Authors: Chanel Cleeton
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I recognize the boy instantly—
Henry Arnoff.
He’s slightly leaner than he looks in the photo the Academy gave me. His skin is a golden tan, his eyes covered by expensive-looking sunglasses. He appears to be my age or so.
“You okay?” Luke stands in front of me, the camera at his side, a frown on his face. “Babe, you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I move closer. Arnoff hasn’t spotted us yet. It occurs to me that I’ve noticed something Luke hasn’t. I have to fight to wipe the grin off of my face. I lean in closer to Luke, registering how his arm stiffens under my touch. I keep my voice low, trying not to sound too pleased with myself.
“Arnoff’s running this way. Two guards behind him.”
Luke’s too good at what he does to look. He doesn’t even flinch. But I can still sense that nearly imperceptible shift in him. I no longer have his attention; all of his senses are focused on the target. But I know he knows I just bested him. And he hates it.
Arnoff passes us, guards in tow.
Luke’s lips brush against my ear.
“So that’s the boy we’re going to kill.”
Later that night, I set Henry Arnoff’s file down on my desk.
I don’t know if it’s Luke’s return or the men following us, but either way, something about this assignment feels off. Are we even supposed to kill him or is this just a ploy to throw us together, a test I’m doomed to fail?
“Are you working on your assignment?”
I freeze at the sound of my sister’s voice. I shuffle the papers back in place, closing the file. The further she is from all of this, the better.
“I thought you were studying in the library.” I turn to face her. “Don’t you have a project in history tomorrow?”
Grace grins, waving me off. “I’m ready for it. The Ottoman Empire is no match for me.”
I laugh at her cockiness. As different as we are, sometimes I see glimmers of myself in her. “You’ll be great.” Of all the things I’ve done wrong—and there have been plenty—taking care of my sister is the best thing I’ve ever done. Even though half the time it feels more like she’s taken care of me.
“You didn’t answer my question. Is that for the new assignment? The one you’re working on with Luke?”
“I’m not sure you can say Luke and I are ‘working on’ anything together. More like trying not to kill each other,” I joke.
Sort of.
There’s so much more I want to say; all of Luke’s earlier warnings about the Academy stick in my throat. I want to warn Grace to be on her guard, but the words don’t come. Grace is a terrible liar and I can’t risk telling her, can’t risk the chance that she’ll break under an Academy interrogation. Not yet, not when I don’t know where this is headed. Instead I just sit there, staring at her, my head and heart full of fear.
The Academy has already tested the limits of my love for Grace and left the scars to prove it.
“Are you okay?”
I force my lips into a rough impersonation of a smile. It’s the hardest to fake it with Grace. It’s one thing to lie to everyone around me, but lying to her feels so wrong.
“Just tired. Luke made me do lots of surveillance work.”
“If you need computer help—”
“No.” I struggle to calm the rising panic in my voice. “That’s really sweet of you to offer, but you should focus on school. This job is dangerous. I need you to promise you’ll be careful. If you see anyone suspicious, or if anything just seems off, I want you to tell me immediately. Not anyone at the Academy. Just me.”
“Not Luke?”
“Especially not Luke.”
“He used to be your friend.”
There is that word again—friend. Luke threw it in my face like an accusation. Now Grace offers it up as some sort of an explanation. For what, I don’t know. Luke and I were a lot of things before I tried to kill him.
“I don’t think Luke really has friends. He keeps to himself.”
“I like Luke. He’s always been nice to me.”
I should have known this would happen. They were always close, which makes everything so much harder.
“Be careful with Luke. He’s not the same person he used to be. He’s older now, out doing things that have changed him.”
“He’s one of us.” Her eyes have that same stubborn glint I see every time I look in the mirror.
“He’s not one of us. He isn’t family.”
“He was there the night we came here.”
I freeze, and for the second time since Luke came back, my world shatters. I open my mouth, but no words come out. When they finally do, my voice cracks with each syllable.
“He wasn’t.”
“I dreamed about it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Heat. Flames.
I push the memory away. “Luke wasn’t anywhere near us the night we came here. And you were too young to remember it. Whatever you dreamed, that was all it was—a dream.”
Hurt flashes across Grace’s face.
Shit.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just upset. Things with Luke are tense. I don’t want you in the middle of it.”
“I wouldn’t get in the way. I could help you if you’d let me.”
“I know, but you’re my family. The only family I have. You have to know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. Please just trust me on this. I promise that I’ll let you know if we need help.”
Grace steps forward, her arms wrapping around my waist. I try not to stiffen at her touch. “I love you, X.”
I kiss the top of her head before releasing her. “I gotta get back to work, okay? But when I’m done why don’t we do something fun? Whatever you like.”
“Okay. I’m going to read for a bit. Let me know when you’re finished.”
I turn back to the file, focusing on the picture in front of me, trying to push past my own jumbled thoughts. I want to discount Grace’s words entirely. She was so scared the night of the fire. She was so young. She still is, so young.
But there’s something there. Something off with Luke. Was he there the night we came to the Academy? If so, why? And why the hell can’t I remember?
It’s all just a blur. There was the Academy, and before that—
I don’t remember.
My past is a puzzle and most of it’s missing, the remaining pieces making no sense. But there’s enough there, enough pieces that fall into place, to make me not want to remember. I know enough to want to forget. Grace’s memories are colored by her youth, and more than that, by my fear that the darkness that touched me back then will touch her, too. It’s better if it’s all a haze, better if she doesn’t remember the details, easier if I don’t remember them.
I rub my eyes, turning my attention back to Arnoff. I have enough problems right now without adding Luke to the mix.
Focus on the mission. Focus on the target.
Based on what I observed on his run today, Henry Arnoff seemed relatively relaxed. He didn’t look paranoid or concerned; he appeared every inch the affluent student. The security wasn’t the biggest shock, either. I need to find a way to get close to him, an excuse for why he would let his guard down around me. I just need to figure out how.
###
I cough, the smell burning my nostrils. Hands grab my shoulders, shaking me roughly.
“Wake up, Alexandra.”
My eyes flutter open. My mother’s face greets me, her eyes filled with fear. Behind her, all I see is orange and red.
Flames.
I bolt up in bed, the heat nearly unbearable. My skin feels like it’s peeling off, curling around my body. I’m melting in the fire.
“Run.” My mother grips the tops of my arms, her fingers digging into my flesh, her eyes wild. “Take your sister and run. Leave the house.”
“What’s happening?”
Smoke fills my nostrils. I cough.
“Take your sister. Now.”
I pull back the covers, my feet hitting the hardwood floors. My legs are jelly, my limbs unwilling to move.
Why is there smoke?
“Alexandra. I need you to be brave. Promise me. You need to take care of your sister. You need to leave.”
“You aren’t coming with us?”
She shakes her head.
“Mama—”
I wake, bathed in sweat, my heart pounding madly in my chest.
I wipe a tear from my cheek, rubbing my face against the pillow. This time I know it was a memory. I was dreaming of that night—the night we came to the Academy, the night we lost our parents.
The night I became X.
###
I wince, grabbing my side. That last blow hurt more than I care to admit.
“I’m fine. Just a little sluggish.”
My sparring partner grabs a towel off the ground, using it to wipe sweat from her brow. Steph’s a year below me—an assassin as well. Physically we’re relatively close in size, but she’s definitely a lot stronger than I am. I’m feeling it today, and the lack of sleep isn’t helping.
“That fight between you and Luke was pretty intense the other day.”
I grunt in acknowledgment.
Our gym session is back to normal. Our trainer, Morse, leans against the wall, his gaze following our moves. Periodically, he breaks his eye contact to jot something down on a clipboard. We’re always being observed, ranked, profiled.
We’re always being tested.
“Is he back for good now?” Steph asks, taking a swig from her water bottle.
“I don’t know.”
Steph’s head jerks toward the doorway. “Hey, watch out, we have company.”
I follow her gaze. The Director stands at the entrance to the gym, her arms folded across her chest. I’ve never seen her outside of her office; her presence is so unusual that all talking and movement has ceased. Instead we stand there, no doubt evaluating the odds that we’re the one who has made her leave her inner sanctum to come watch us fight. Everyone except for me, that is—
Some instinct long since forged in this place, tells me she’s here for me.
The Director’s beady eyes narrow behind her glasses as she locks on me, her stare likely employed to browbeat countless assets into submission. I raise my chin, meeting her gaze.
Stupid.
Part of me knows that the smart thing, the way to survive, is to duck my head and blend in with everyone else. But I don’t want to. There’s that word again—
want.
It shouldn’t even be a part of my vocabulary, but it drives me to keep my head up, to meet her stare. There’s no question that she controls my life, but for some reason this little act of rebellion, this moment, fills me with power.
I’m so tired of being weak.
The Director motions for Morse to join her. They speak for a moment and then he leaves her, walking toward us.
“X, the Director would like to speak with you.”
Surprise, surprise.
All eyes are on me now as I walk through the gym. The Director has already gone, no doubt expecting me to follow her to her office. She could want to talk to me about any number of things—my new assignment, my sister, Luke. Nothing is off limits to her.
What will I say if she asks me about Luke? Will I tell her the truth? Tell her his suspicious about the Academy, the strange men following us the night we tried to do surveillance? Maybe. Maybe it’s all a test to gauge my loyalty to the Academy.
Maybe I’ve already failed.
I turn down the hall, making my way toward her office door.
Her secretary nods at me behind her desk. “You can go in.”
I curve my hand around the doorknob, twisting until the door opens.
There’s a trace of nerves, but I push them back, blocking out the fears springing up inside me. I hover over the threshold, this time scanning the office for signs of anyone else.
Fool me once.
“Come in, X.”
I step forward, crossing the office until I’m a few feet away from her desk. I glance around, for the first time focusing on my surroundings rather than the Director herself.
Her office isn’t large, but it’s nice. It’s also cold. Functional. There are no pictures of her family.
Does she even have a family?
No sign of any of her interests. Nothing personal. The walls are a stark white color, the furniture a combination of modern metal and white accents.
It’s sterile. Exactly like her.
“Sit.”
I sit.
The Director leans forward in her chair, her elbows propped against the desk, her hands clasped.
“You’ve had time to investigate the Arnoff matter.”
I nod.
“We’re sending you into the school soon. University transcripts and the like have been taken care of.” She reaches down, opening her desk drawer, and pulls out a thick envelope. “Your cover is in here.” She doesn’t have to tell me to memorize it—we both know the drill.
I take the envelope from the desk. Its weight doesn’t faze me.
This
part I don’t mind so much. It’s kind of fun really, pretending you’re someone else. And I’ve gotten pretty good at wearing a mask.
I sit, the envelope clenched in my hand, waiting for the Director to dismiss me. Instead she opens another drawer—
does she keep all of her secrets in that desk?
—and pulls out a slightly thicker folder. She thumbs through it, her gaze trained on the file.
I hesitate, wondering if she’s finished with me, if this is another test, if I should respond somehow, when her head jerks up. Her gaze pierces me and my breath catches in my throat. She reminds me of a deadly cobra, poised and ready to strike. No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, she terrifies me.
“Has Luke been helpful to you so far?” Her tone is deceptively casual, and yet there’s something there, something difficult to identify, but I fear infinitely dangerous.