CHAPTER 31
TWELVE HOURS HAVE PASSED SINCE we lost almost half the remaining recruits, retrieved the package—Aero—and killed Legacy’s father. Four of those hours were spent in the car, in a weird almost-silence. Then two hours of debriefing. And then we got to take a short nap.
Now, we’re standing in the training room, in a line significantly shorter than the night we arrived. Ghost’s arm is bandaged more professionally than with a tied off shirt, and Maverick’s no longer rolling around shirtless. We’re all freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes but bear the telltale signs of stress and lack of sleep. In the short hours we had for sleep, I woke up at least ten times, pulse racing, lashing out at every shadow, trying to defend myself from the empty darkness as tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. Eventually, I gave up and dozed with the lights on. I’m probably going to need like ten years of therapy before I can sleep through the night—and in the dark—again.
Legacy looks worse than all of us. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed and underscored by circles so dark they should change her code name to Raccoon. When the instructors file in, sans Ruger, Legacy flinches.
Wraith watches Legacy sympathetically and starts the day’s instruction. “Congratulations, recruits. You made it through The Program. It is regretful that this year’s selection process hit the bumps that it did.”
Regretful? Bumps? This woman is the queen of understatement.
I’m tempted to stop listening as she continues. “Please be assured, we vet participants very carefully. Nothing can excuse the things that happened this year, the needless deaths, the rigged assessments, the terror cell being tipped off during your final assessment, and…” She pauses as if unable to put voice to the fact that our own instructor was killing us off. “What happened after. But you handled yourselves well in the face of the added complications. Not only did you succeed, you excelled. And it is our pleasure to announce your graduation from The Program. All of you.” She looks pointedly at Legacy, as if trying to reassure her that she, too, has made it through The Program.
Which seems like a given to me. I would think being willing to take your own father out in the name of doing the right thing would make you the spy equivalent of valedictorian. She’s, without a doubt, our team's MVP.
While Wraith speaks, Matrix and Sever move down the line handing us each a holstered firearm and what looks like a wallet. I flip mine open. Inside is a badge and an ID, my ID, but it’s not my driver’s license or school ID. It’s an official, government-issue card with my picture, my age and height, my birth date. And the name Meghan James.
“Who the heck is Peter Simmons?” Ghost asks, staring down at his own ID.
“That’s you,” Wraith answers. “The new you. Your old lives no longer exist. From this moment forward, you are who that ID says you are. Welcome to the Agency. Rest up, recruits. Field training begins first thing tomorrow.”
We’re dismissed. I follow the others out of the main house. Maverick waits on the lawn for me to catch up. He looks just as solemn and traumatized by all of this as I am.
“Well, you got what you wanted; you made it through The Program. Was it everything you hoped it would be?” I challenge. I know he didn’t cause any of what happened, but I have to siphon off some of the negative emotion brewing in my chest.
“It’s nothing like I’d hoped. This is not The Program I wanted. I wanted to help people. To save lives.” He sets gentle hands on my shoulders and looks imploringly into my soul, willing me to believe him. I do believe him.
“I guess you should have become a paramedic, then.” I semi-joke, but it falls flat.
Maverick swallows hard and looks away.
“So, how do we get out of this?” A glimmer of hope that this might all have an end sparks in my heart.
“We don’t. This is our life now, Infinity.” And just like that, he crushes it.
“That’s not my name anymore.” I spit the words. “I’m Meghan James, now.” And I hate the name already.
Maverick looks around, like he’s checking for prying eyes and ears. Then he leans in and whispers, “Who are you really?”
“Meghan James,” I answer matter-of-factly, and swing my wallet open to display my ID.
Maverick’s gaze shutters, and something in him closes off. He wanted to know my history, and I gave him my assignment. “The new me is Graham North.” He holds up his own ID with an air of indifference.
Graham. The name doesn’t suit him at all. Maybe I’ll keep calling him by his code name. But that isn’t quite right either. Suddenly, I want to know everything about Maverick before he became Maverick. But I have to give him something of my own first. “Emily.”
“Your real name?”
I nod.
“Emily.” He tries it on for size, then steps closer, catches me in his shadowy gaze and holds me captive there. “Nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Dylan.”
“Hi.” It’s dumb, but it’s all I can think to say.
“Hi.” He leans down slowly, closing the space between our lips. When our lips connect, it’s so much more than a kiss. It’s a memory, a promise, a heartbeat that lasts forever. His heart and soul are in that kiss. And so are mine. I want to give him so much more than this moment.
But this is all I have to offer. I’m officially Meghan James, a spy for an organization I’ve never even heard of. And if The Program was this traumatizing, what is field training going to be like?