The air was warm and the leaves lay eerily still against the trees, but Adalind was thankful for the silence. She stood amongst the aging ruins, waiting patiently for Nick. Through her leather jacket, she shivered slightly and reminded herself, this was for him, for Renard.

She was loyal to the regnant, often to a fault. She knew deep in her consciousness that he was using her, but the sad thing was, she didn't mind. The more she thought about it, the more it dawned on her. All this time he had known her; he had been preparing her for this.

She loved him though, deep and true. It was a love long forged, and a friendship well fought for. In the beginning, she had though he was arrogant, like those that he called 'friend', a man who abused his status to bend those to his will. But as she now knew, nothing had been further from the truth. He was powerful, and she respected that. She was an independent woman, and always had been, but after she met Renard something had changed.

She remembered it fondly; that evening in June when it had suddenly turned around. He had called her late one night, said he wanted to see her. They sat on the beach, beers in a cooler a few feet away. He was young then, still in his mid-twenties and free of responsibility to his canton. They spent the night talking, watching the sun fade over the horizon and stars begin to rise. She was naïve and he was too wealthy for his own good, but for that night it didn't matter. They were two people, alone under the stars.

Over time, it had grown into something more, something she couldn't live without. She was there through all his failures, his successes, and his tragedies. She had been there for when he graduated from the force, and knew even before him: it was his destiny. She was the person he went to for advice, when he was lost or just wanted someone to talk with. From that first night, through kisses at New Year and lazy afternoons, they had become inseparable.

It had been going so well, until he became Captain and Nick had entered his life. After that, his demeanor had changed. He had taken to rejecting her advances and instead gave her the cold shoulder. He began asking her to do more and more, but she was too blind to notice. Instead of spending the night together at a restaurant, they spent days in a small room hovering over charts, planning for his future success. Somewhere along the way, she had become his second in command, no longer an equal.

Everything became about Nick, and by extension Marie. They fought and intentions descended into darkness. Their confrontations were violent, a clash of claws and a battle of wills. He always got the upper hand, but he never harmed her. Somewhere deep down, she knew the regnant still loved her.

A sudden wind rustled through the trees and the flashbacks faded into the recesses of her mind. He wanted the key and she would get it for him. She had promised him that much.

A moment later and her sensitive ears picked up a set of faint footfalls. The detective's soles pressed into the soft ground, denting the moss and moulding the forgiving soil. Although her back was to the approaching Grimm, the acidic smell was unmistakable. Footsteps drew closer across the padded ground, and she tensed.

Adalind spun around and began circling Nick. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and the fighting began. It was intense and frenzied. Punches were met with resistance as the ruins became an arena. For what felt like hours, they fought.

She was in the lead, and suddenly she was on the ground. The air was forced out of her lungs as she collided with the dark earth. She was thrust into the dirt and a strong arm was thrown against her throat. Pale fingers wrapped around his wrist, clawing at unmarred skin, in an attempt to break free.

She struggled as her breathing became labored. She could feel life drifting away, and all self-control went with it. With reserved strength she bit into his lower lip. Blood left a metallic taste in her mouth and she felt the pull of the hexenbiest.

Nick had backed away the moment he felt something was wrong. Adalind lay on the ground, immobilized and in pain. Once again, her breathing became labored. Her lungs struggled to breathe and her heartbeat became frantic. Her limbs felt heavy, and the tug of an invisible force became impossible to ignore. Silence fogged the surrounding area, shrouding her in a tomb, quiet other than the sound of shallow breathing. The hexenbiest was on fire, like every cell in her body was reforming into something unnatural.

She was trapped, paralyzed. Inside she was fighting, but outside all she could do was lie and wait. The hexenbiest stirred, growling and clawing its way out. Above her, she could see the shimmering mirage of the wesen, but inside she felt hollow.

When she was finally able to move, she was sluggish and clumsy. Adalind felt empty, like part of her was missing, and she knew that it was too late. She had lost her abilities, she was human. Tears began to form in her blue eyes at the realization. She was no longer needed and, in Renard's eyes, expendable.

Despite her disgust, she could help but thank the Grimm. Losing her powers, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. No longer did she carry the responsibilities of the canton, or the heavy loneliness of a man void of compassion.

Unshed tear blurred her vision as she stumbled to her car and she fumbled to find her keys. Once inside, she quickly locked the doors and allowed for a moment of sanctuary. Taking a deep breath, she stared into the trees. Darkness had crept over Portland and every leaf was bathed in black. She nearly laughed at the irony.

The hum of the engine soothed her ravaged spirit and the deserted roads eased her anxiety. She watched as deserted foliage slowly lightened into the dim homes of urban Portland. Some windows were pitch black, while others reflected the orange light of lamps and the fluorescent glow of late night infomercials.

When Adalind arrived at her mother's house she was welcomed by comforting light and the smell of home. Her mother stood in the living room, open arms inviting. When she approached, they enveloped her, but folded away quickly as she sensed the change.

The young hexenbiest tried to explain but no words formed, she was speechless. When Renard stepped out from behind the wall, she wanted to disappear. In his green eyes she saw leaked disappointment and a deep sadness. To any other, he seemed cold and calculated but she could see the inner turmoil; he knew what failure meant. When he talked, she tuned him out, too emotionally distressed to care. She left without a single goodbye and once again found refuge in the silence of her home.

The main room was still set up for her night with Hank, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, she had failed. The man she loved had dismissed her, like a useless pawn in his all-important game. Where she had once ruled, she was now simply a sacrifice. A bubbling rage overtook her, for the police Captain who had stripped her life of meaning.

After all she had given him, he threw her away. She knew that it was necessary for his mission, that his role demanded it, but what about him. The man underneath would have stood up for her; tried to defend her, to convince himself he still loved her. The man she met on the beach would have went to her and told her everything would be okay. That she was still important, that she had something to live for.

Somewhere deep down, she also knew that he had never existed. The whole thing was a lie; a complex ploy intended to win her over, making her forever loyal to his cause. The man who loved her was gone, replaced by someone filled with an idealistic future where no evil existed. But the truth remained, as long as he lived, there would be evil.

Everything was a blur and the next thing she knew she was at the beach, standing beside the lighthouse from all those years ago. This was the spot where they had met, and the spot they would say goodbye.

The gun felt heavy and wrong in her hands. The cool metal made her shiver and memories surfaced from deep in her mind. Warm arms surrounding her thin frame, passionate kisses below the fireworks, patching up a wound left by a stray blutbad, the smile on her face the day he became a detective. She raised the muzzle to her lips and took a deep breath.

In the distance, a deep voice cried out. His desperate tones reached her ears and for a moment, she believed it. Then she remembered what he did to her, and knew it was a hoax. This man felt no compassion, especially towards her.

The cool wind made the waves sway and she allowed herself to relax into the symphony of the ocean. Footsteps stumbled over the broken rocks scattered throughout smooth sand. He was approaching quickly and without hesitation she pulled the trigger.

Renard was too late.