Chapter 44
Raven
The sound of the bullet striking the apple echoed across the field, followed instantly by an eruption of cheers that hit my ears before I even opened my eyes. I allowed myself a small smile, savoring the moment as I finally let my eyelids flutter open.
The apple had exploded into fragments, red pulp spraying in every direction like a miniature firework. But that wasn't what had everyone's attention. Maddie remained frozen in place, her face drained of all color as she knelt on the ground. Then I noticed it—a dark stain spreading across her designer jeans, accompanied by a small puddle forming beneath her.
"Oh my God, she pissed herself!" someone shouted.
The crowd's cheering transformed into a symphony of mockery.
"Holy shit, Maddie's peeing like a scared puppy!"
"Someone get her some Depends!"
"I'm posting this RIGHT NOW!"
Phones were already out, recording her humiliation for posterity. The queen bee of Westside Prep, reduced to a trembling, soiled mess on the dirt.
Tyler, who had been watching from the sidelines with a mixture of fear and awe directed at me, now turned to Maddie with undisguised disgust.
"What the fuck, Maddie?" he snarled, backing away as she reached for him. "You disgusting bitch! You actually pissed yourself in front of everyone?"
Maddie scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face. "Tyler, please—it wasn't—I couldn't—"
"Don't!" He held up his hands as if warding off a disease. "Don't come near me. We're done. I don't even know you."
As she lunged toward him, desperately grabbing at his jacket, he shoved her back with his foot, sending her sprawling into the dirt.
"Stop embarrassing me!" Tyler spat, before turning and storming away.
I couldn't have choreographed a better ending if I'd tried. Sweet karma, I thought, delivered with precision timing.
My moment of satisfaction was cut short when I noticed a shift in the atmosphere. Captain Harrison was staring at me with an intensity that made my instincts hum with warning. Then, with military precision, his team straightened into a formal line and saluted me. Harrison himself followed suit, executing a perfect military salute, his eyes never leaving mine.
What the... Oh no, I know that look. That's the "we-discovered-a-unicorn-and-want-to-put-it-in-our-zoo" look. I've seen it before—when the Russian SVR tried recruiting me in Prague, when Mossad tracked me to Jerusalem, and when that CIA station chief in Bangkok offered me "the opportunity of a lifetime." Always the same choreography: first comes the awestruck respect, then the salute, then the offer you "can't refuse."
Funny how these alphabet soup agencies think a girl who can shoot the wings off a fly at 200 meters would be eager to fill out paperwork and attend briefings. Been there, declined that—in multiple languages.
The training officer Davis, completely bewildered, glanced between Harrison and me before awkwardly mimicking the salute, clearly not understanding but unwilling to be left out.
Leo and Maya exchanged baffled looks from the sidelines. Maya mouthed "What's happening?" at me, but I could only offer a subtle shrug in response.
"Raven Martinez," Harrison's voice carried across the now-silent field with the authority of someone accustomed to commanding battleships. "As Director of Naval Intelligence, Commander of the USS Gerald R. Ford, and Executive Secretary of the Defense Intelligence Agency, I formally extend an invitation for you to join the United States Strategic Operations Division."
Davis's jaw physically dropped. "Sir, with all due respect, she's just a high school student—"
"A high school student," Harrison interrupted, "who possesses skills equivalent to my top one hundred operatives combined."
I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I was calculating every possible angle. This is not good. Not good at all.
"Well," I finally said, tilting my head slightly as I lowered the gun, "I appreciate the offer, Captain, but... no."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Maddie's sniffling stopped.
One of Harrison's men stepped forward, his face flushed with indignation. "Do you have any idea what an honor this is? People train their entire lives for a chance at SOD!"
I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And yet here I am, declining. Funny how that works."
The man's hand twitched toward his sidearm. "You disrespectful little—"
"I wouldn't," I cut him off with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Unless you want a demonstration of my hand-to-hand skills next? I'm feeling rather warmed up."
"Stand down, Lieutenant," Harrison barked, then turned to me with newfound respect in his eyes. "My apologies for my subordinate's reaction, Ms. Martinez."
The lieutenant reluctantly backed away, still seething. Davis looked like he was witnessing an alternate reality.
"You moron," Harrison continued, addressing the lieutenant without looking at him. "You want to end up like Davis here? On your back with your dignity in tatters?"
Davis's face darkened at the reminder of his earlier humiliation.
Harrison dismissed his team with a wave, then refocused on me. His expression shifted to something more contemplative. "Perhaps I've aimed too low," he mused. "SOD is clearly beneath your capabilities."
I watched him carefully, recognizing the look of a man recalculating his approach.
"I'll speak with the Joint Chiefs directly," Harrison continued. "Your talents deserve nothing less than Pantheon Division."
Pantheon Division? Even I, with all my connections, had only heard whispers of that name. A ghost organization that operated beyond normal government oversight.
"I look forward to hearing from you," I replied smoothly, though internally I was already plotting how to avoid this complication. A free-ranging assassin doesn't join military hierarchies, no matter how classified they are.
As Harrison nodded and turned to leave, I caught the envious looks from my classmates. If only they knew what really lay beneath the glory they imagined.
A gilded cage is still a cage, I thought. And I've spent too long earning my freedom.