❝𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❞
❝𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭.❞
. . • ☆ . ° .• -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-°:. *₊ ° .
She never wanted to associate further with the family business than she had in the past but the deathly threats in Beacon Hills asked for an ally. One that knew t...
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I. an old guest — contains parts of season three, episode eighteen "RIDDLED"
Three days.
For the past seventy-two hours, Amber showed up at the apartment complex her family lived in. Sweaty hands buried in the pockets of her leather jacket as she continued to walk from left to right. An attempt to gather the right words to say in her head, remember them and not turn the reunion into a massacre of accusations.
She watched different kinds of people rushing past her, on their way to work or fulfilling other duties for the rest of the day. It was close to 7 pm; the air started to cool down from the warm weather day, a cold wind blowing into her face. It's been an hour since she left her rented apartment to meet her father; it's been forty-five minutes since she arrived at the complex and stopped in her tracks in front of the double doors again.
But this was her last chance, the last attempt to move further than the stairs. There wouldn't be another try because she wouldn't want to embarrass herself more. People hurried past her, sending her confused glances. For a moment, she looked like she belonged into the environment, a part of her surroundings. Standing still, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes stared at the complex. Not one muscle moved; only the tiny strands of her hair drove with the wind's gentle blows.
Fumbling with the silver metal around her fingers, she pushed the family ring nervously up and down. Her trembling legs moved towards the entrance, a decision her body made without an overthinking thought from her head. The double door slid open when the scanner above reacted to her appearance, allowing the entry to the expensive apartments.
Her black boots boomed against the marmorized tiles of the entrance hall as she walked further inside. With squinted eyes, she searched for a hint to find the apartment of Chris and Allison. She remembered the brick house they lived in, a mansion with more rooms than needed, and a garage modified to double as a storage space for the Argent's extensive cache of firearms and other weaponry. But this looked like a downgrade from the area they used to have, a home the two hunters left after Victoria's death. Grief mixed with memories of the past months started to attack their health, and once they realized, Christopher and Allison moved to an apartment further away.
Her gaze discovered a board to the left side, attached to one of the walls with room numbers written among one another, small names scribbled next to them. Amber hurried towards the information plate, her feet dragging her faster to prevent her self conscious from retreating.
"402; Argent." She quietly whispered to herself, her eyes reading the information one, two, three more times. The large board held her gaze, and she stirred the emotional chaos inside her fragile figure. From the outsides, her skin seemed like the hard shell of a chestnut, equipped with the sharp needles to prevent a touch, but her insides screamed for attention, a longing touch of a person that cared about the misery she went through. Someone who wanted to listen to her trembling words and the hasty breaths while confessing the mixture of emotions.
