She sat in the dark, gaze never settling on any point in particular as it drifted across her lab. From her perch in the office Fred could see close to the whole of it, all dressed and draped in shadows. At one point her eyes flickered just above the place where Lawson had initially confronted her, and Fred's fingers caught tight on the underside of her desk as her hands gripped at the flat surface. She could feel how bits of wood filled in the spaces underneath her nails.

She'd been the first person he'd picked, clearly measured and judged to be the weakest. But for once, that didn't threaten to unravel her the way it might once have. No, that privileged was reserved for the memory of her friends' lives being threatened one after the other. Of watching Wesley being brought into the room. Angel battling Lawson with a hastily fashioned stake.

Fred swallowed hard, and her throat protested. Abused, frayed muscles fired. Maybe it was finally time to think about going home. She was just about to claim her keys when the lab door pushed open.