooms filled with filing cabinets and computers, a desk near the front similar to the Compound.
A woman typing at the desk paused for a moment, wrinkling her nose. Before Faine could pull her energy back, the woman simply sneezed and went back to her job.
Relief flooded Faine, so she continued. She felt a secured bottom floor with a wide expanse of space stretching out. A training room. Weapons lined the walls, a few people sparing beneath her with javelins. Despite how archaic it seemed, she supposed it was best to fight someone with long range training, considering her specialty was close quarters.
She couldn't assume they weren't taught everything.
Without disturbing the peace, Faine drifted through the silhouettes and shadows, slipping through one of the corridors and finding her way onto the second floor.
She swallowed uncomfortably at what she saw.
"All personnel are to be briefed on the current situation," droned a monotone woman. "The High Court of Mithlis have yet to make a decision on the loss of Trace's whereabouts. Naisene's efforts to dissuade their concerns and the surviving captive have acted as useful distractions."
Faine's throat tightened, her heart sinking into her gut as she eyed the twenty Guard's watching this woman at the front of the room.
They'd been a distraction. Naisene, her life, the explosion. They had all been distractions.
The High Court and the Royal Guard haven't made a move, with false evidence lining their desks.
She felt like she was going to be sick.
"Mt. Signet is to be emptied within four days, before the detonation levels the entire building. The new facility has been prepared and all high-level personnel are to be escorted off the premises by sundown tomorrow."
Faine shuddered, her heart hammering. She felt the cold sweats threatening to consume her, but without the time or the resources she knew she only had one option.
Master herself.
Master her thoughts and fears so she could take down Trace before the building was demolished.
"You may report to your scheduled shifts," she said again, disinterested in the situation. "You're dismissed."
She was running out of time.
Faine pivoted away from the crowd before her and followed a group of men up to the next floor, hoping to catch any information on Trace's whereabouts.
They mostly muttered amongst themselves about the hour of the night and how hungry they were. One of them mentioned how the recess given to eat only lasted twenty minutes and depleted more than it helped. Another resorted to half baked insults about pride.
Emptying out into the third floor, Faine hid in the shadow of a vase as everyone dispersed.
When no one stood in the hall length room, she manifested in its center. The space was narrow and fitted to lead straight back into a large oak door. Flaming sconces lit either side, crafting a welcoming atmosphere in spite of the facility.
Faine drifted down the hall, carefully listening for footsteps and breathing. No one made a sound within the space, both sides of the door still.
Quietly, she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her. The room was small, yet empty, with nothing more than a large desk in the center. A candle lit the desk through the dark, illuminating a few pages left spread out. Keeping her steps soft, she maneuvered around the desk and peeked at the first piece of paper.
A contract with five signatures.
One of them, Trace Vanderson.
Another, Quinn Minhart.
The air left the room as soon as her eyes laid upon the name of her mentor. Her Captain. The woman who spent three tireless years training Faine after the loss of her parents and who coaxed her into the arms of Naisene.
A board member, a savior.
Now a traitor.
Faine didn't know if her heart was going to give out when the sound of boots hit the ground, tracking down the hall.
She only had a few seconds to will herself into the shadows of a desk plant, the page fluttering away from the force of her moving finger.
As the door opened, the candle sputtered and died, revealing a blonde man in uniform. He glanced back and forth once, then twice before deciding to shut the door again and return to a post Faine must've missed.
When she reappeared, a tear streaked down her face.
Faine rubbed her cheek with the back of her arm and tried to swallow back the stinging betrayal.
The page beneath the contract was a list of demands entailing just how Naisene would aid in the destruction of the Crimion Compound and why the attack was necessary. Trace had been methodical, his notes detailed and organized.
A newspaper clip of Faine in the hospital sealed her fate.
She grappled for the potted succulent on his desk and puked inside, praying the sound didn't carry. The proof was damning, solid and concrete evidence just as her friends had asked for. But it was too late.
She was alone.
They would not come for her now.
Faine folded both the contract and the outline, tucking them into her pants and pacing out of the office.
Too much.
This was simply too much.
She didn't have enough time.
Losing track of herself, Faine shut the door behind her and jogged back into the open atrium, almost knocking into one of the side tables.
The screaming in her mind begged her to flee, tearing her down the middle with thoughts of revenge and failure. She knew she was too late, knowing how deep she'd fallen into this mess. Whether or not she made it out of the building alive, they would demolish it by the time the High Court believed her enough to send aid. Naisene would win if she retreated now.
If this was his office, Faine only had to check the fourth and fifth floors now.
Then this would all be over.
All she needed to do now was find the stairway.
"Who are you?" a man demanded behind her, interrupting her manic thoughts.
Faine whipped around to see the blonde male from earlier sneering at her. He reached back, a hand hovering inches away from his baton.
"You shouldn't be up here," he growled, now palming the weapon. "But you already knew that."
Instead of fear, calm flushed through her system. Slowly, Faine loosened her shoulders and raked her eyes over his muscular frame. Speed would be her best weapon, perhaps even magic.
The Guard made to strike, lunging straight for her with impressive speed. She dodged the blow and swung to the side, kicking him in the head and knocking him back several feet. Still standing, the officer grunted and charged again, this time yelling profane curses.
Faine dropped onto one knee and slammed her elbow straight into his ribcage, disappearing into smoke as he slammed the baton downward.
His anger rattled the room as the weapon sailed straight through her.
When she materialized behind him, the Guard landed his first blow, headbutting her in the chin. The force sent her stumbling back, but she persisted.
Faine felt her training kick in as she ducked his next attack. The muscle memory coursed through her veins in a steady flow of movements.
Dodge, duck, parry.
Parry, dodge, strike.
With brutal efficiency she dismantled his upper hand, forcing the man to kneel before her with a grip on his throat. Every ounce of rage threatened to consume her as she stared down at the officer, his fear almost palpable.
She didn't want to be like them.
She couldn't be like them.
Faine kneed him in the sternum and grabbed his nose until consciousness fled, dropping the Guard on the floor.
Only one man would die tonight.
A monster given flesh.
A villain without cause.
Tonight, Faine would steal from the soulless and make each wrong, right.