I arrived just as Ms. Cleary’s previous class was letting out.

  “Ms. Lyons!” she exclaimed. “You’re early!”

  “Um, yeah. I had to visit Medical, so I left a little early from my last class.” That was mostly true. There was no way that I was explaining my refusal to wear protective padding just to prove to Donavon I was tough.

  “I have plenty for you to get started on.” She smiled, motioning me to her desk. Inwardly, I groaned. Paperwork—just what I wanted to do. Outwardly, I matched her smile and limped pathetically to sit in her chair.

  The opportunities to engage Annalise in conversation were few and far between, so I jumped on them. Mostly, I made small talk asking about what she did in her free time and if she ever got the chance to leave campus to enjoy Baltimore or Washington. I was even so bold as to chance asking about her personal life.

  “Oh, not much chance for that,” she laughed. “My duties here at school keep me very busy.”

  “But you don’t want to date? Start a family? That’s the great thing about being a teacher, right? It’s easy to get married and settle down. I’ve even heard that if you’re married you can request to live off campus,” I pressed. Sure, I knew that the questions were indelicate, but after my morning, tact was not a priority. The sooner I found the spy, the sooner that I could get away from Donavon.

  “Yes, that is true, dear . . . but the students here are my family. I don’t need more than that,” she answered. Her eyes took on a faraway look and I knew that she was caught in the memory of her failed marriage. Her thoughts were sad, regretful. Annalise had truly loved her husband, and his actions had cut her deeply. But through the pain, I felt her determination to personally right the wrongs of her husband. Her inner turmoil saddened me. I couldn’t imagine living with the knowledge that someone you’d loved had betrayed you so severely. I wasn’t positive that she wasn’t a spy, but she was coming close to being a strike-through on my list of suspects.

  The rest of my school day was blessedly uneventful. I followed Cadence around, observing the students and making small suggestions on form and technique. She seemed irked at my presence, and took every opportunity to disagree with my advice. I tried to engage her in conversation several times, hoping to establish a connection so that I could delve into her mind, but she wasn’t having any part of it. She answered my inquires in a short, clipped manner that suggested she’d rather be clawing her own eyes out than talking to me. By the end of the period, I wanted to claw her eyes out for her.

  I ate lunch with Ernest the Brain and actually enjoyed myself. The previous day, he’d been so nervous around me that he’d barely been able to keep up his end of the conversation. Today, we bantered easily, and I realized that he was actually pretty funny. I felt bad that my motivations for befriending him weren’t genuine. Under different circumstances, we might’ve even become real friends.

  After lunch, I made small talk with Thad while his students worked on group projects. I subtly threw in questions about his life back in Edinburgh. He was wistful when he talked about Scotland, smiling at the memory of his childhood. I asked about his family, and he seemed hesitant to talk about them. From what I could glean from his mind, he wasn’t hiding anything, but rather felt guilty for having left to come to school here. Thad rarely went home to visit even though he missed his birthplace. I knew the feeling; rarely a day went by that I didn’t miss Capri. I hadn’t been back since my parents’ deaths.

  Griffin’s class was one of two in which I would see the same Talents every day. Mac had asked me to keep a close eye on each of them and wanted to be kept apprised of my impressions. Almost as much as being tasked with hunting down the traitor, this made me feel like I had purpose again, and not so much like I was living in limbo.

  Griffin and I worked individually with each student as he or she threw a sampling of small weapons at a target. Most of the kids were actually very good already and needed little coaching. I didn’t get a chance to speak with Griffin very much, but since he wasn’t a suspect, I wasn’t too bothered by the fact.

  Ursula’s Telekinesis class was the other one where I would see the same Talents on a daily basis. The fifteen students in the class varied greatly in ability level. Several had extremely developed Talents while others had virtually non-existent abilities. I made a mental note to ask Penny to run profiles on all the students in the class, so that I would know what I was dealing with. Ursula concentrated her efforts on the stronger gifts, leaving me to work with those less capable. I didn’t really mind. I found that I liked teaching others how to better use their powers.

  As I walked, practically dragging my throbbing leg behind me, to my room to change before dinner, I mentally compiled a list of the intel that I needed Penny to help me gather that evening. My stomach grumbled in anticipation of food, and I longed for a hot shower; the antiseptic smell of the disinfectant the Medic had used to clean the wound filled my nostrils every time I moved my leg.

  “How dare you!” Donavon’s mental voice screamed in my head just before I reached the entrance to the dorm. I stopped dead in my tracks, whipping around to face him. His cheeks were bright red with anger and his eyes were more gray than blue.

  “Me?” I exclaimed mentally. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? Because last time I checked, I was the one with STITCHES in her leg!” I screamed back. As exhausted as I was from my eventful day, I wasn’t going to take his accusations lying down. I could feel a vein in my neck straining as the blood rushed to my face.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You had no right,” he shot back. “You knew that you could transfer pain to me. You knew how easy it was with our connection being so strong!”

  “Oh, and you think I would purposely let you kick me so hard that you broke the skin just so that I could transfer the pain to you?” I mentally demanded, refusing to back down.

  “The way you’ve been acting? I wouldn’t put it past you,” he retorted.

  “Get over yourself, Donavon. I wouldn’t put myself through that pain just to hurt you.” He looked doubtful, indecision warring with . . . panic. Donavon was scared of me, I thought, the realization only slightly curbing my anger.

  “Do you think that I manipulated you into kicking me so hard you drew blood, too?” He didn’t answer. “Oh, my God, you do.” I blanched. Rage consumed me. Now I wanted to hit him hard enough to make him bleed. I advanced on him so quickly that he barely had time to react. His eyes grew wide in alarm, his fear written like lines of text in his creased brow. The horrified expression that Donavon wore stopped me in my tracks. What was wrong with me? I was out of control. I needed to get my temper in check. He had every right to be scared of me; I was scared of me right now.

  “FUCK YOU,” I screamed, a million emotions bursting out of me at once, like water from a dam. The urge to attack Donavon was so strong that if I didn’t leave right then, I feared that I might not be able to suppress it. Turning on my heel and ignoring the throbbing in my leg, I took off at a dead sprint to my room. What was wrong with me? Sure, I was rightfully angry that he’d accused me of something so ridiculous, but I’d come within inches of assaulting him. And for what, blaming me for something that I didn’t do? Even given my usual, somewhat irrational behavior, physical violence was extreme under the circumstances. I barely made it to my room before the first tears wet my cheeks.

  ***

  A quiet beeping in my ear woke me. Disoriented and confused, I opened my eyes and jumped when I found my nose inches from bright red, glowing numbers. My neck was stiff and one of my feet tingled when I moved it. I sat in the desk chair in my dorm room, a soft light illuminating the surface of the desk. Stretching my arms over my head I looked to the left, the shade on the window was up and a sliver of moonlight shone on the rough beige carpet.

  The beeping continued. “Crap!” I exclaimed out loud when the numbers on the clock came into focus. I’d slept through dinner. Shoot, I hoped that I hadn’t missed my meeting, too; Mac was going to be pissed.

  When I’d returned to my room after the confrontation with Donavon, I had a message on my communicator from Mac requesting my presence at a status meeting. Glancing at the communicator, I realized that it was the source of the incessant beeping. Mac must have programmed the meeting into the communicator because not only was it beeping, it was also alternating between flashing “Mac” and the time.

  I had ten minutes to make it across campus. I was still dressed in a robe, my hair a wet rat’s nest on top of my head. Grabbing the first clothes that I could get my hands on and the black jacket off the back of the desk chair, I set off at a jog across campus. My leg ached worse than earlier; falling asleep sitting at my desk hadn’t done me any favors.

  The Director’s Office came into view with only two minutes to spare. When I tried to turn the door handle, it wouldn’t budge. Frantically, I looked around, and found a key pad staring back at me. One-by-one, I pressed my fingers, starting with my thumb, to the scanner. Two high-pitched beeps assaulted my ears, and then a glowing green light washed over my skin. I waited for the light to extinguish, and entered my ten-digit personal identification code. The lock clicked open, rewarding my efforts. The main lobby of the Administration Building was empty, so I opened my mind. A flurry of mental activity greeted me from the end of one corridor. I followed the buzzing to a door marked “Conference Room # 1”. I had hoped that this meeting was for just me, Mac, and Janet. Apparently, I was wrong if we were using the conference room instead of Mac’s office.

  Tentatively, I pushed the door open, cognizant of the fact that I was now officially late.

  Mac spared a moment to glance up from the stack of papers that he was rifling through. “Nice of you to join us,” he said dryly.

  I smiled apologetically and scurried to take a seat. Three people sat around a large oval table with three additional chairs; one for me, one for Mac, and one for—.

  “Sorry I’m late! I got held up.” The voice was so ingrained in my brain that I didn’t need to turn around to know that it belonged to Donavon. Great. After our fight, I had promptly run home and sobbed in the shower until the water ran cold. Then, I had sat at my desk, and cried myself to sleep like a child. My eyes were swollen reminders of the earlier breakdown, and if I’d looked in a mirror, I’m sure that I would’ve seen that they were red rimmed as well. Good thing I hadn’t found a reflective surface on my way here.

  Without turning to look at Donavon, I squeezed into the empty chair between Janet and the Agency’s Deputy Director, Mitch Rice. Mitch was older than Mac by at least ten years. He’d chosen the dignified route and shaved his head when he’d begun to bald. Since forsaking his Operative status, and becoming a TOXIC figurehead, he’d let himself go. He was now quite rotund and jolly looking. He offered me a warm smile that I returned, grateful to have another friendly face at the table.

  To my surprise, and relief, the third person was Penny. She, too, shot me a huge grin.

  “No, problem, Donavon. Take a seat so that we can get started,” Mac directed his son.

  Donavon scanned the group, pointedly skipping me. His face was an unreadable mask, but he was projecting his thoughts so hard that he might as well have spoken them aloud.

  The PG version? He still believed that I had coerced him into hurting me, so that I could, in turn, project the pain on to him. As if that weren’t enough, after my earlier display of nonsensical rage, he thought that I was coming unhinged. His condemnation invoked my earlier feelings of shame and anger. The anger won out, and before I could think it through, I forced his gaze to meet mine. I concentrated on the noise that bees make—an insistent buzzing. Slowly, as though turning the dial on a radio, I cranked the volume louder. Donavon’s right eye began to twitch involuntarily and he tried to break the connection, but I was too focused. He wanted manipulation? I would show him manipulation.

  “Talia!” The tone of Mac’s voice indicated that it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.