- Spencer -

"The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned."

The court erupted in applause as our client, whose face was moistened in tears of joy, was proclaimed innocent. She laughed, her eyes wrinkling as more tears streamed out of them. Her son, a boy no older than five years old, embraced her lovingly from behind.

"I'm never letting you go, mama."

Our team was beaming. It was another victory, and thanks to the potent mixture of compassion and brilliance characteristic to our entourage, Victoria Collins was exonerated, after being sentenced to near-life for inadvertent, yet voluntary vehicular manslaughter. As she was escorted back to the jailhouse to pick up her possessions, she turned around, mouthing a "thank you". Her eyes spoke volumes of gratitude. I smiled at her encouragingly, as she turned back around, her son bouncing around her legs, much to the chagrin of the escorting shuttle driver.

My overseer, the esteemed Philadelphia defense attorney Miriam Asher, looked at me, and sighed, smiling (an unusual gesture for someone with her hour-constraints and intense, serious personality). I assembled the folder of papers, hoping not to look idle.

"Spencer. Your coffee is a trademark of hell's kitchen, but, alas, I cannot thank you enough for your work." She was beaming, proud.

I grinned from ear to ear. "It was a pleasure."

"Get a head start home, Hastings. We have debriefs tomorrow."

I had been interning for the last five months at Miriam's firm as a paralegal, and was steadily rising in the ranks. Five years prior to today, walking through the windy, leaf-swept main avenue leading to my car, the mere insinuation of my attending Georgetown University's long-distance law school program, and interning at a paralegal firm would have elicited a mirthless laugh. But I started to realize how much the injustices that had been inflicted on me should never harm anyone else. How no one else should ever feel powerless, voiceless, like any move they make could make or break their fate. Like they'd be better off in a permanent position of stalemate.

The 3 AM black coffee was wearing off, and as I turned on the ignition at 6 PM the following day and made my way home, home to the town I had spent so much time dreaming about escaping, I fought my leaded eyelids until I arrived at the barn, and crashed.

— Alison —

Two and-a-half years of combat training and service had taken their toll on her. Emily was already a serious girl, but the army had invigorated that aspect of her personality like no other. It had been two weeks since she'd arrived home from five months in her Fort Jackson unit. She could only visit us every four. Three times a year. As expected, I had started questioning my strength in sustaining this, knowing how much stronger she was than me, and how Lily and Grace needed her. She served our country while being the best mother she could be. And for that, her unwavering commitment eluded mine.

I stroked her finely detailed cheek, running my fingertip down her pronounced jawline as she slept. She was beautiful. I couldn't resist waking her up.

"Em."

She didn't stir.

"Em!"

Emily jolted awake, gasping. I was taken aback.

"Emily, it's me. It's Alison."

Emily turned slightly, looking at me for a solid minute, unspeaking. Then, she got up. She cupped her head in her hands, and I heard the familiar, repetitive sound of her crying.

If there was one thing I wasn't good at, it was comforting. I lay in bed, thinking for a minute. I followed her to the other side of the bedroom and placed my hand on her shoulder.

"Em. You haven't been yourself since you got back from the South. I would ask you to talk to me, but…" she paused, not knowing how to continue. "I think we… I think you should see someone."

"I'm not psychotic, Alison!" Emily exclaimed exasperated, loudly, but not loudly enough to awaken the girls.

"Then… what is it?"

"I… I don't know how I'll adjust. It's the last day before summer's over. I'm back at the high school in two days, and I'm just expected to start teaching squabbling JV girls the difference between the trudgen and the backstroke. I'm scared… I'm scared in a way that I didn't feel in South Carolina. And it's ridiculous. This is my home. I'm with the people I love. I just…"

"Emily."

I looked at her square in the eyes, my hand firmly rested on her shoulder.

"You are not alone. I will help you. You know I'll be teaching the iambic pentameter just a minute or two away. You need to know that there is nothing to fear anymore. We don't have to worry about the walls having ears anymore. Everything is just as it should be. And I… we… love you."

With that, I hugged her. She reciprocated the embrace, sobbing. I took her by the hand and tucked her in bed.

– Aria –

Even though the deadline was looming, I didn't feel like a fish being forced out from the depths of the oceanic abyss. I was writing prolifically, in a way that I hadn't done since I'd been freelance blogging and writing in Quito, Ecuador for a semester. Our latest book was unraveling itself, intuitively, almost without our help.

Our publisher was right. We were quite the team. He was the thinker, and I was the doer. I thought to myself, smiling at nothing in particular. I had needed that semester. We had. Even after there wasn't a need to live, cowering in fear, we both realized that to progress as a couple, that we needed significant time together. Alone. Outside of Pennsylvania. Outside of the United States. I had learnt Spanish, trekked the Andes (in boots), and had devoured finer South American food than Alvaro's Patio in Philadelphia. I had pet alpacas, embroidered my own purse, and even been in the vintage, historic quarter of town, and had learned that film noire wasn't all there was to the finer days of time.

But I was home now. Home in the miniature unadventurous, unremarkable town that had been anything but humdrum in my younger years.

My phone rang, shrilly, filling the otherwise silent apartment above the Brew.

I jolted my head off the self-embroidered pillow.

"Hello?"

"Aria?"

The smile that had been on my face seconds before disappeared.

"Who is this?" I asked pointedly, even though I would've recognized the foxy, sly voice on the other end from miles away.

"Who do you think, sweetie? No need to fret, it's not Hackett." I could positively hear Mona Vanderwaal smiling complacently on the other end, and only gnashed my teeth at that comment after hanging the phone up.

"Mona? What… why are… why are you calling me here? How…" I sounded like an idiot, and knew Mona would profit off of that.

"Je rentre à la maison. Paris isn't working anymore. It does get awfully cold here in wintertime." I could hear the familiar sound of lipstick being applied as she spoke. Classic. I had come to my senses.

"Okay, that's fine and all, (though it wasn't that tidy) but it doesn't explain why you're calling me."

Mona sighed on the other end.

Her tone changed. "I meant to call Mike. We… we got in touch again. I… I lost his number. I know he's in Philadelphia right now and I wanted to meet him when I arrived." I could hear a note of longing in her voice. She sighed again. Before I could interject to ask why she was coming back at all, and what the hell she had been up to for the last two years, she quickly said, "Just tell him to call me. Please. Thanks, Aria. Maybe I'll see you."

With that, she hung up. Mona Vanderwaal had disappeared from the grid the day after Alex Drake was imprisoned. Hanna had tried to orchestrate a dinner with her, but to her and everyone's surprise, Mona had rather brusquely rebutted the offer, stating that any duty Mona had in relation to "Hanna and her posse" was fulfilled and that she wanted to be left alone. Subsequently, Mona had stopped answering calls or texts, and only after a barrage of voicemails after Mona's mom had been hospitalized, did she inform Hanna that she was in Paris and had no intention of returning. Apparently, Mike, who had come back to Rosewood after a year of "disowning the family" had been in contact with her long before…

I had no idea why she was returning, or what her return entailed.

- Hanna -

Two-and-a-half-year-old, blond, brown-eyed Lindy spattered solution all over the high chair and hurled a spoon across the room, which Caleb caught in one hand.

"Damn! Good one!" I laughed.

Mom whipped around from the fridge and scowled at me.

"Sorry. Nice! Good one!" I corrected myself, rolling my eyes. Caleb smirked.

"Will you kill me if I tell you how much she reminds me of you?"

"Maybe. Just maybe." I walked across the kitchen, pecking him on the cheek, grinning.

"So when do you want to head out?" Caleb asked, putting breakfast in the fridge.

"Thirty minutes works. Mom, you'll be with Lindy, right?"

"That was the plan, stranger."

I smiled. Thirty minutes later, we got in the car, on the way to the office of Veronica Hastings, who was running for Pennsylvania office a second time after being turned away the first time by a campaign blemish. Caleb was her IT specialist, and I liked to think of myself as her… "aesthetic advisor".

"She's cute, but the second she puts that gunk on one of my dresses, she's going to be doing more than church rummage sales, I'll tell you."

Caleb laughed as he clutched the steering wheel.

"Remember when you called me a creep in high school? I had greasy, gunky hair and survived off of Fritos from the vending machine while sleeping in the vent room above the library?"

"Duh. I pepper sprayed you."

We burst out laughing. We'd come so far.

"I wasn't much better. Wannabe-hourglass it-girls aren't that far up the social ladder."

We kept laughing as we pulled into the parking lot, and kissed each other.

Being Veronica's "aesthetic advisor" was informal and meant that I provided Caleb with moral support as he cracked out campaign logistics. I followed him in, meandering aimlessly through the headquarters.

"You know, Melissa was not excited about the design and the outfit you chose for next week's presentation." Caleb said as he logged onto the office desktop.

I scoffed, annoyed. Melissa, who had been in town for the last two years was as unpleasant and nitpicky as she was perfect. I swore, if Melissa hadn't vetoed everything that I did, or if Spencer had been Veronica's little advisor, Veronica would be much more open to my suggestions.

"Well, if Melissa, who's dressed like frumpy mama since she was ten, knows about style and aesthetics she should take my job. Gee, even if, Knowing her, the press would sleep till Christmas if she designed the layout for the pre—"

A very feminine throat clearing caused me to whip around. Melissa stood, arms crossed, behind me. Having heard everything, she was not amused. Crap. I was embarrassed.

"He has work to do, you know."

I smiled, resisting my urge to continue with my tirade. Caleb smirked, and turned his attention to the desktop. She side-eyed me as I scurried out, back home to my mind my devil of a daughter.

The plinging of my phone as I walked to the car roused my attention.

1 New Message From Aria:

Mona's back.

Freezing in my tracks, I stood in the parking lot. I looked around. Melissa stared at me from the office, scowling, drilling eyes into my head as she stood.

Feeling slightly nauseous, I hurried into the car, started the ignition, and drove home.

- END -

The impatient drumming of black-gloved fingers continued on the table of the RV for a good minute or two before stopping. The figure stood up, walking back and forth throughout the RV, pacing faster and faster each round. Something had gone deeply wrong.

A phone was picked up, as a voice unintelligible to all except the recipient of the message, said:

"You screwed up. And you know what happens when you go off-script. The deal is over. You will never see her again."

The figure hung up the phone, calmly placing it in its holder. The figure then walked, slowly, measuredly, to the storage room, containing years-unused equipment with dust so thick that it almost evoked a sneeze. The figure removed a hatchet from a plastic box, and with unprecedented violence, smashed a porcelain doll's face into bits, before slamming the storage room door, leaving the dust that had fallen off the shelves to settle to the ground.

So, what do you guys think?