Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girl Series. All rights reserved, inc. copyright, goes to Ally Carter and Disney Hyperion, I also don't own any pictures I may/may not use (I get them off of Google Images). No copyright infringement intended, all rights reserved to said creators. No money is being made.

Warnings: language, violence, mentions of character death, AU

Notes: This is takes place in Cross My Heart and Hope To Die, but it is an AU story. I hope you like it! I'm sorry for any grammatical and spelling errors, I have no Beta. Please review, favor, and follow! I'd love all kinds of feedback but no flames!

—dreams

One

Escape

Cammie

It was now or never.

I have waited six years for this moment, this chance. It had been six years of torture for information I didn't have, torture for being sensitive, torture for never being the kind of assassin they want me to be, torture just because I'm still alive, torture for being a spy's daughter.

Spy…

The word tastes bitter on my tongue. It brings me images of death, and pain, and tears. It brings me memories of the past, a past that I cannot dare to think of anymore. A past where I was an innocent little girl with big dreams of becoming the greatest spy of my Era, like my mother, dreams of becoming so successful that people would fear my name.

Now, those dreams had evaded my mind and new ones appeared. These new dreams of mine were filled with savory foods, shelter, love, and warmth and everything I don't have anymore; dreams of being alive.

I'm not "alive" anymore, per se. I breathe, and feel, and cry, and fear but I am not alive. I exist. Existing is easier than being alive; it's safer, and less impulsive.

The white walls of my cell somehow brings me comfort, comfort that I haven't felt in a while, like a mothers' goodnight kiss or a fathers' engulfing hug or an aunts' whispered advice on the best ways to kill someone with a stiletto. I only had a mattress for a bed ― I was a hostage, I shan't have any luxuries ― with a flat pillow and a threadbare blanket. I wore only what I was allowed to ‒ which included khaki shorts, a boring tank top, and socks.

They ‒ meaning my captors ‒ liked me wearing revealing clothes, only so that they could observe the injuries they inflicted on my pale skin, pale skin that bruised as easily as a babies. They liked to circle me as I stood in place, muttering to themselves and one another about how they could do better, about how they could made the bruises stay longer and look bolder.

My hair was once a gorgeous color of blonde but it had been died a dark red color long ago. I once had caramel colored orbs but it had changed to a dark gray-green long ago with contacts. Whenever they took me out in the real world, I always wore glasses, and they told the locals that I was blind, deaf, and mute.

I hadn't spoken in seven years.

Maybe it was because they had broken me a long time ago or maybe it was the fact that I would never again see the people that I love. My captors loved rubbing it in my face, telling me that my family had moved on from my supposed death, living wholesome lives whilst I rotted away in my cell.

Maybe that was why I was so indifferent to everything now. The only time I dared to show any shred of emotion was when I was dreaming or being tortured.

Some of the lowly members, who had hate so deeply engrossed in their hearts, had taught me everything they knew about the Circle of Cavan in secrecy, and they also taught me the works of the spy world. I only had a short four months of spy education, since I was abducted during my Christmas break at Gallagher Academy, right underneath everyone's nose.

I was also told that on my thirteenth birthday, I was announced dead to the world but my mother and father never gave up hope, simply because my body was never found.

I sit stiffly on the mattress, carefully picking out the sounds of the camera watching my every move. There wasn't much I could do in my cell, but I do know when the camera shuts off.

My captors grew arrogant as the months passed by and every night at midnight to three in the morning, the cameras shut off.

I had a stash of supplies hidden near an oak tree at the base of the local town. In my knapsack, I had a fake I.D. and passport, all kinds of money, food, clothing, water, and everything I needed essentially to survive for the next month or so. My new name was Penelope Smith, age eighteen. I wasn't going to be Cameron Morgan, age sixteen, any longer.

Though, I would still be known as a Chameleon.

By the beeping of the camera, I knew that there were only a few minutes to midnight, and I would be free.

The halls are silent as I creep through them, with the moonlight shadows ghosting through the windows. As I make my way to one of the exits, I made a couple close calls with some of the COC members who patrolled the hall. The doorknob jiggles slightly as I unlock it with the bobby pin I found on the floor.

"INTRUDER ALERT ― INTRUDER ALERT ― INTRUDER ALERT!"

I didn't bother with being stealthy anymore as I slam open the door, heart thudding, and I sprint across the courtyard with a grace I only had in life-threatening situations. The forest obscured me from the search lights and search parties that scoured the grounds. I became efficient in climbing trees during the summer back when I was at my grandparents' ranch. Swiftly, I scale one and jump from tree to tree silently.

I was too far gone to be caught now.

Getting caught meant my imminent death.

I didn't come this far to die now.

One of the COC members, who was truly a spy for the CIA, was waiting for me near the edges of where the forest broke out. I rush into the passenger seat, and Grant gives me a lop-sided grin.

"You don't know the trouble I went through coming here," He says as he starts to drive away, going 100mph.

I blink at him.

He cracks a smile. "I had to leave Gallagher Academy grounds to get my ass here ― I still can't believe they had you stationed in Switzerland. Where did you want me to drop you off, again?"

I open the glove compartment and take out a map of the world.

"Wonderful," comments Grant. "She has a map."

I roll my eyes before concentrating on where I want him to drop me off. I point to a country that looked suitable enough for my tastes. Grant glances at where my finger is, and sighs.

"You want me to drop you off in Scotland?" asks Grant. His eyebrows disappeared through is fringe. "Honestly…do you know how much gas that's going to take? I have to be back in bed before three, and it's already one! I'd like to keep my ass alive, you know."

I stare at him.

After a few minutes underneath my unnerving glare, Grant grumbles underneath his breath before reaching into the glove compartment, eyes still on the road. He pulled out a folder that had multiple identities, passports, tickets, tourist guides, and bills of different countries. He plops it in my lap.

"Look through that, see if you can find one for Scotland."

I do as asked, opening it before sifting through the options presented in front of me. Pretty soon, I find all the information I need for Scotland, and I put back the folder in the compartment.

"Got everything?" Grant questions as we swerve onto a highway of traffic. "We'll be going to the farthest airport just so they won't be on our trail but halfway there, we'll be dropping off to rent another car. This one will have a…suspicious…accident on the intersection, you know?"

Grant smirks, causing me to roll my eyes once more.

Before I know it, police cars and EMT's are speeding down the highway for a freak accident involving a BMW. Grant was smirking mischievously to himself as we enter a rented Hyundai Sonata.

We drive for another hour or two before he enters a parking lot at the airport. "Here we are," he says as he pulls into an empty spot. He gives me a look, and I pull out a wig that would give me red hair and a pixie cut. I pull a GAP sweater over my tank top and Victoria's Secret sweatpants over my shorts before I put on sneakers.

As we get out, Grant pops the trunk before handing me a lavender colored suitcase, a purse, and a backpack. "Everything you need," he says, giving me a smile. "Don't forget your glasses," he adds, handing me a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that I don't need. I put it on anyway.

Grant closes the trunk before putting an arm around my shoulders, leading me to the elevator that would take us to the terminals. "Got everything, Penelope?"

I nod. I place a piece of gum in my mouth and chew.

"Come on."

Grant steers me towards security check-in, making sure I have my passport, I.D, and ticket before I get in the tiny line. There's barely anyone at the airport today. "It's only October," he explains. "It's crazy during any holiday."

I nod before giving him a wave goodbye as I step behind a woman with brown hair and a banana yellow jumpsuit on. My body is tense as I do security check, feeling the officers' hands drape over my body as standard procedure to make sure nothing threatening is on my person.

I place my suitcase on baggage check before I look down at my ticket to see that the flight is in thirty minutes, terminal 4B. I make my way to the terminal, nodding my head at the lady who was collecting and stamping the tickets in front of the spiraling hallway that led to the airplane.

I give her my ticket and she doesn't even check to make sure it's legitimate. She gives me a fake smile and with a "thanks for taking American Airlines" I'm already halfway through the hallway. I sit in First Class, in a row by myself.

A deep, gaping hole of sadness echoes darkly in my chest as I lean my cheek against the cold glass of the window. I open up my purse and begin to shift through to see what Grant put in there.

There was nothing extreme, everything was simple enough.

There were a couple of pens, a notepad, an up-to-date cell phone, an iPod, and their chargers. There was a bag of chips and a bottled water. The backpack was in the compartment above me.

The captain of the plane announced via intercom that we were about to take off and to please put on your seat belts and welcome to American Airlines. I do as asked before I grip the edges of my seat. Nerves shoot up and down my spine as we begin to ascend through turbulence.

Once we were smooth sailing in the air, a flight attendant came to my seat, smiling sweetly. "Hello, miss. Would you care for a drink?"

I shook my head and she passed me by to the next person, who sat in the aisle across from me. The man asked for vodka. Someone wanted to get wasted.

I closed my eyes as the plane soars in the air. I fall asleep with my mind whirring with different disguises, scenarios, escape plans, and Gallagher Academy.