BURN LIKE A THOUSAND MILES OF FIRE ; OPEN

[ARELLA ROWENA TREBEL]

It was much, much too cold for her to be outside, but that was where Arella found herself, anyway. The black cardigan she wore was cute but did very little to keep out the wind and biting cold air; her jeans and black pumps did even less. But somehow, in this weird little world of hers, it was a nice sort of cold; refreshing. It kept her awake and definitely prevented her from becoming bored, because if all else failed, she could simply concentrate on how much she loathed such icy weather and tantalize herself with thoughts of hot chocolate and a fire place. In reality, she really could go home if she wanted. She'd come here to follow a lead, and that had turned up as a dead end. The boss man had told her she had a couple of hours before she was needed again, but instead of taking the sane option and going home to unfreeze her toes during that time, her no-doubt-subconsciously-masochistic mind had come up with a better idea: going for a walk.

There was absolutely nothing here of remote interest, she had already discovered that, and she'd only been walking for about half an hour. It was a great time to think, though, and that was what she currently occupied herself with. Normally, when she had a spare moment her thoughts went straight to Zach and, inevitably, to Jaden, but today - perhaps because she was still technically working - they went elsewhere: her job. She hated it, feared it, resented it, and absolutely loved it, along with the unexplicable sense of satisfaction she got from it. Through her work, she was both a hero and a villain, the perfect middle. She was a crime-fighter, a puzzle-solver, a justice-bringer; she placated victims and/or their families, and made sure that whatever had happened wouldn't happen again, at least not by the same man's hand. She was proud of it.

Of course, there was the other side, the side that she probably should have avoided thinking about but truthfully found fascinating. To some people, she was the embodiment of evil itself. There were people who committed their crimes for a good reason - she wouldn't deny that. Last week, a man had stabbed another man for raping his girlfriend. In her mind, though she knew better than to admit it, that was more than justified, and she'd probably have done the same thing. But that man was no exception to the rules that governed society, and she'd had to hunt him down, just like every other criminal. There were also those who were entirely in the wrong, and hated her all the more for catching them and forcing them to face their punishment. And, inevitably, there were those that she was led to suspect and even accuse but were actually innocent. She did her best, but there were always a couple every year that had their lives negatively altered because of her mistakes. Arella hated it, but she would have hated it even more if they'd been guilty and she'd let them go.

It was balanced, or so she liked to think of it. It did her superman complex good to have an outlet, it did her guilty conscience (though she would fervently deny its existance if confronted) good to have something to unquestionably feel guilty about. And, in a way, she could punish herself as well. The huge bruise on her hip was proof of that, and the ankle that she'd sprained two weeks ago and was almost healed, and the way her heart leaped out of her chest every time the suspect had a gun and shot just a little too close for comfort - or even hit its mark, slamming into her flak jacket while her heart jumped so hard it actually hurt. If she ever admitted to anyone how badly the work really scared her, she was certain they'd tell her to quit, as she had even told herself on occasion - but she was addicted to the adrenaline rush, the feeling of purpose, and the ability to control how much she punished herself but still convince herself that she wasn't.

Arella took a deep sigh, shoving the thoughts back into the lockbox in her mind so quickly that she suffered a full second of a blank mind before she caught up. That was territory she wasn't going to touch on, territory better left unexplored. As she exhaled, she watched the mist dissolve into the air before her before spotting a bench several feet in front of it. A quick consult with her feet confirmed that they were indeed in need of a break - pumps weren't the best walking shoes - and she took a seat on it, shaking her head out to make sure her hair still covered her ears and sticking her hands in her cardigan pockets, relaxing as best as she could given the frigid surroundings.