Trick was still as a statue, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe, as Black Jack spoke. There was no sarcasm in his voice, no boisterousness or bloodlust. No, for the first time since she'd encountered the criminal, there was almost something like gentleness to him. Trick felt herself cracking like the glass she'd bashed 9's head into, fractures dancing along her skin, threatening to tear her apart. She tried to swallow again. Still couldn't. 

Black Jack shouted at her and she was gone almost before he could finish his sentence. Trick was on a rooftop. Then another and another, her pace never slowing until she was tumbling inside the bookstore's back office.

Her breath was coming out in frantic, shallow gasps, her hands shaking as she tore and pulled at her scarf and hoodie, desperate to get them off. She heard something rip as she finally managed to yank them away from her body, tossing them in a pile on the floor. Lexa slowed, but didn't calm. She was a heap of shaking limbs and panicked breath on the ground as she tried to get a hold of herself. Her hand flashed out, grabbing whatever was closest to her – an old black dustpan – and she flung it against the lockers lining the far wall. It hit and fell with a clatter. It wasn't enough. 

Shoving herself to her feet, Lexa stormed over and grabbed the dustpan. She slammed it against the side of the locker, breaking the handle clean off. Throwing it aside she curled her hands into fists and punched the metal panel of a locker. The shock of the impact reverberated down her arm, fire pooling in her knuckles. She hit it again. And again. Her fists came harder and harder, flecks of red staining the dented metal. 

She didn't hear the others enter the back until large hands were trying to catch her wrists, an arm like banded steel curling around her middle and dragging her back. She kicked and let out a feral, angry sound but wasn't released. 

"Hey [i]enough[/i]!" A familiar voice cut through her desperate haze. "Lex you're hurting yourself!" She didn't care. He'd managed to catch her arms and pin them to her body. She was trapped she was hurting she was [i]angry[/i]– 

"[i]Lex[/i]!"

It was the fear in his voice that brought her back. She stopped fighting, but didn't relax. Her chest heaved as she gasped in air. She looked down to see Tyrell's tattooed arms holding her still. He didn't loosen his grip.  Breath rattled through her chest. 

 [color=crimson]"Ty. Let me go."[/color] Her voice was flat and soft. He hesitated. 

 "You good?" Lexa didn't respond. After a long moment she shoved herself away from him and he let her go. 

She looked over her shoulder to take in his worried face. He was a tall, broad man, likely in his late 20s. A regular at the little bookstore, he was friendly without being obnoxious and was dangerously close to being something like a friend to her. 

Lexa looked past him to see the other customers crowded in the doorway, too afraid to step in. Some were just curious. Others were concerned. But most looked at her with the same wide-eyed fear that the people in the street had. Lexa looked down. Heat pricked behind her eyes and her heart pounded in her throat. 

 [color=crimson]"Store's closed. Everybody out."[/color] Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. 

"Lex–"

 [color=crimson]"[i]Out![/i]"[/color]

She saw customers jump at the outburst. And then slowly, too slowly, they left one by one. Ty was the last. She could feel him standing over her, questions making the air thick. 

Then with a sigh, he left, too. 

Lexa didn't know how long she stood there, trembling and trying to calm her breath. But eventually she forced herself into motion, like rusted gears grinding back to life. She walked to the two pieces of the broken dustpan and picked them up. She collected the shreds of her ruined disguise next. Lexa tossed them in the trash. She'd pay for the damages later. 

The dented lockers, splattered with red caught her eye. A defeated sigh escaped her. That'd be harder to pay for.

Lexa raised a hand to look at her busted knuckles. The open air bit at her split skin. She couldn't tell what was her blood and what was [i]his[/i]. Lexa didn't know if she was relieved or sickened. 

She dropped her hand to her side and walked out the door of the office. That stupid movie was still playing in the darkened store. Lexa walked to her counter where she'd left the remote and jammed down the off button. Letting the remote fall back to the floor, she dropped herself into the chair and placed her elbow on the counter. 

Her bloody hands caught her head, fingers tangling in crimson hair. Lexa let out a rasping breath as the hot tears finally blurred her vision.