Students at the McDonough School have six classes a day, alternating their days between physical and intellectual lessons. The students that I had in class this morning would continue on to small weapons training and defensive combat techniques before lunch, then offensive combat techniques class, large weapons, and finally Talent training after lunch.

  Unlike the students, my second period was not a physical one. Instead, I was assigned to assist Annalise Cleary in her Prevalent Languages of the World class. On the short walk to her classroom, I glanced through her record. I immediately noticed the red flag in her file; Annalise’s husband, Jerald Mathias, defected to Colorado five years after their marriage to join the Coalition. Annalise had been thoroughly investigated at the time and cleared of any wrongdoing. She’d reverted back to her maiden name and continued working for TOXIC.

  I found her room with mere seconds to spare. I quietly walked through the doorway and ducked into the back of the classroom. Not wanting to interrupt, I decided to wait until after her lesson to introduce myself. I leaned against the wall, surveying the class, and immediately felt self-conscious.

  I had forgotten that there was a reason why the students alternated days between physical and academic classes. My stretchy pants and tight workout shirt had fit right in during Donavon’s combat training, but I looked wildly out of place in this classroom, where all the students were wearing khaki slacks, crisp white dress shirts, and navy blazers. Instructor Cleary was wearing a red skirt suit with the collar of a floral-print shirt peeking out from under her formfitting jacket. Well, crap. Not only was I inappropriately dressed, I was willing to bet that I smelled. I’d have to remember a change of clothes tomorrow.

  Annalise Cleary began class as I wrapped myself in the lightweight jacket that I grabbed on my way out of my room. She gave brief instructions in Spanish, then the students opened their bags and began working from glossy books. After she was satisfied that all of the children understood her directions, she finally turned her attention to me. She motioned me over to the desk with a wave of her hand.

  “You must be Natalia Lyons,” she said warmly. Up close, I noticed that she was much older than she’d appeared from the back of the room. Lines crinkled around her blue eyes and the corners of her mouth when she smiled. Her nearly black hair, pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, had a handful of gray streaks interspersed.

  I held out my hand. “Yes, you can call me Talia.” I returned her smile, grateful for a friendly face after my encounter with Donavon.

  “Are you proficient in languages?” she inquired. Hmmm, I didn’t know. Was I supposed to be? Mac didn’t really specify.

  “Actually, I am.” I decided that answering truthfully was best, and languages had been my best classroom subject. I was fluent in most major languages as well as some that were more obscure; it was easy to learn languages when you were a mind reader.

  “Very good. I’ll give you the answer key for the assignments that I need you to grade, and you just have to see if the student’s answers match mine,” she replied, still smiling.

  “Great.” I tried to match her enthusiasm, but the thought of being relegated to grading papers made me feel more like crying. I failed to see how this was a productive use of my time. Reminding myself that remedial tasks were an unfortunate, but necessary, part of this assignment, I set to work.

  I spent the rest of the class sitting at Annalise Cleary’s desk, comparing test papers to the answer key. Every red mark that I made on a student’s paper made me wonder how this was helping find the person who leaked my identity.

  Once Instructor Cleary’s attention was diverted, I risked skimming the rest of her file for pertinent information.

  Annalise Bernice Cleary was born forty-two years ago in Atlanta, Georgia, the only child of Jonah and Eloise Cleary. The report listed her as an Elite-level Electrical Manipulator. In her junior year, she’d taken three placement tests for the Hunters, the Crypto Division, and the Weapons Division. She’d placed with the Weapons Division and received a position there after the successful completion of her Pledge year.

  After four years of developing and manufacturing advanced weapons, Annalise requested a transfer to the School after her husband’s defection. The transfer had been approved since she was cleared of any involvement. Following her reassignment, she put in her dues as an assistant Instructor before being receiving her own class seven years ago.

  The students seemed to genuinely like her, always giving her favorable reviews. Janet also appeared pleased with her teaching abilities and had nothing but praise for the woman in her annual reviews.

  Annalise had never remarried after her husband’s defection, and I can’t say I blamed her. After a betrayal like that, I wouldn’t have either. Other than her ex-husband having proven to be a traitor, there was nothing suspect that jumped out in her file. Well, nothing except her Talent Ranking.

  Elite-level Electrical Manipulators weren’t rare, and I’d come across a handful in my time at School and with Toxic. They all shared a unique brain pattern, one that I hadn’t felt in my brief interactions with Instructor Cleary. All exceptionally strong Talents gave off a signal of sorts, emitting a crackle that felt like a tiny shock to my system. When I formed a strong enough connection with someone to read their mind, the impulses were stronger and sometimes even uncomfortable. Annalise didn’t radiate so much as a spark. I made a mental note to double check the information with Penny later that evening.

  After World Languages, I was off to aid an Instructor named Cadence Choi in her defensive combat techniques class.

  From a quick look at Cadence’s file, I learned that she was a twenty-four-year-old Mid-level Light Manipulator from Brooklyn, New York. She was the youngest of Clarence and Raven Choi’s three children. Her middle brother, Daniel, was a Low-level poly-morph who currently served as a guard for one of TOXIC’s weapons facilities. Randy, her oldest brother had been a guard at Tramblewood Corrections Facility, the prison where Toxic housed the highest-priority offenders. He’d been charged with treason and jailed after helping an inmate escape. The inmate had been Ian Crane’s sister. Interesting, very interesting.

  After Randy’s fall from grace, the entire Choi family had been scrutinized, but they’d all been found innocent of any nefarious deeds. Despite that, both Cadence and Daniel’s movements were still heavily monitored. I would have to remember to ask Penny to pull Daniel’s file for me.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Thankfully, I arrived at Cadence’s class with plenty of time to spare. I walked straight up to her and introduced myself.

  “Hi, Cadence? My name is Talia, Talia Lyons,” I said, extending my hand to her in greeting.

  “I was expecting you yesterday,” she replied, pointedly staring at my fingers like they might bite her.

  “Sorry, my paperwork had some problems,” I lied. My personal situation with Donavon was none of her business.

  Cadence Choi was not much larger, or much older, than I was. She wore baggy gray sweatpants and a white short-sleeve shirt. All of her facial features were scrunched. Her eyes could only have been described as beady, her pupils so large that they looked like black orbs, set deeply in her face. Her nose was small and very turned up at the end, like she had once made a face in reaction to something malodorous and her nose had subsequently been stuck that way. Her mouth was small and puckered, like she was ready to kiss somebody at any moment.

  “Were you in the student’s Offensive Combat Techniques class this morning?” she asked. I nodded in reply. “Good. We will be learning the defensive maneuvers that correspond to the combinations Donavon taught this morning.”

  I didn’t need to delve into Cadence’s mind to know that she had a major crush on Donavon. Her beady little eyes lit up like a firework when she said his name. I had an overwhelming urge to giggle.

  “Roger that,” I said instead. She gave me a hard look, trying to decide if I was mocking her.

  I hadn’t established enough of a connection to get much from her mind, but I could almost see the waves of dislike rolling off her body as she looked me up and down. I was definitely off to a slow start making friends.

  I studied Cadence as she demonstrated several defensive moves, grudgingly watching her fluid motions and perfect form. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but she was very good. The mastery of her skills wasn’t lost on the students either; they all observed her with rapt attention, seemingly unable to tear their eyes away.

  “Ms. Lyons, if you could help me out?” she called.

  “Um, sure,” I mumbled, moving to the front of the practice mats.

  “I need you to walk through the skills Donavon taught this morning. Can you handle that?” she asked in a short, clipped voice.

  “I can,” I snapped before remembering that I needed to gain her confidence, not make her dislike me more than she clearly did.

  Starting slowly, I aimed light jabs at her midsection, letting her block my weak attempts. As the demonstration progressed, I realized that she was fast—really fast. And she was responding to my slow movements with more force and aggression than necessary. Her attitude irritated me and I picked up my game. Soon, we were sparring for real, both of us panting and sweaty. Not only was Cadence fast, she was almost as good as I was. Fearing that she would get the best of me, and not wanting to be shown up in front of a bunch of students, I decided to show her exactly how good I was. My next movement landed her flat on her back.

  Normally, I wouldn’t have stopped there; I would’ve pinned her to the ground until she conceded my victory. However, the audible gasp from the pupils in attendance brought me back to reality. So, instead of claiming my win, I reached out my hand in an attempt to help her to her feet. Her beady black eyes were murderous as she stared up at me from the ground. I recoiled at her open hostility. She reached for my hand but instead of grasping it to let me help her up, her own arm—from fingertips to shoulder—disappeared in front of my eyes. My fingers grasped air. I’d braced myself to pull her to her feet but her trick had caught me off guard and I stumbled.

  Several of the students snickered. Cadence’s lips curled into a snarl as she glared at me through the pieces of her black hair that had escaped her ponytail during our scuffle.

  “Light Manipulator,” she said quietly. I’d known that; I just hadn’t anticipated her using her ability to embarrass me. Cadence moved from where I’d fallen on my hands and knees and began assigning practice partners to the class. I had to bite my lip as the anger and humiliation at her having gotten the last word threatened to cloud my better judgment. Taking three deep, calming breaths, I plastered a smile on my face. I spent the remainder of class suppressing my desire to attack the girl.

  After class, I made my way to the Instructor cafeteria. Gretchen had assured me that the food here would be better here than the students’, but I wasn’t optimistic as I entered and saw long plastic tables anchored to the floor by long plastic uncomfortable benches.

  I joined the end of the line of teachers and assistants waiting to load their plates with mystery meat and crispy lettuce from the food bar. The chicken was covered in thick, brown gravy, and actually smelled amazing. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled as I searched for an empty table. I knew that I should join some of my colleagues and try and dig around a little, but I wasn’t really in the mood. Finding all of the tables already occupied, I chose the least hostile looking option: a small blond boy with his nose buried in a book.

  “Mind if I sit?” I asked, approaching his side. The boy looked up at me and his eyes widened, taking on a glazed expression.

  “Sure,” he squeaked in reply. “I mean, sure, it’s okay if you sit. Not sure, I mind if you sit,” he felt the need to clarify.

  “Thanks,” I smiled, regretting my choice. This kid was definitely in the Crypto department, I thought to myself. If his stringy, blond hair and paler-than-normal complexion weren’t dead giveaways, his rambling lack of interpersonal skills were.

  “Talia,” I said, holding out my hand to him as I slid onto the bench. “I just started here as an assistant.”

  “Ernest Tate,” he replied, extending one freckled hand. “I am an Instructor for Advanced Crypto Techniques class.” Ha. I knew it.

  “Ah, so you’re a Brain,” I said, giving him a knowing grin. Brain was a slang term for a Higher Reasoning Talent. I hadn’t taken any advanced Crypto classes—or any at all—while I was in school, but Penny obviously had. I added Ernest’s name to my growing list of files to be pulled. A Brain could definitely be the leak.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” his face reddened with embarrassment. I decided to take a look into his thoughts.

  “How long have you been teaching here?” I asked as I took a bite of my ranch-drenched salad and latched onto his hazel eyes.

  “Just a year,” he answered.

  “Where were you stationed before that?” I continued. Ernest looked young, but I didn’t think that he was young enough to have only graduated the previous year.

  “A computer development facility in Scranton, Pennsylvania,” he answered.

  “How long were you there?” I pressed, swallowing the lettuce and picking up my knife to cut the chicken.

  “Two years,” he replied, playing with the gravy on his own plate. With every answer he gave, I got a better feel for his brain patterns. Like Electrical Manipulators, Higher Reasoning Talents had unique patterns. Ernest’s synapses fired so rapidly that it made me dizzy, and the overactive brain functioning was exactly what I’d expect from a strong Higher Reasoning.

  “Why did you leave?” I asked. If he thought that I was being nosey, he didn’t let on; he actually seemed pleased that a girl was taking an interest in him. I gathered that Ernest didn’t have a lot of friends.

  “The pressure was too much,” he admitted, his face going scarlet as he averted his eyes. I smiled sympathetically at him. He was an easy read, not much of a mental guard, and was telling the truth, at least about the pressure being too intense.

  “What did you do before you came here?” he asked, visibly sagging with relief when he no longer had the added weight of my mind on his shoulders.

  “I was . . . well, I was a Hunter Pledge,” I answered after a long pause.

  “Man, you must know all about pressure, then, huh?” It wasn’t really a question as much as a statement, but I felt the need to answer anyway.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that’s why I left my previous post, too. I basically broke down on my solo mission.” I tried to look like the admission made me uneasy, which wasn’t hard because it was basically the truth; I had broken down on my solo mission, at least physically.

  After lunch ended, Ernest walked with me to the academic building before saying our goodbyes. He might have been a suspect, but at least Ernest seemed to like me. That was more than I could say for some of the others whom I’d encountered thus far.