#olivia2

   Until a couple of hours ago, Jaime really didn’t see much cause for concern when it came to evacuating. His apartment downtown he shared with Sirena seemed plenty safe, and he had dealt with some stormy weather in Oakland, but as the conditions got worse... he became worried. Unwilling to leave when it was Carmen’s birthday, Jaime put it off until a text from Emmy felt like fate. Before long, he was situated in her backseat, headed to Charlotte, and cracking jokes to make her and Liv laugh in the front seat. 

   It didn’t take long for the heavy rain pelting the little car to drown out his voice. With each mile they progressed, the storm raged worse, until even Jaime was feeling a little worried. He wouldn’t show it, though, unbuckling his seat belt to lean forward a little to be heard over the raging winds and rains. “Damn, this storm is like having sex with a stranger. You never know how many inches you’re gonna get, or how long it’ll last,” Jaime spoke loudly over the storm, hoping to lighten the palpable tension in the car. Perhaps a little... poorly worded, given his initial meeting with Emmy, but he chuckled at himself anyway. 

If one of them is dead.

Faint voices keep insisting Tristan wake up, so he promptly kept his eyes closed. He had hoped this was all a weird dream, but the pounding at the back of his skull told him otherwise. Regardless of his will to stay in the cool blackness of his head, he slowly started recognizing light against his eyelids, and firm, constant pain on his wrists and around his waist. 

He moved with a jerk, and the pain seared more into his flesh, which forced his eyes open and causd a low moan to rattle his throat. Tristan grimaced as he surveyed his situation, ignoring the reaction of the hunters in front of him. The cool air that now registered against his skin and the darkness that surrounded him suggested he was in a basement. His hands and waist were bound to a chair with silver chains, neatly braided with Wolfsbane. These damn people seemed to know what they were doing. 

The girl asked him how he was enjoying his stay, and Tristan couldn't contain an eyeroll. He muttered something about requesting room service, which only got a fiery dusting of wolfsbane across his chest. Typical.