This is it.
I’ve entered the nerve centre of Mirage only once before. That was two years ago. I was sixteen then, and Bob thought I was ready for my first job. At the time, I thought I was too.
We were both wrong.
Bob stands by the keypad. Without looking back, he asks, “You sure about this, Cat?”
I wish people would stop asking me.
Every time I’m asked this question, a small piece of my self-confidence bails on me. I grit my teeth, holding back the snide remark that sits at the very tip of my tongue, and I respond instead, “Sure as sugar, Bob. Do it. Let me in.”
He keys in his code; the door whizzes and purrs, clicks over, and then I wait.
Bob pushes open the door, steps back and offers a genuine smile, all for me. “Welcome back, Night Fury.” With a jerk of his chin in Frankie’s direction, he adds, “Moon Shadow will take you through. I have some things I need to do.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
He looks at me a moment before pulling me into a bear hug. “Just do your best.”
And then he’s gone.
Frankie—codename: Moon Shadow—takes my hand and pulls me along behind her. The steel door shuts behind us and she says, “You know he doesn’t actually have anything to do, right? He’s just scared shitless of his little girl growing up.”
I know this should make me roll my eyes, but I smile instead. “Well, he’s the closest thing I have to a dad. I guess it would be hard for him.”
She scoffs, “He’s been training you for over a decade, Cat. He needs to put a lock on those emotions. They don’t do anyone any good.”
Of course, she’s right, but it’s nice to have someone care about you that much.
I trail her down the long, dimly lit hall, the sounds of our footsteps echoing through the narrow space.
I’m walking towards my destiny.
How poetic.
We reach the end of the hall. Frankie clicks in her keypad code. More humming and buzzing, the steel door clicks opens and finally—finally—I’m home.I take the first step towards the rest of my life, and I do it wearing a shit-eating grin.
This is exciting.
I’m excited.
My life will be thrown one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. From boring to extraordinary.
I can’t wait.
“Welcome back to Mirage.” Frankie starts her descent down the stairs to the ground floor, but I’m glued to my position on the top floor.
My eyes scan down to the open area. I try to take it all in, but it’s hard, like walking from complete darkness into the intense brightness of the midday sun.
And it is bright in here. The area is completely open, with two desks in the middle of the open space. Four whiteboards full of writing stand surrounding the desks, which are littered with documents and photographs. Sounds come from all around. Computers beep, printers scratch, the fax machine plays its tune, but more clearly, dance music blasts from the stereo down below.
Frankie walks over to the two men who bop their heads to the music, typing away furiously. One man talks into the headset attached to his ear, and the other jumps out of his chair to add more scribble to one of the whiteboards.
I know one of men sitting below, but the other is new, and when I say new, I mean he had to have been recruited within the two years I haven’t been here. So, I guess he might not be so new. Perhaps I’m the new person in this room.
You’ve been here your whole life and you’re the new person?
That stinks.
Frankie approaches the man typing away, leans close to him and says something that makes him stop typing, stand and look up towards the second floor. He spots me and grins, mumbling, “Holy shit.” I chuckle and he booms, “Get your ass down here! Been too damn long.”
I make my way down the stairs towards Clark—codename: Data Stream—the handsome computer whiz. Taller than me, but not too tall, he was my very first crush. His brown hair is now long enough to put behind his ear, and his blue eyes are warm and welcoming. His stubble makes him look manlier than what should be permitted for a computer geek.
Thinking of that causes my face to turn bright red as I approach. I haven’t seen him in a long time.
Smiling all the way over to him, my heart stutters. I wring my hands together. I feel suddenly nervous. “Hello, Clark.”
Smiling softly, he approaches me slowly, as if he would a frightened animal. He holds his arms open to me, and with little-to-no thought at all, I step into his receiving arms. He wraps me up tight, and I close my eyes and inhale the zesty citrus-based scent at his collar. I forgot what it feels like to have a man hold you.
No longer nervous, but dizzy, I breathe into his shoulder, “Hi.”
His stubble scrapes my forehead as he moves to kiss me there. “Missed you, Cat.”
“I missed you too.” Clark had been a great friend to me before I was pulled from the program. We hung out for years before—
Well, just...before.
Someone clearing their throat breaks the spell I’m under.
I gently extract myself from Clark and turn to face a grinning Frankie and the inquisitive looking new guy. His eyes search mine a moment before he masks his curiosity and steps forward, holding out his hand. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you’re Catarina.”
I’m momentarily stunned.
Stuck in my place in front of Clark, I look at the new guy through lowered brows.
Taller than Clark, but not as tall as Bob, his posture screams military man—legs parted slightly, his presence fierce. His body built the way it is, I feel small next to him. Buzzed light brown hair with green eyes, he watches me as if I may bolt any second.
Not going to happen.
My hand slides into his as I ask quietly, “How did you know that?”
He grins. “I know everything about you.”
Oh, my.
Gently dropping my hand, he clears his throat, crosses his arms over his chest and spouts information as if he himself were a computer. “Catarina White. Age eighteen. 5’6. 140—” I make a noise and glare at him. He smirks and continues, “I mean 130 pounds,” he eyes my body under my plain clothes, “of course. Shoulder-length black hair. Light brown eyes. Birthmark in the shape of a dove on your left inner thigh.” My face flames but he ignores it and carries on, “Trained by the best of the best. Black belt—E1—in Krav Maga. Highly trained in Eskrima. The weapons you are best at are the baston and largo mano yantok. Excelled in Fencing. Also highly skilled in weaponless combat fighting styles, namely Sambo. An expert in sword and dagger knife fighting, you favour the saber grip. You prefer an ivory-handled twenty-four inch Katana sword, which you affectionately named Koneko, which means kitten.” He smiles a cutesy smile my way before it falls and he continues quietly, “Your first job didn’t go too well. Target: James—”
I cut him off by snapping, “I get the point. Thank you.” I work at the pins attaching my habit, removing them one-by-one. When my hair is free, I ask, “Who are you?”
“I’m Marco. Codename: Flamethrower. Been here a year.”
My lip quirks up. “Flamethrower?”
Clark rests his hands on my shoulders, leans down to my ear and says an amused, “’Cause he can burn through any firewall put to him.” He sighs dreamily. “He’s amazing.”
Great. My old crush has a bromance on an asshole.
Marco searches my pink-cheeked face before smirking, knowing he’s shown me up.
“Wonderful. Look forward to working with you,” I blatantly lie.