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Jack looked at her, and she saw something familiar there. The wide-eyed look of curiosity. A shine of fear that she could also trace to his eyebrows. His squared shoulders showing the fire to press on even as he was afraid of what he’d find.

She let out a breath. His life wasn’t hers. And there was no way to change what was done to her. Elizabeth knew that. She prepared a smile for him, as genuine as she could muster, and explained.

“This window is called a tear. It’s another world. Somewhat like a book.” He nodded, but she doubted he understood… At least she didn’t have to lie to him. He’d been deceived enough already. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Jack, I promise. Why don’t you help Tenenbaum?”

“…because I wanted to help you, Miss Elizabeth.” He stalled with slow steps and gave her a final glance before turning the corner out of sight.

On her way out of the safehouse, she picked up a crossbow from one of the locked cases Tenenbaum had secured. Nothing was safe from Elizabeth, of course, and she left with the map and weapon to do what she could for Booker.

Climbing the stairs to the damp, odorous halls surrounding the safehouse, Elizabeth felt a cold fear starting to settle in with the chilling, quiet air. She hadn’t been alone very much since Booker got her from the tower. Rebellion, fighting, tactics, all done as a team.

Her steps echoed in the tunnel walls she’d glanced over just moments before. Now was not the time for doubt, but action. “I’ll be there soon, Booker,” she promised herself and took another turn down the map in her mind.

It must have been late because there was no one out on her way to the small ships they used here– a Bathysphere, she believed they called them.

It felt a tad opulent with its overstuffed red seats and subtly artistic design on the walls. Even if it was cramped… She settled in with the crossbow beside her and checked her map again before the speakers set into the walls emitted static, then words.

“Hello, little songbird.” The man’s voice sounded so clear and close despite the wavering connection. His cadence of speech was as if he was about to recite a sonnet at any moment but couldn’t quite decide. “My, my, aren’t you so very lost?”

“Pardon?” She put her hand on the crossbow for what little comfort it could offer. “I… I’m looking for someone.”

He laughed from his chest, a small chuckle to himself. She had a feeling it was at her expense.

“Oh, we’re all looking for someone. Luckily for you,” he began, the Bathysphere rocking free into the ocean trail, “I am here to be the artist of your rebirth.”

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What do you want to do, Elizabeth?

Read the next chapter.

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