The more time that I spent with the instructors, the more convinced I became that Mac was having me bark up the wrong proverbial tree. Sure, they all had some, albeit tenuous, tie to the Coalition. But honestly, with Crane’s influence spreading eastward, infecting the Nation like the plague, there were a lot of Operatives with extended family in his employ. The only difference between my suspects and the other Operatives was that my suspects happened to be in close proximity to a Crypto data bank. As far as I could tell, not one of them had the wherewithal to infiltrate our encrypted records, except one—Ernest.

  Ernest lacked the motivation though; nothing about him suggested that he was involved with the Coalition. If he couldn’t handle the stress of his previous post, then there was no way that he could handle the stress of being a double agent. His story could be a lie, but if it was, then he was a better manipulator than me.

  Annalise Cleary showed no signs of being any more adept at Electrical Manipulation than I’d first observed. In fact when I’d used my own Talents to persuade her to show me how hers worked, she was barely able to make the lamp on her desk flicker. No matter how deep I dug, I couldn’t find any other inconsistencies in her file.

  I asked Penny about Annalise’s lack of Talent, but even her overly analytical brain couldn’t posit a theory. Collectively, the best that we could come up with was a mistake during her Talent ranking exams.

  I asked Mac about it, and he’d just attributed her low-level ability to lack of use, but that explanation bothered me. For a Talent, using her abilities was second nature. It was just like using any other sense; it was done subconsciously. So even if Annalise hadn’t been actively practicing for the past however-many years, I was willing to bet that she used it without thinking on a daily basis. Something about her was definitely off, but I doubted that “something” was duplicitous. In general, she appeared to be on the level. She was a loyal supporter of TOXIC, and believed that the Mandatory Testing Act was a solid law.

  Cadence Choi disliked me more and more by the day; unfortunately, as Mac pointed out every time I mentioned the fact, disliking me didn’t make her any more suspicious. She took advantage of every opportunity to contradict me in front of the students. Even though she wasn’t always technically right, I usually let her snide remarks roll right off. Her less than friendly welcome was partially due to her jealously over my placement with the Hunters for my Pledge year, and partially over my obvious relationship with the Director. Her crush on Donavon didn’t help either.

  I’d dealt with her type since coming to the McDonough School and refused to let her bother me. While she was definitely jealous that I’d been asked to pledge the Hunters, she also took a great deal of satisfaction in the fact that I’d not been permanently assigned there after graduation. Since the official story was that I’d failed my solo mission—I guess that was technically true—she felt assured that I was no better than she was.

  Mac felt that it was best that no one knew what had actually happened on my assignment, so I swallowed my wounded pride and let her continue believing that I hadn’t had what it takes to be a Hunter. Unfortunately, her honest belief that the official version of events was true also meant she was unlikely the spy. The person who’d leaked my identity to Crane would definitely know why the Hunt had failed.

  As for Thad Wietz, he felt guilty about leaving his parents for what he thought would be “a better life”; it consumed his every thought. The more that I pushed for details about his past, the less willingly he divulged them. I used our daily conversations to establish a strong connection, and superficially believed that he was telling the truth. However, he was fairly adept at blocking his deeper memories. Despite Mac’s insistence that I be more forceful, I refrained. Thad was definitely at the top of my suspect list, but that wasn’t saying much since he only landed there by default.

  Then there was Ursula. There wasn’t much to say about her. She was confident in all her Talents—and I do mean all of them. She constantly pranced around the Instructor dorm scantily clad, her ample cleavage on display and her curves hugged by the minute pieces of fabric that she favored. Her male admirers included any guy with a heartbeat. Of course, there was one in particular she was gunning for: Donavon.

  When we were in school, I’d had to contend with a lot of schoolgirl crushes on Donavon. He was a good-looking guy and the Director’s son, which made him a hot commodity. I supposed the same still held true. The number of attractive male Instructors under forty was limited, making Donavon stand out even more.

  Both Ursula and Cadence’s attractions irked me. I knew that I had no right to be upset; he and I could barely be in the same room without me losing my temper. But I hated the way that they both flirted with him. Even more, I hated the way that he indulged their advances. Donavon lapped up every opportunity to engage in flirtatious conversation when I was present. His behavior made me want to kick him.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Gemma finished her in-depth examination of the visits with Ursula’s parents and determined that they were not using codes. I decided to pursue one last avenue regarding the tapes; I submitted them to Dr. Wythe asking him to give me a report on the interactions. Mac agreed because Dr. Wythe had been my therapist since my return from Nevada, and was well versed in the events that had transpired there.

  The tension between Donavon and I grew exponentially by the day. I half-wondered if others could sense it and were just too scared to mention it, or if we were the only ones who understood how precarious our situation really was. I hadn’t even told Penny about the fight, my stitches, and what Donavon had accused me of. I wasn’t sure where my hesitancy to confide in her came from—was I embarrassed by my reaction to his accusations? Or maybe a small part of me worried that they were true, and if I told her, she might make me confront that uncomfortable realization.

  I had been concentrating really hard. And I had been trying to block the pain. And I had been anticipating that he would land a really hard blow. Had I been concentrating so hard that I’d actually been manipulating him to do it? Had I actually been deflecting the pain instead of trying to block it? No, that was absurd. At least, that’s what I told myself every time I considered it. There was no way that I’d do something so ridiculous…or would I? Admittedly, my temper had been even more out of control than usual lately, and Donavon’s mere presence fueled the flames of my rage-driven fire.

  It was one week to the day after my arrival on campus that the tension finally broke. Afterward, I couldn’t recall what precipitated the altercation. One minute, I was in Donavon’s class, helping students with their offensive moves. Donavon’s mental voice was disagreeing with what my actual voice was telling someone, and something inside of me snapped. I don’t remember what I mentally yelled at him—I probably repressed the words to save myself later anguish—but whatever it was, it must’ve been ugly.

  Donavon immediately dismissed class, but the students seemed to realize that something was amiss between us. Several of them stuck around, pretending they were lost in their own conversations. At first, it wouldn’t have mattered whether they were listening in; the entire fight was mental, insults flying back and forth…until it wasn’t.

  “You want a fight, Talia?” Donavon’s mental voice screamed at me. “Then let’s do it. Hit me.” Apparently, I didn’t need to be asked twice. I literally flew at him. Launching myself into the air, my entire body went horizontal to the ground. He hadn’t anticipated that I’d take him up on his offer quite so quickly, which gave me a split second of surprise. It was all I needed.

  I hit him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. His reflexes were fast, and he recovered quickly. Grabbing my wrists as I fell on top of him, he used his superior upper body strength to throw me over his head. I anticipated this and used his momentum, in addition to my own, to flip my feet completely over my head, landing neatly on my toes.

  Donavon was quick though, and before I could even turn around to face him, he was upright. We backed away from each other and began circling. I was positive that we had an audience, but I no longer cared.

  My peripheral vision reddened. In that moment, my only care was hurting Donavon—physically hurting him for all the emotional pain that he’d caused me, making him suffer the same way that I had. I wanted him to pay.

  Usually, my biggest advantage in a fight was that my opponents underestimated me, but it was an advantage I didn’t have with Donavon; he knew better. Every minute that I’d spent training as an adolescent, he’d been right there beside me. The only benefit that I had over Donavon was my anger, my unqualified, nearly primal urge to attack. Donavon might not have liked the way that I’d been behaving lately—and being a Morph, his blood tended to run hot—but he lacked the epic levels of animosity toward me that I harbored for him.

  I flew at him again. This time, I used my momentum to cartwheel through the air so that my feet were over my head when I landed beside him. My hands made contact with the ground close to his feet. Summoning all of the strength I had, I vaulted myself upwards and was rewarded for my efforts when my foot made contact with the underside of his chin, throwing him off-balance. I finished the rotation and landed on my feet, in time to see him stumble and lose his footing. I was about to press my advantage when he miraculously stabilized himself and reached out, grabbing my arm. Instead of pulling away, I used his arm for leverage and kicked off the ground. My right foot made contact with his shoulder, and my left should’ve followed suit to make contact with his head.

  But I’d kicked off too hard, and Donavon, realizing what I was going to do, added his own strength into my swing; when my feet were over my head, I was much farther off the ground than I’d anticipated. Donavon and I were locked in the awkward embrace when it happened.

  I was completely upside down, his hands encircling my wrist as my fingers frantically clawed at his. Suddenly, I became disoriented, losing awareness of my surroundings. I was no longer in control of my now-flailing limbs. Time slowed to a standstill as gravity fought to return me to the ground. I didn’t fall back to earth gracefully as I had so many times before, but rather with legs floundering in a desperate attempt to get them underneath me.

  My fingers would no longer obey my command to hold on to Donavon and my grip slackened. My body began to convulse, arms and legs twitching as the seizure racked through my entire being. I wanted to cry out, but I was no more in control of my vocal chords than the rest of my muscles. My last conscious thought was that I hoped I landed on one of my fleshier parts, like my butt.