The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives

Trinity's wing

Avery pov

It wasn't until Jameson had left, when I realized what Trinity had said 'some fücking ax-murderer'. Ax-murderer. That's what I said the Hawthornes were. At the hotel. With no Hawthornes

How did she...?

Pulling out the iPad Trinity had given me so casually I saw Jameson in the alcohol cellar, not the wine cellar-the alcohol cellar.

Best to leave him alone. I decided to go to Trinity's room, and entered "Trinity's wing" into the search bar.

It took me fifteen minutes to get to a wall with landscape painting. Upon closer inspection I realized it was actually a painting of Hawthorne House. Confused, I remembered Jameson's words: Everything is something in Hawthorne House. I remembered him sneaking into my room via a secret passageway.

Turning, twisting and pushing the painting all did no good. Almost giving up in frustration, I ran my fingers along the frame.

Click.

I had triggered some sort of sensor. The wall turned ninety degrees, revealing a space that I slipped through, closing the passageway behind me. The room was circular, small and empty except for a circular tube in the middle. As I got closer, I realized it was actually an elevator.

Don't pry, don't pry.

I step in and press the lowest button. When the doors reopen, I see three more doors, and open the one on the right hand side.

It's a dance studio. There are pictures on the wall of Trinity and Tobias Hawthorne. Mirrors cover every wall except for the one with pictures - and six knives. They are in a slim cabinet on the wall, with gorgeous, ornate handles. It doesn't click until I see a professionally taken photo on the wall. Trinity's arms are raised above her head, which is tilted up. A huge, dark tutu is around her waist. Pointe shoes cover her feet. And she is standing on knives. Beautiful, ornate knives.

In the elevator, I try to process my thoughts.

She was standing on knives. What is so shocking about that anyway? Why am I surprised?

The second floor also has three doors. This time, I head for the middle door. This was a study. All polished wood and leather tomes. Once again, pictures of Trinity and her grandfather adorn all possible surfaces.

There's something in these photos. A nature between them that I can feel, but not quite understand. A connection.

It hits me. Everything that Trinity said, the photos, the look in her eyes when she talked about him.

He was the person that cared about her.

She was the apple of his eye

She, she was his whole sky, his treasure, his darling granddaughter.

Trinity pov

A.N. Usually when I toggle pov I pick up where the other person stopped. However, for this particular part Trinity's will pick up from when she left the room.

The tears fall as soon as I leave the room. Running, I reach the painting of Hawthorne House. I slide my finger along the frame, slipping into the wall. I reach my bedroom and feel like crying on my bed with "Pity Party" playing in my ears.

No, that's not what granddad would have wanted.

I wipe my eyes and put in my oversized hoops then grab my long, shiny, red, leather coat and equally shiny black leather boots(outfit 5). Then I headed to the shooting range.

Nash comes up to me, sensing something's off, "Hey kid... what's wrong?"

"Jameson Hawthorne" I reply curtly.

"Need to get it outta your system?", he asked.

"I was on my way to the range now." I paused. Nash and I have never been super close. Between the age gap and his nomadic lifestyle, we never spent much time together. "Would you like to come?"

"Sure kid, I'll tag along." Nash nods.

We seem to have formed a mutual agreement, and it is in this sense that we head to the range. However, twenty minutes and three rounds later, I feel the anger still there. I click my gun and set it down.

"I'm going for a ride." I tell Nash. He nods before picking up his gun again.

I walk to the garage- a ten minute walk. I walk along all the cars and motorcycles until I find it.

Mine.

A smooth, sleek, black cycle with gold accents. It's gorgeous, and a gift from granddad. I pull on the matching helmet and roar onto the road screaming in a voice only the wind can hear.

A.N.: First 100% original chapter. What do you think?