“This isn’t good,” he groaned, slumping against a wall when he was far enough down the hall she couldn’t see him. Somehow, somehow he would protect Clara and fulfill this mission. He had to. Both were equally important in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to put his kingdom above her. She would always be a distraction. A perfect, smart, completely lovely distraction.
A distraction he couldn’t afford three years ago, and one he certainly couldn’t afford now.
3CLARA
“You will assassinate the king.” She hadn’t known what to expect when Carver was called from the room. Her perfectionist tendencies screamed trouble. She had done something so atrociously wrong that even sentencing her to work with Carver wasn’t penance enough.
That wasn’t the case. It wasn’t penance. It was an honor. She was being given the most insane assignment. To assassinate the king of their warring nation. It was suicide. And maybe therein lay her punishment. Or her reward.
“Carver isn’t being told of this assignment.” Clara hadn’t needed the confirmation, the fact he was excused before the assignment said enough. “He will get you into the lab. His paperwork will detail a biological weapon he is to retrieve. It is everything we told you it is, powerful enough to destroy our kingdom. But the even greater threat is the king. Once you retrieve the biological weapon, Carver will return. You will remain and wait. Noxvalis will panic and increase safety precautions in the lab, leaving you a brief opportunity to access the king.”
She couldn’t feel her face. Had the blood left her body? “Will that be too much Operative Richards?”
“No, ma’am.” Her voice stayed strong.
Now, Clara wrapped her hands tightly, circling her shoulders to warm up her body. This wasn’t what she signed up for. She already had a moment of panic, calmed down enough to pack, and when the lunch bell rang went to the empty training room.
She stayed light on her toes throwing punch after punch, twisting her hips into the motion and relishing the resulting sting on her knuckles. She added in a few kicks, relieved that while her mind was in chaos, at least her body stayed dependable, responding as it always did.
The bag rattled, echoing sound through the vacant room. It was usually pristine, but a few of the weights had been left out by those training before lunch. Clara ignored the small detail, focusing all of her attention on the bag in front of her. She wished she could take this anger out on Carver himself.
Sweat dripped down her spine as she tired. It would be okay. They could do this. It was just an assignment. Assignments always sucked on some level. Clara’s personal enemy was now the person charged with watching her back. And she was given an impossible mission.
She snagged her water bottle, and sat against the wall, arms over her knees.
It had been three years. Three long years. She should be over him by now. But he was the reason she trained as hard as she did. He was the reason she was determined to rise through the ranks. He was always the ghost at the edge of her brain. Degrading her and telling her she wasn’t capable, then softening and encouraging her to keep going. A pathetic example of intermittent conditioning. And yet, regardless of what form he took, his memory hurt far less than seeing him.
She closed her eyes tightly. Could she be dreaming? Is this just a nightmare from which she will soon awake? No, she was, in fact, leaving on an assignment with Carver.Carver.
“You need to grow up! Stop being so weak. It’s pathetic. I can’t do this anymore.” The last anger-fused words he said to her before he turned and walked away. Three years ago. The day they received their operative groups. The day she lost him.
She had been stunned. What could she have said in response? The love of her life, her best friend, and he ended things with her with an insult.
She had stood there, her eyes fixed on where he had stood moments before She didn’t react. It had hurt too much for her to do anything except stand there and wish the pieces would come back together.
In a lot of ways, he was right. She had been weak. Two years of basic training, but it was his constant presence that kept her moving forward. The last three years, it was his absence that kept her pushing herself harder and harder. The things she would never admit to him.
As her breathing slowed, she unwrapped her hands, re-rolling the fabric as was habit. Her knuckles were bright red, split across her pointer and middle finger. She flexed her fingers, watching the cuts release a little more blood.
She could do this. She was strong.
Carver expected her to be the same girl. But she wasn’t. She was brutal, cold, uncaring. She was the top assassin for a reason. She had to keep that in mind.
The day passed in a blur, both too quickly and too slowly for Clara’s liking. She ran through training exercises with her group, met with a former trainer, ate, listened to Reese’s banter and decided against telling her best friend about Carver having the same assignment, and finally, finally ended up pacing the floor of her room as she waited for the time to meet Carver. He was smart in suggesting they meet after everyone was asleep. She didn’t want anyone else to know how weak she still was when itcame to him. She had, as Carver discovered, made a name for herself. She wouldn’t sacrifice that on the altar of past affection.
Almost time. Clara looked around her bedroom. The thin mattress on a narrow frame. The blanket her mother sent her when she graduated, embroidered with a reminder, “Stay Alive.” So far, she had. This next assignment could change that. Yeah, it would probably change that.
She felt a sliver of fear at the thought of abandoning her mother, but she shook it off. She could come back. She would.
Her wooden dresser was bare aside from the sketchbook Reese gifted her almost a year ago, and the three books her father left her when he went to war. The covers were worn, pages beginning to fall from the bindings. She could recite every page of all three books. She was tempted to pack one as a reminder of her long-gone father, a reminder that she had to stay alive for the sake of her mother, but she realized the sentimentality was more foolish than anything else. A memento wouldn’t keep her safe. It would be one more thing she was afraid to lose. One more thing she felt desperate to protect.
Clara paused in front of the mirror on the back of the door. Vanity was frowned upon in all the sectors, but as Clara had proven herself a serious operative a mirror had been her one request, so an allowance had been given. She still couldn’t say why she had wanted it so desperately. But the image the mirror showed reminded her of how far she had come, and how far she still had to go.
They would succeed.
Then she could go back to her life where Carver was nothing but a haunting memory. How lovely.
With one last look, noting the harshness her features developed over the last three years, she began the walk to Command.
