Author’s Note: This takes place about 5 years prior to The Assassin’s Legacy, when Aeron leaves home for the first time, and what led to that decision. I love this short, but there wasn’t really a home for it in the series and it couldn’t live in just my head. I’m excited to share it here.

Enjoy.

The air left Aeron's lungs as her body connected to the training room floor, her mind reeling back to the windshield she'd crashed through just months ago. She could feel the sting of glass piercing her skin, the screams of her Guardian, Sarah, reaching her from the window she'd fallen from. She pressed her eyes closed against the physical reminder of the worst night of her life and swallowed the cry wanting to leave her lips. Sarah was dead.

Aeron forced her eyes open, her father's sneer coming into focus from the platform she'd fallen from.

"Again," he said, face twisted in disgust.

She closed her eyes, encouraging her lungs to remember how to work, because even though the crashpad was matted, a two-story drop was still a two-story drop. Fuck him. Fuck all of this. It took a few moments, but she finally sucked in a gulp of air, her ribs screaming in protest, and she sat up. He was already beside her, poised to attack, and she let him, all fight gone from her body. He pinned her down, knee driving into her sternum, and she tightened her core, face scrunched against the pain. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly it hurt.

"I said, again."

"Why?" Aeron ground out between clenched teeth. "So you can make me relive the fall over and over? I was there–it sucked the first time."

"So you don't fall in the first place," he said. He pushed his knee deeper into her sternum before he stood up and she let out a grunt of pain. "We will do this again, and again, and you figure out how not to drop to your fucking death."

"I was thrown out the window," Aeron said, sitting up. "It wasn't a voluntary drop. Next time I'll aim for the pavement instead and we can skip the lessons."

Her father let out an aggravated sound. "Again."

How he knew exactly what had happened in the house, Aeron couldn't guess. It was like he was there. Every punch the man had thrown, every step he took, her father mimicked. she failed to block another hit and the left side of her face screamed. He backed her down the 'hall' again. They were on the open scaffolding in the training room, but Aeron felt like the walls were closing in as he circled the dulled blade the same way the man had, slow and deliberate. Her heart raced, the scaffolding flickering between the training room and the house they'd raided.

She could see Sarah racing down the hall toward them--she shouldn't have been there, but Aeron was so fucking glad to see her. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission--intercept the information and take it back to the Institute. But Perry was screaming in her earpiece to abort, and there was nowhere for her to abort to.

Her father came back into focus, lunging with the knife, again, and Aeron froze--again. It wasn't that she didn't know how to disarm him--or the man who'd kicked her out the window. It was the image of Sarah in the doorway, a masked man pressing a gun to the back of her head that held her attention. Sarah's surprised expression was the last one Aeron had seen before her body flew back, crashing through the old 1970's window. It was pure luck they'd been above the driveway. Her father’s foot connected with her chest and she grabbed the back of her head as she fell from the platform. Her back hit the stiff crash pad again, and she let out an aggravated scream.

"Screaming is not going to fix it, Aeron. You've been disarming knives since you were six. What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, descending to the ground once more.

Aeron kept her mouth shut, the words she wished she could say bubbling in her chest. He wouldn't care if she saw Sarah moments before her death--that she was pretty sure it was her fault she had died. If Aeron hadn't gotten separated from Justin, Sarah wouldn't have been chasing her. And to admit she was hallucinating during training? It would give her father even more reason not to claim her.

She got to her feet before he could reach her and glared. "There is nothing wrong with me."

"You almost died because you were too fucking focus on the people in the doorway," he yelled. "That's a big fucking problem. If you don't have focus, you aren't the only one at risk. Again."

Aeron's mouth dropped open. How could he even know that? "She died. It was my fault."

"You are so fucking self-centered and petulant. Her death had nothing to do with you. Let's go--again."

Aeron shook her head. Self-centered? She was anything but self-centered. Her entire life was in service to the people. And Childish? She might be sixteen, but when had she ever been allowed to be childish? "Fuck you," she said, her face burning with anger.

He stiffened, face darkening. "What did you just say to me?" He dropped his voice, the tone so soft Aeron wished he'd yelled instead. It was always the calm that scared her.

She swallowed hard around the fear in her throat. She could stay here and be kicked off the platform over and over, reminded what a failure she was, or she could just leave. "Fuck you," she said louder. "Fuck this place. And fuck your goddamn Legacy. It's not like you're going to claim me anyway." She spun on her heel, realizing turning her back to him was a mistake the second she did it and she tensed, anticipating an attack. It never came, and she didn't look back as she walked out of the training room. She didn't stop on her way to the garage, not to grab anything, and not to say a word to Decius. If she did--he would change her mind. Convince her to stay. But she couldn't. She was tired of being a failure. He would never claim her, and she would be hunted anyway. Might as well get a head start.

Her hand shook on the steering wheel as she sped away from the manor. Her father hadn't followed. Why hadn't he followed? Was he going to send a search party? Would he keep it quiet and hunt her down himself? Shit. Shit. Why had she done that? He would fucking kill her. No. If he wanted her dead, she would be, right? He was one of the most deadly assassins on the East Coast. He could have killed her at any point today during training. She could go home. She should go home. Decius would be worried, and what if her father blamed Decius? Her foot hovered over the brake. No. There was no telling what the consequences would be–and a small breath of freedom was better than that. She pressed the gas pedal harder.

She drove for hours, sticking to back roads with no destination in mind except far far away from the manor. The gas tank was full and she didn't stop until night fell and her stomach growled loud enough to hear it over the music blasting from the radio.

She found a small town plaza filled with shopping, a pizza joint, a family-owned restaurant, and a sports bar. Aeron parked next to a pickup truck, and turned off the engine, the sudden silence slicing into her ears along with the realization: she had no money.

"Damn it," she muttered. But picking pockets was easy enough. With a quick look in the visor mirror, she adjusted her hair and wiped the smear of blood from beneath her lip. The pizzeria and family restaurant were out of the question. She needed a dark place where her bruised face wouldn't be easily seen. She hooded her eyes and gave herself a seductive smile. As long as they were looking at her chest and not her eyes, it would be an easy night.

She adjusted her tank top and took a deep breath before stepping inside the dark sports bar. They may not let her stay, but the pockets of drunks were easier to pick. She clocked the room as she entered. It was more restaurant than bar with booths filled with families and groups of adults who looked like coworkers. She spotted a few older vets, their hats identifying them as possible allies should she need them, along with a few women sitting at the bar. She didn't need to worry about being kicked out, at least. She moved toward pool tables, gravitating toward a group of boys not much older than her.

There were four of them, paired into teams. She took a seat at an empty high-top table, pretending to look over the menu as she gauged their game. It wasn't a serious one, only one of them with any billiards experience, as they talked about cars and girls and sipped on their drinks.

"Another round, Tommy?" The tallest boy, who could be closer to early twenties, held up his cup.

The boy Aeron clocked with some billiards experience looked up. "Sure."

"But isn't Ernie coming tonight?" the shortest boy asked. "He gets pissed when we drink."

Tommy shrugged. "Only when we're on the clock, Jem. And we're not on the clock tonight." He pulled out his wallet and passed a fifty-dollar bill over to the older boy. "This rounds on me, Miles." He lined the shot up again as Miles disappeared to the bar.

Maybe she wouldn't need to pickpocket anyone tonight. Aeron hopped off the stool as if heading toward the bathroom, and paused by the table before Tommy could shoot. "Angles off," she said. All eyes turned toward her and she smirked.

Tommy straightened up and arched an eyebrow at the uninvited advice. "Excuse me?"

"You’re aiming too straight," she clarified. "It needs to hit the edge of the target ball, not the middle."

He exchanged an amused look with his friends. "That's cute. I know how to shoot pool."

She ignored him and turned toward the table. "You’re treating this like a dead-on shot. Problem is, you’ve got no angle. If you hit the ball head-on like you’re planning, the cue ball’s just gonna die right there and leave you stuck. What you need"—she stepped closer, gesturing with her hand as if tracing the shot—"is to skim the edge. Like you’re flicking it. That’ll push the target ball toward the pocket while keeping your cue ball in play. Do you need a demonstration?" She didn't wait for his agreement. She plucked the cue from his hand and stepped in front of him, pushing him aside with her hips. "Watch." She lined up the shot he intended to take, and then stood back up, calculating the angles on the board again.

"Not as easy as you thought?" he teased.

She met his amused look and frowned. "I mean if you were trying to keep the balls on the table, that would be the best play--which I get it, you don't want to make your friends feel bad, but if you take this one..." She moved to the other side of the table and lined up another shot. It was like lining up a target when throwing a blade. She took a breath and struck the cue ball with a hard precise stroke. The balls burst into motion, four of them dropping into pockets before the cue ball rolled to settle back in front of her. She sunk the original target with a soft hit, clearing the table of his balls. She handed the cue back. "You can handle the eight ball, right?"

The other boys jeered, and Tommy's face reddened. He circled the table a few times, before settling across from her. "Corner pocket." He pointed his stick to the pocket in front of her and she raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"This one?" She leaned over and pointed at the pocket, making sure her cleavage dropped into his eyeline. His gaze hovered on her chest and she quirked her fingers in front of it. His eyes snapped to her face and his cheeks flushed again. She had him flustered--his ego bruised, and she recognized the guilt flash across his face at being caught. Now to up the pressure. "Twenty bucks says you miss."

A chorus of 'ohhhh' met her challenge. Tommy glared at the group and looked back at her. "Make it fifty," he said.

Aeron licked her lip and gave a small laugh. "Sure."

He tightened his grip, knuckles whitening as his eyes tried to stay focused on the ball, but Aeron remained posted in the corner, leaning forward making sure his eyes continued to stray north. With a quick, overconfident stroke, the cue ball flew forward. The crack of impact echoed around them. The eight ball slammed into the edge of the pocket and ricocheted back across the table.

Aeron straightened up and smirked. "That would be fifty bucks."

"Hundred bucks I beat you in a full game," Tommy challenged.

"I'll give her a hundred bucks to teach me how to do that," Miles said, returning with a tray of drinks. "Hi, I'm Miles."

"If you add in something to eat, I'll take you up on that offer," she said.

"You got a deal. Jack and ginger?" He held out the tray of drinks which she noted held five cups.

Aeron eyed the liquor. She shouldn't. She needed to be able to drive--to get as far as she could. The plan was to grab some food and cash and get back on the road. But where was she going to go? A deep ache panged her chest as the reality of what she'd done sunk in. She'd left home. She'd told her father to fuck off and left her Legacy. That wasn't something you could just do. And it wasn't just her father she had to worry about--there were the Legacy laws. She'd broken at least three of them when she left. What if this was her last night of freedom before they caught her? The thought terrified her and she grabbed a glass off the tray.

"Why not?" She took a big swig, the burn familiar, but still causing her face to scrunch for a moment before it settled. She dragged her hand across her lips.

Miles smiled down at her, but Tommy rounded the table and took the glass from her hand. "What the fuck, Miles," he said and turned toward her. "Are you even old enough to drink?"

Aeron snatched it back and took another sip, the liquid courage fueling her. "Are you?" she countered.

Tommy opened and closed his mouth a few times and Miles laughed, passing him a glass. "Have a drink, and order this lady some food. I want to learn how to kick your ass at pool, too."

The next few hours flew by with the crack of billiard balls, laughter, food, and more alcohol than Aeron should be consuming. Tommy glowered at her from the table she'd originally sat at as she talked Miles through shot after shot at the table. Jem, and the other boy, Phillip, left them to hog the table, and moved over to play darts.

"And she does it again!" Miles said as she cleared the table for the eighth time. Aeron's cheeks hurt from smiling--she couldn't remember the last time that happened. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the fact Miles hadn't stopped praising her since she'd shown up. "Where did you learn to play like this?"

The question sobered her, and she frowned. Her Uncle Paul had taught her how to play. Nights spent betting workouts like poker chips ran through her mind. She was a good billiard player. Decius was better. What was he doing right now? Was he out looking for her? Did he even know she was gone? Fuck. She grabbed Miles' half-full glass and downed it. "Does it matter?" she asked. "Rack 'em again." And he did.

She leaned over the table for the break, the world teetering on the edges. She closed her eyes, breathing through the disorientation, but before she could center herself a pair of hands grabbed her hips followed by the press of a pelvis against her ass. Aeron's eyes shot open and stood straight, Miles pulling her against him. She spun in his grasp and shoved him back a few steps. "Don't do that," she said, head clearing in the moment.

"C'mon, babe. You just looked a little unsteady," he said and stepped forward.

Aeron adjusted her pool stick, pointing the tip at his throat, heart hammering in her own. She was such an idiot. She'd been caught up in the drinks and Miles' charm that she let her guard down. The bar had emptied as they played with only a few drunks left at the bar. "Don't," she repeated.

"Leave her alone, Miles." She heard Tommy come around the table, his feet approaching on the sticky floor until he entered her peripheral. Shit. She could take them, but she was supposed to be disappearing, not turning up on police radar.

"Why don't you mind your business, Tommy," Miles countered. He grabbed the pool stick to move it and Aeron struck, slamming the stick forward and hitting him in the throat. His hands flew to his neck and he gagged, stumbling back. Aeron kicked him hard in the chest, knocking his ass to the ground. She turned to flee, but something grabbed her ankle and pulled. Her feet slid from beneath, her arms barely making it in front of her face before she hit the ground.

Her head swam again and she let out a groan. "Motherfucker," she said and turned to glare at Miles, but Tommy's feet appeared in front of her.

"What the fuck," he said, standing between them. "Chill, Miles."

But Miles got to his feet, hand rubbing his neck where a bruise was already forming. She should have thrust it harder. "The fucking bitch is going to pay."

Aeron got to her feet too, picking up the fallen cue stick. She rolled the weapon over her hand a few times and peered around Tommy. "What did you call me?"

Tommy turned and glared at her. "Just leave."

She should just leave, but she had nowhere to go, and she was too drunk to drive. And she really wanted a fight she could win. "Don't tell me what to do. If pretty boy wants a fight--he can have a fight."

Miles took the invitation and pushed past Tommy. Aeron swung the stick and Miles blocked, but the crack against his forearm echoed around the room. His eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, closing the distance and making the stick nearly useless. She dropped it in favor of close range and swung herself up on the pool table, her knee level with his face. She thrust it forward, his nose crunching, blood gushing down his chin. A howl of pain left him, and he back-peddled, hands flying to his face.

The other boys, Jem and Phillip joined in the chaos, taking swings at her with the pool sticks. Phillip managed to secure her leg and instinctually Aeron spun and dove to the side landing hard on one of the billiard balls that had been knocked around in the commotion. A scream left her as the round object dug into her already sore back and she rolled over, hands grabbing and yanking her off her table.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, trying to figure out where a weak point was. She grabbed at fingers, trying to break them until the largest set of arms she'd ever seen wrapped around her, all the others disappearing. They were tan and tatted and held her in place. Great, now the bouncers were involved. They were for sure going to call the police. She needed to run--now, but this man was so strong, and her body was too tired.

"Stop moving!" a deep voice commanded. Aeron struggled for a moment longer before realizing she wasn't going anywhere and stilled, not wanting to waste any more energy.

Aeron's breath came in deep gulps. As she calmed herself, the dizziness of the alcohol returned, along with the intense urge to vomit. "Let go of me." The urgency in her voice must have cued her captor in, because he did let go of her and Aeron vomited several times, the liquid splattering over her sneakers and the pair of work boots beside her. A glass of water appeared in front of her and she eyed it before following the tatted arm up to its owner. His sheer size was in complete contrast to the soft look on his bearded face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She accepted the glass and took a sip, washing the acid taste from her mouth. "Thank you."

The man looked past her and she looked too, finding Miles, his face blossoming with black eyes with a bloody bar towel pressed against his face. Tommy stood in front of him, talking in a low tone. Jem and Phillip both sported cuts on their faces and eyed her like a feral cat. She looked back at the man. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked.

Aeron's cheeks heated. Fighting her way out was out of the question–she was outnumbered. Diplomacy it was. "Too much," she admitted and took another sip of the water, trying to clear her head.

"How old are you?"

Aeron hesitated. She could lie, she knew she could easily pass for eighteen, but sixteen or eighteen, she was still underage. "Sixteen," she said. The man's eyes shot toward Miles.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he demanded. "Not only underage, but jailbait? Did you even ask?"

Miles' had the decency to look ashamed and shook his head. "Sorry, boss," he said.

"Do you have someone I can call?" the man asked.

"No." The word left her too quickly and he narrowed his eyes. "It’s fine. I’ll be on my way."

"You look like shit," he said. "Did they do this?" He gestured to the group of boys.

She looked back at Miles, but he shook his head. "Ernie, she showed up with that big one on her face. I swear. And she struck first."

"She's like half your size," Ernie countered.

"Yeah, but she's feisty," Tommy added.

Aeron's fingers probed her face as they talked, pain spidering across her head and she winced. It must have been worse than she thought. "Where did you get that one?” Ernie asked, nodding to where her fingers rested.

"My father," she said, keeping her attention on him. He didn’t seem to want any trouble, and he would either sympathize and let her go, or call her a liar and she would need to make a run for it. Either way, she needed to be ready to move. "I would rather not go home."

His face remained neutral, but he snapped his fingers toward the boys. "Clean this up. Tell Jack I'll have a check for him in the morning for damages. Tommy, get Miles to the hospital and get him fixed up." There was a sudden flurry of motion around her, but she kept her eyes on Ernie. This was a man in charge and an Underworlder--but he didn't have the same sense of danger she was used to, but her pulse quickened all the same.

"I'm sorry about them," he said, the words halting her exit plan. "A bunch of troublemakers. Do you have anyone else I could call?"

Aeron shook her head, her guard dropping. "You're not going to call the police?"

"I don't want the police involved any more than I'm guessing you do. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Aeron chuckled. "My father."

"Sounds like a real nice guy," Ernie offered.

"Not at all. I don't have anyone I can call. I drove here, I just need a few hours to sober up, and I'll be out of your hair. Sorry about the trouble." She took another gulp of water and put the glass down on a table. She stepped past him, heading to the door. She could sleep in the car and be out of here before sunrise.

"My wife owns a restaurant just down the road," he called after her, and Aeron paused. "It's called Rita's Diner, you may have passed it on the way in. Would you like to get something to eat while you sober up?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him. She liked this guy. He was definitely dangerous, but the kind she could respect. And if her father was looking for her--he would never look for her in the Underworld. Plus, food sounded good right now. "You're not going to like--kidnap me or anything, right?" she half-joked.

"I get the feeling I wouldn't survive kidnapping you."

Oh yeah. She definitely liked this guy. And even if it was just for a meal, she could use the time to make a plan. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "I could eat."The air left Aeron's lungs as her body connected to the training room floor, her mind reeling back to the windshield she'd crashed through just months ago. She could feel the sting of glass piercing her skin, the screams of her Guardian, Sarah, reaching her from the window she'd fallen from. She pressed her eyes closed against the physical reminder of the worst night of her life and swallowed the cry wanting to leave her lips. Sarah was dead.