Everett laid in her bed. The Black Sea called her duvet surrounded her. She ran all the way home from St. Paul's Cathedral. It had been a while in which she stayed in her bed. She never cried in years and crying in a public place in front of someone she knew and without knowing it was too much for her.

Her phone vibrates telling her to answer it. She ignored it. This was around the tenth time it rang that day. Her phone blew up the whole day yesterday. Kendall wouldn't leave her alone.

Everett didn't feel well at all. Not only was she confused on what happened Sunday but her fever had returned and—

Everett stopped over as a cacophony of coughs spilled out of her mouth. She put her hands over her mouth and when the cough decided to end, she threw the pink residue into the nearby trash can which had a spotting layer of matching pink froth.

"Weak," the voice in her head said. Everett laid her forehead down in the silk pillow. The cold pillowcase helped her ever-heating fever.

"I'm not weak..." Everett mumbled. Her stomach growled even louder than her voice. Her throat was dry from not eating or drinking much of anything for a whole day. She sat up and grabbed her phone. The hunger and dehydration are too much for her to ignore now.

Her feet slowly slid across the short, cursed, bridge carpet that covered her bedroom. The wooden door swung open, its doorknob didn't even need to be turned to open the crappy, wooden door. Everett's calloused feet stepped across the slate-colored tiles that covered her small dining room and kitchenette.

Grabbing a plastic cup, she went to the faucet. The sink was spotted with parts of past food. A lazy attempt was made to clean it, but still, bits of hard, dried food remained on its perimeter. Everett grasped the handle and twisted it. The water went poured out, some parts spraying down into the cup, others spraying diagonally and missing the cup entirely. Everett did nothing about it and simply turned off the faucet and brought the water to her lips. It was cool but tasted a little weird like someone had sprinkled dirt into it.

Evert stepped a few steps to the left of her mini-fridge. She squatted down, pulled the long, vertical handle out, then looked into the small refrigerator when her phone buzzed. The electronic device had slipped out of her mind. She completely forgot about it.

Taking her phone out of her pocket, Everett placed it down so it wouldn't bother her anymore. It was face up and the name 'Margarita' lit up. Everett looked at the name, her hand still on the fridge's handle. The mini-fridge was still emitting nice cool air. Everett turned to the refrigerator, her back to the phone which had stopped making noise.

She pulled out a plastic take-out bow, the old chicken looking unappealing. She grimaced at the sight, but took it out and popped it into the microwave. As the plate rotated the bowl, Everet looked at her phone. She picked it up and dialed a phone number. Margarita answered just as the microwave stopped, its beeping getting picked up by the phone which was on speaker mode.

"Everett, are you okay?" Margarita's voice was weary like the woman was stepping on unstable ground. As if one wrong step would mean death and she would fall into spikes or the like.

Everett frowned as the microwave beeped. The uppercase words, "ENJOY YOUR MEAL" rotated across the small screen. The assassin popped out the door and took out her bowl with one hand. The other one had the phone. "I'm...fine," Everett lied. She hele in a coughing fit as she placed down her bowl.

"That's good," Margarita said slowly. The whole situation seemed to be going .5 at the normal speed. "So, how to the kill going?"

The assassination was to be in the St. Paul's Cathedral, which reminded Everett of Kendall. She frowned. "Planning is slow, but I'll kill him if it's the last thing I do." Images of Hillfigure went through her head. It was fuzzy, but the hatred for him showed through. Everett clenched her fist which now held a fork.

"So, what happened at the cathedral?" Margarita asked. She had stepped on unstable ground.

"I...I don't want to talk about it now," Everett sat down at the dining table. She had her bowl of questionable chicken pieces and her for. She stabbed it into the bowl, not particularly choosing a piece of chicken, but knowing she would get one.

"What about tomorrow?" Margarita asked. Everett could hear that she was spinning a pen around her fingers. She heard the pen drop and the woman softly cursed. It brought a smile to her lips as she shoved a forkful of chicken into her mouth.

"Sure, tomorrow," Everett said. Her fingers went down to end the call.

"I'm worried about you," Margarita said before Everet could press the button. She hesitated. "Are you okay? I'm sorry if I'm breaking work boundaries, but I'm scared for you. I don't know. I heard that you cried–"

"Goodbye." Everett ended the call and silence surrounded her. She reminisced in the silence until it became too much for her. "I'm not weak!" She slammed on the table so hard that the bowl fell upon the floor and it shattered. Everett stood up and walked to her bed. She was taking a rest day, she told herself. It wasn't her fault that she was human. Who was she kidding? She was weak...

"Ugh..." she groaned.

Everett hugged the picture of her family. The last person who said she was worried about her was her mother. Everett remembered it like it was yesterday. As a child, Everett was adventurous. People would describe her as a tomboy. She had changed that much in the years. She still didn't wear dresses unless she needed to. One day, Everett had fallen out of a tree and her mother had to patch her up. "I'm worried about you, Everett," her mother said. "I'm not sure I can protect you if you keep on climbing and falling out of trees." Everett always had something snarky to say, "Well then, I'll just have to stop falling." The two of them laughed at the pathetic attempt at a joke.

"I think I've fallen," Everett said. "But I was never in the tree."