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Chapter 6

“Soarin?” Spitfire hissed, careful not to wake anypony in adjacent rooms. “Pssst! Soarin!”

Spitfire was standing just in front of his bed, where she had stood less than half an hour previously. Only this time, the door was wide open, and she was focussed and slightly terrified, as opposed to just straight up confused.

Lying in bed, fast asleep, was the stallion in question, as unaware as before of his crush’s presence. He was still in exactly the same position as he had been some twenty-five minutes previously, his cheeks still dusted with red and his lips still parted a little as if still in search of her own. Spitfire might have considered it sweet, if she wasn’t panicking far too much to notice something so trivial.

“Soarin!” She pressed, jabbing his chest quite a lot harder than she intended. Stressful situations always seemed to bring out the worst in her already… patched personality.

“Hmmm… Wha?” He grunted, rolling over onto his back and tipping his head back onto his pillow, snoring loudly.

Snarling, the impatient yellow mare shook him by the shoulders violently, leaning over his prone body. “Wake up, you giant blue arsewipe!” She cried as loudly as she dared. “I think I’ve killed somepony!”

Soarin frowned, his eyes slowly creaking open as he raised his forelegs somewhat, apparently taking all the time he needed to wake up. And then some. In Spitfire’s adrenaline-fuelled eyes, he seemed to move in slow-motion, his eyes slowly focussing in a non-fussed manner as he regained consciousness.

Then, it would appear, he noticed just who was leaning rather closely over him, and just what was going on, or as best as his mind could jumble together with what little he knew.

Like a striking rattlesnake in reverse, the blue stallion scuttled away from her in a flash, his eyes the size of soup bowls ad his breathing heavy. Suddenly finding the shoulders she was holding herself up on missing, she fell down onto the bed, glaring at him.

“Wh-what’s going on? Wh-why are you- I-I… What is… Wh-what happened to your face?” Soarin stammered out, slowly, overcoming his initial terror and leaning towards her.

Spitfire had forgotten what had happened to her nose… She must have looked awful by now, it had probably swollen up like a plum stuck to her face.

“Oh- I… Nothing, it’s not important.” She said angrily, her cheeks starting to go a little red. It irritated her that he was suddenly able to do that just because they were in the same room, now. Or maybe it was because of what they had done the last time she had been in his room.

“Wh-what’s up, then?” Soarin asked, desperately trying to look casual. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

She was tempted to say the same to him, but she stopped herself. Now really wasn’t the time. “Soarin, something awful has happened, and I think I might have possibly killed somepony. You’re the only one I can trust.” For once, not one word of this was a lie. She couldn’t think of a single pony in the world that she could trust more than the upbeat blue stallion.

“Y-you might have… Wh-what?” Soarin blurted, far louder than he should have done. The blood drained from his face, and he scrambled away from her again, his eyes looking all for the world like some sort of caged animal.

“N-no look, Soar, come back!” She whispered urgently, trying to make the gravity of the situation as clear as possible. “Please!”

He looked back at her, clearly wrestling with himself internally. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t much want to help her. She should have realised that before she even approached his room. He was tired, scared, and so far as he knew, in a room with a murderer. In fact, he probably was. But then, they both knew only too well how much he wanted to trust her and side with her in every instance, and they both knew why, although they wouldn’t be telling each other any time soon.

“Spitfire, this is… Messed up…” He groaned, sidling a little closer to her.

“I know, it’s… But… You’ve got to help me, Soar.” She pleaded one last time. She knew she had his secrecy, he liked her too much to rat her out. But she was right in saying should couldn’t do all this by herself. She needed somepony, and… Well, Soarin was special.

The exhausted blue colt stared at her passionate hazel eyes for a moment, before hanging his head in submission. She’d known him long enough to understand that it was his way of agreeing to something he didn’t want to do. For some reason, he couldn’t verbally agree to something he didn’t want to do. Not one of his more endearing features, but at least he was helping.

She hopped back away from the bed as he rolled closer to her, giving the drowsy stallion plenty of room to stumble to his hooves.

“Come on, hurry!” She pressed, the urgency in her voice as clear as ever.

At last, Soarin seemed to get the message, and he nodded, still looking at her rather mistrustfully as she headed for the door. She glanced back at him, and for a brief moment, it almost looked as if he was glaring at her, in the gloom. Surely she hadn’t messed up that badly… Right?

Spitfire glanced out into the hall, making sure that nopony was around before they ventured into the brightly lit corridor, leaving them squinting as their eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Together, they hurried, like two of the world’s worst fugitives, through the well-lit hallway and back into the warm darkness of Spitfire’s room. However, the normal feeling of comfort and safety was rather lost thanks to the shadowy form lying still by the wall. Gulping, Spitfire headed over to him, Soarin trotting close behind.

If anything, the scene had actually gotten worse than it had been before. There was barely any blood on the floor, but that wasn’t due to any lack of the stuff. The thick, dark substance was caked all over the downed stallion’s mane, covering most of his face, carrying on down his chin and down onto his chest and shoulder. He looked all for the world like a prop from a poorly-made horror movie. She wasn’t averse to blood, but she couldn’t face looking at him like that. It was just a blessing that his eyes were closed.

However, Soarin didn’t seem to care about how the whole scene was somewhat distressing to her.

“Okay, look, Spit.” Soarin said, rounding on her. “I trust you, you know that better than anypony. But I don’t want any part in this without some idea of what in Equestria this guy is doing here in your room, with a busted head, and what you’re doing with a nose the size of a small pumpkin!” He yelled, steadily getting more and more irate with each passing word. By the time he was finished, he was fuming, taking deep breaths and glaring at her like he hadn’t done ever in her life.

The silence that he initiated hung over them like a dark cloud, punctuated only by the angry stallion’s ragged breaths and the small sounds made by her lips as she struggled for the right words. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to hurt him with all this. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not all of it. She couldn’t tell him that the mysterious stallion only managed to break into her room because she was crying on Fleetfoot’s shoulder, and that was only because she had the audacity to assault him in his sleep, after rejecting him when he had admitted his own love for her.

She didn’t want to tell him that all this had happened because she had fallen for him, and that was, in part at least, his fault. She wasn’t ready to tell him that. If ever she would be.

She closed her eyes as the right words found themselves, unable to look him in the eye.

“I… He tried to have his way with me, Soarin. I reacted.” She choked, barely a whisper. The words were just too horrible to comprehend. In all her days of… Prowling, of having her way with ponies all over the country, she had never been put into this sort of position… It was ghastly.

“You… He… He what?” Soarin cried, stepping toward her. “Spitfire, I… I didn’t… I’m so sorry!” He grabbed her hoof, pulling her a little toward him. He was like a new pony all of a sudden, changing faster than he could do so mid-flight.
Spitfire didn’t like physical contact she didn’t initiate. She wanted to pull away from him, and she almost did. But she stopped herself. Of all the times to push away those close to her, now wasn’t it. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked at him.

To her surprise, he was effectively on his knees, looking up at her with huge, moistened eyes that revealed a world of sadness and apology. Not even Fleetfoot could switch that quickly.

“You didn’t know, Soarin.” She breathed, trying to extricate herself from the situation. It was easier to just forgive him and move on, even though he hadn’t really wronged her.

“I-I should have realised, though…” He sobbed, staring into her eyes. “I should have thought about it, I should have… I should have been there with you!”

“Look, Soarin,” She said as gently as she was able, clasping his forehoof with her own. “you’re here now. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay…” Soarin moaned quietly, dropping his gaze. Spitfire realised that he actually looked worse off than she did at the moment.

Just how much does he feel for me? She wondered to herself. If there were ever any feelings of doubt concerning his feelings for her, they were long gone just from looking at him, utterly devastated that somepony had tried to use her. Even her heart melted at the sight.

“I-I mean, how could anypony do something like that to you!” Soarin cried, snapping Spitfire away from her thoughts.
“Soarin, stop.” She said, stepping away from him. He was starting to make her feel a little uncomfortable, even more so than the potential corpse lying sprawled out on the floor beside them.

“No!” He shouted, scowling ferociously, both at her and the body. “That’s… I… He…” He spluttered, trying to find the right words. “He deserved what he got!” He cried, throwing one foreleg up in the air.

“Soarin, you’re making this worse.” She said as firmly as she could, thumping her hoof down in front of him. “It was… I’m fine. It’s over now.”

Her stamp seemed to snap him out of his fury, and he slumped, defeated.

“Sorry, captain… I-I didn’t mean to go on like that… He just… Got my blood boiling. But… I… Guess that doesn’t matter too much now, if… Well. You’ve… You know.” He said, steadily getting more awkward as he went on. Thankfully, his newfound tactfulness stopped him before he could say ‘murder’. Not that it made much difference to her, if he was actually dead. She knew what she’d done.

“Hey, well… I don’t know if he’s actually… Y-yet, he might just be… Out. For a while.” Strangely, she found it hard to say the ‘D’ word as well. She didn’t realise she was that scared of it.

“Wait… You don’t even know if he’s alive or not?” Soarin asked, his apologetic attitude smashed as if by a hammer. “You didn’t even check?”

“W-well no, it… Skipped my mind, okay?” She snapped defensively, instantly ready to defend her poor decisions. “I had a lot going on, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“O-oh, umm… Right, yeah. Sorry.” He mumbled, hanging his head and trotting over to the prone stallion.

Feeling a little guilty inside, she followed him closely, restraining from letting her eyes wander at all. The last thing she needed after everything that had happened was an unexpected blush.

Speaking of blushing, that was another thing that she hated about Soarin. Recently, he’d started making her blush. Perhaps somepony else might not mind, indeed, it could even be a sign that she was starting to show quite a lot of affection toward the big blue colt. But that wasn’t the sort of mare that she was. She wasn’t aware that she had blushed at all in years, aside from the general rosy-cheekedness that alcohol induced. And now, here she was, like some sort of nervous bride or something.

It was change, and she really despised change at the moment.

Meanwhile, oblivious to his crush’s internal monologue, Soarin trotted briskly to the motionless stallion, kneeling close over him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t exactly look like a medical professional, but Spitfire didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“He’s still bleeding, look.” Soarin said, pointing. “That probably means he still has a pulse.” Spitfire couldn’t really decide whether or not he was talking to himself, so she decided to just leave him to it, sitting down nearby. There wasn’t much point in having both of them to do it, anyway.

In one go, Soarin held one hoof above the stallion’s face, putting his sensitive ‘palm’ as close as he could to the orange muzzle. Then, he placed his ear gently to the stallion’s chest, checking for a heartbeat. Spitfire found herself holding her own breath.

“Yeah… Yeah, he’s alive. Just unconscious.” Soarin said knowledgeably, shaking his hoof and rising. “You must have done him a number though, because he’s been out for a while. Even with that much blood, that’s unusual.”

“L-like I said, he-” Spitfire began, rising to her hooves. She was always ready to defend herself.

“And like I said, he deserved it.” Soarin said firmly, cutting her off.

“Alright, fine!” Spitfire said quickly, turning away from him. She wasn’t used to him being this dark. “I get it, okay?”

“I just wanted to let you know how much I care, Spitfire…” Soarin replied, softening a little.

“Yeah, okay, look.” She said, turning back to him. “I know you care, Soar. Like, a lot.” And a hell of a lot more than you realise, too. “But… You’re starting to creep me out just a little. Can we please just… Deal with this professionally, and never speak or thing about this horrible situation ever, ever again?”

“O-of course we can, Spit… I just… I can’t stand it when ponies don’t treat you right…” He mumbled, his whole demeanour changing. He looked almost… submissive, now. Not like the hot-blooded stallion he had been earlier. The whole way he’d been acting since she’d woken him was just… Off. He wasn’t himself. And that was a shame, because as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she probably just wanted somepony to… To… Cuddle, or something incredibly feminine and insecure like that. “I feel like I should be… getting revenge on him, or something like that. It makes my blood boil.”

“Okay, look, Soarin…” She said quietly, almost pleadingly. “Can you please just… Stop? And help me? Please?” She asked, looking at him hopefully. “I… I need you.” She continued, struggling to admit that she needed somepony else to solve a problem of her own making.

“Anything, Spitfire. Just say the word.” Soarin replied, his tone limitlessly loyal and utterly devoted. As, deep down, he always had been, and always would be. Because, deep down, he loved her.

Playing to his sympathy this much might have bothered her later, but she was simply too exhausted, stressed and slightly drunk to care at the moment. She just wanted the unconscious orange colt out of her life so she could focus on getting back the lovable blue one.

“Th-thanks, Soarin…” The yellow mare said, nodding gratefully. “Okay. We need to get him out of here… And I don’t care where. Just someplace else.”

“Anywhere?” Soarin asked, frowning at her and taking a step closer to the bleeding stallion. “Are… You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She growled in response. “You really think he’s going to try anything again? Just throw the bastard in a dumpster out back or something… He’ll come around in the morning.”

“You sure about that? You don’t know anything about-” He began, before frowning. “Wait, I’ve gotta throw him in the dumpster? What about you?”

“You’re stronger than me, Soarin… I can’t drag him all that way… And besides, you need somepony to keep an eye out for anypony that’s watching.” She said quickly, her mind already forming a plan for the two of them to make it out undetected.

“I… I guess…” He muttered, looking disgustedly at the wounded pegasus as if he were some form of roadkill.

Spitfire nodded and made her way over to the door, happy to finally discover that she could do so without any real fear of overbalancing. Apparently, she had been stressed enough in one night to sober up almost completely.

“Alright, go grab his forelegs or something, I’ll make sure the coast’s clear.” She said, in the best approximation of her captain’s voice that she could muster so early in the morning.

And so, against her better judgement, she left the disgusted blue stallion with the disgusting orange one, and stepped back out into the hallway.

It was just as bright and empty as always, just as the fiery mare expected. She glanced left, down to the end of the hall, beyond Soarin’s room. There was nopony there, just the strange feeling of endlessness that you get when you stare at a perfectly repeating pattern while ever so slightly drunk.

Shaking her head, she trotted to the stair/lift construct, peering down the spiral staircase as far as she was able to make sure that nopony was on their way up, before pressing her ear against the closed doors of the lift, trying to hear whether or not the lift was in use.

She couldn’t hear anything, so she assumed it wasn’t.

This done, she cantered over to the bend in the corridor, where Fleetfoot was currently sleeping, among others.
As she poked her head around the corner, she spotted something moving down the hall, away from her. Quick as a flash, she darted away from the corner, pressing her back against the wall and spreading out to reduce her shadow as much as possible.

The figure continued to walk away from her, so she could only assume that she hadn’t been noticed. So, holding her breath, she satisfied her curiosity and peeked out around the wall.

To her surprise, it was somepony she recognised – the stallion that had been ‘entertaining’ Fleetfoot when she had arrived at her room. He trotted confidently over to her room, apparently not wrapped in the same level of secrecy as his marefriend.

She watched, utterly without guilt, as the furtive stallion reached out and quietly knocked on her door, waiting patiently for her to open the door. As she did so, she ducked back into cover, one ear cocked toward the doorway.

“Oh, I’m ever so glad you waited,” Fleetfoot’s hushed voice drifted out from the doorway, still refusing to give the yellow mare a name to the stallion’s face. “I’m sorry we were so long.”

The stallion said something in reply, but because he was facing the other way, she could only tell that he was talking, not what he said.

“Well, I shan’t say what’s happening to her, but it has gotten her in a frightful mess… A-anyway, you’d better come inside. Somepony might see us.”

Spitfire smiled, more relieved than she had realised. She always knew she could trust Fleet with anything, but it was a peace of mind to spy on somepony until you knew they could keep a secret. It was better to think of it as insurance, rather than paranoia.

Wait, I’m spying on my best friend, because I think that she can’t keep a secret? That’s… Maybe I do have problems with emotional attachment… She thought darkly, scowling to herself. She hated it when Fleetfoot knew her better than she did.

I mean, she does have a point, now I think about it… She said, taking another quick glance at her friend’s closed door, before sitting down, her forelegs standing between her hind legs.

I mean, I guess I don’t really try and get close to ponies very often… I don’t even know some of the Wonderbolts all that well…

That, like a lot of things, reminded her of the way she frequently acted while at the training academy. Normally she was pretty tough on other ponies, but there… She was pretty awful.

None of the cadets ever really like me, until they join the team… I mean, I guess a lot of them respect me, but… They don’t like me often. I mean, the only cadet that comes to mind is… That Rainbow kid. But then, me and her have history. She saved my life, so we’re going to get vaguely chummy. She thought, one hoof resting on her chin. She was getting pretty deep in thought by now.

And… It’s the same for my friends, sometimes… I mean, I’ve always avoided telling Soarin important things and letting him get close… But why the hay would I do that? Did… I always suspect he liked me? Or was I trying to lie to myself? Pretend I didn’t feel the same way? Damn, this is complicated… I’m no psychologist… I guess it’s gonna take a while to-

“Spitfire! What are you doing?” Soarin’s voice hissed loudly to her right, and she jumped straight out of her skin, falling over sideways into the part of the hall that Fleetfoot’s colt had been a couple minutes previously.

Embarrassed by her lapse in concentration, her cheeks flushed a hot red, and she glared angrily at him. He was standing in the hallway near the stairs, staring at her in an accusing manner.

“You’ve been sitting there for ages!” He continued. “Is the coast clear or not?”

“Oh, let’s see, shall we?” She asked sarcastically, angry at herself for getting distracted. She looked to her left in an exaggerated manner, as it was pretty clear that anypony who was in that area would have seen her the moment she jumped out of cover.

“No, there’s definitely nopony here.” She said, turning back to him. Her glare hadn’t diminished.

He scowled in response, kicking at a loose thread in the carpet. “Alright, alright… I just want to get this over with… It’s giving me a horrible feeling in my gut…” He said, placing a forehoof over his stomach.

“Yeah… Sorry.” She replied awkwardly, rolling to her hooves. “Me too…”

Strangely, she actually felt okay, in that respect. Her mind had been briefly shattered at the same time as the vase did, but now she’d had a few minutes to piece herself back together, she felt somewhat fine. Like this was all rather mundane.

Perhaps it was just her confidence toward not being discovered, but it made her feel like some sort of psychopath.
Like many other confusing emotions she was feeling at the moment, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, trotting back toward him.

“Okay, quick.” She said in a hushed voice. “Go and get… You know.” She motioned with her head. “And get him down these stairs. We don’t have long.”

“Yes Captain.” Soarin said, automatically falling into ‘wonderbolt mode’ and cantering into the bedroom.

Spitfire sighed quietly as Soarin left her presence, heading to the lift and pressing her ear against it once more. From what she had guessed, there was only one place that a member of the staff could come from, and that was either the stairs or the lift. And if they had any sense, they’d take the lift.

Not that she was really expecting anypony to turn up at this time of night. Diligence to your job is one thing, but there isn’t much to clean when everypony’s locked their rooms for the night and nopony wants to be disturbed.

Then, her other ear flickered to the sound of a medium-sized stallion being dragged across thick shagpile carpet, and Soarin appeared, having fetched one of Spitfire’s curtain ties and fastened one end to each of the orange stallion’s rear hooves, before looping it around his own chest, almost like one might pull a cart.

Soarin’s ingenuity surprised her, and she nodded approvingly. In return, and apparently without thinking, he gave her an excited wink, a nervous grin stretched across his face.

Both of them found themselves blushing, looking away, and latterly coughing quietly to themselves, all in almost perfect synchronization, something which only made the already awkward situation all the worse.

“O-okay, we’d better go…” She said, breaking the silence at last. “We’re exposed out here…”

Soarin nodded, hefting the curtain tie on his shoulders and settling his plumage a little. Spitfire couldn’t help but notice that his feathers were rather ruffled, and the fur on his chest was pretty fluffed. Any pegasus could tell, as clear as day, that a pony with ruffled feathers was feeling some pretty extreme emotions. She figured that it was most likely agitation on his part, but she was sure she was playing her role in things. After all, her own wing joints felt somewhat warm and stiff at the moment, and she was well used to this sort of thing. Soarin on the other hoof, wasn’t quite so well versed in self-control. In fact, he probably-

“Wait, Spit! I just remembered something!” Soarin said in a hushed voice, his eyes wide.

Realising that she had just spent a sizeable amount of time staring at his plumage, she decided it might be best to give him her full attention.

“What is it, Soarin?” She asked, frowning.

“We’d better wrap the wound up, before he bleeds out…”

Damnit, why didn’t I think of that?

“Good point, Soar…” Spitfire mumbled, trying to hide her frustration and bitterness. “We need a bandage of some description…”

“Yeah, we could…” He said, tapping his chin impatiently. Apparently he’d forgotten how vulnerable they were right now. “What about… some of your curtains, perhaps? I’m already using the ties. Or we could rip off a bit of your blanket, or-”

“No, we can’t do that!” She cried, as loudly as she dared.

“Wh-what? Why not?” He asked, looking a little hurt. Apparently, he was quite enjoying being the one who could think of things.

“Because when the staff come and clean my room tomorrow, don’t you think they’ll notice that bits of my furniture are missing?” She said, taking a small step closer and glancing around. Talking about hotel staff was starting to make her nervous.

“A-alright…” Soarin mumbled, put firmly in his place. “Wh-what would you suggest, then?”

Of course that would be coming next. “Well…” She thought, heading toward the doorway again. “How about some toilet paper?”

“Toilet paper?” He asked, clearly a little incredulous.

“Yeah, like… An entire roll of it, or something.” She said, expanding on the idea. He looked at her for a moment, and true to form, she looked right back, as if she was trying to spot a weakness.

After a good fifteen seconds of him growing steadily more and more uncomfortable at her proximity, (Something she was starting to regain some control over) he caved in, looking away.

“I guess it’ll have to do, boss.” He muttered, resigned.

“You bet your flank it will.” She replied firmly, stepping back inside her room. Almost the moment she crossed the threshold, she started to feel more comfortable. “Now, get him inside and close the door. Somepony might come by.”

00000000

After about ten minutes of squabbling, cursing, and frustration, their makeshift bandage was complete. As Spitfire had declared, it was indeed made of toilet paper, and rather a lot of it. It was tied around the back of his head, and nearly an inch thick at the point of the wound. All around him were scraps of bloodstained toilet paper, marks of a difficult operation. The bandages also covered one of his eyes, but that was more due to the difficulties of bandaging a pony’s head rather than any wounding there. He was also sporting a small, but rather nasty bruise on his left foreleg, from where Soarin had (With quite a lot of hatred, apparently) punched him when he thought Spitfire wasn’t looking. Really, she didn’t feel that it was worth calling him up on it, so she let him get on with it. She was also pretty sure that wasn’t the only time he’d done it either, but it was hard to tell if he didn’t always leave a mark. Not that she cared, particularly. The colt was a hateful slime who deserved to be beaten around a bit.

It was just somewhat ungentlecoltly for Soarin to do so while he was asleep. Chivalry didn’t really extend to duelling unconscious foes.

With a somewhat satisfied nod to each other, Soarin re-hitched himself to the curtain ties, and Spitfire cantered quickly to the door, opening it up a crack and peering out. When she was confident that the coast was clear, she opened the door, and Soarin trotted briskly through it, heading for the stairs.

Like a well-oiled machine, Spitfire slipped silently past him, taking up her position in front of the lift. She held her breath, listening to any sounds in the area.

All she could hear was her own panicked breathing and the sound of the orange stallion being dragged across the ground as Soarin turned, closing and locking Spitfire’s door.

She released her breath, sighing softly. Everything was going according to plan. Her ear still pressed against the metal door, she motioned for him to make his way toward the stairs. She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, before he complied with her orders, dragging him across the room.

That was when she heard a soft creak from the shaft of the lift, followed by a steady thrumming.

Her eyes shot open and her heart sank like a stone into a very deep lake, vanishing with barely a ripple.

She wanted to motion to Soarin, to get him to stop and head back into her room, but she knew it was too late. He was already halfway across the hallway, and closing on the stairs. Not to mention the fact that the door was locked behind him, and there was no chance of him getting it open in time.

She looked up to the marker above the door, and sure enough, there was a light on at the penthouse suite, and another, dimmer light, only three floors below it. Pretty soon it would be only two floors below them.

“Hurry!” She hissed, as loud as she dared. Her only hope was that he could make it far enough down the stairs that he was invisible to anypony on the top floor. Unfortunately, he would need a distraction to hope to pull it off. And she would have to be that distraction.

She stepped away from the lift, her heart thumping. She couldn’t let anypony else find out about what she had done. The lift was now just one floor beneath her, and closing fast. She sighed and squared up to the lift doors, just as Soarin disappeared from her field of view. He would reach the stairs any second now. And then maybe ten, fifteen seconds later, he’d be out of view entirely, and they’d be safe. Until the floor below, of course, but it didn’t pay to worry that much.

The lift made a soft ‘ding’ to mark its arrival, and Spitfire closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it. She had a plan, but it had to be perfect. With a rumbling hum, the doors began to slide open, and Spitfire took her chance. Without opening her eyes, she let out her breath and strode confidently forward, straight at the middle of the lift. Whoever was in there would be getting a surprise.

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