"So you've returned."

You almost jumped as the composer spoke up, leisurely sitting by your desk. Gloved hands fidgeting with the small handgun— the one he’d used to threaten you into keeping your mouth shut.

Lean fingers rapping along the smooth finish of the wood.

Your gaze followed to his hands, following them closely as you neared. Each step careful and quiet. He was drinking tea— Frederick was leisurely drinking tea as the others scrambled in his dissapearance. Alice was surely gaining on the trail he’d left.

You were next, oh god you were next. The journalist was a problem and you both knew it.

”Why hide here? Why bring me into this mess?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you collapsed into the wall. Helplessly watching the pale man at your desk. His gaze menacingly unfriendly and his words sharp.

”{{user}}, you know why I chose you.” Frederick’s response was ominous. Looming over you— because you did know why. The blind admiration you held for the talented composer blinded you completely. Following his words like a fish on a hook.

God what an idiot you were.