“Rule 6, if there’s only one bed, I’ll take the floor.”
Clara rolled her eyes, clearly forgetting his earlier comment. “That’s not a rule. If there’s only one bed,we’ll take turnssleeping on the floor. Don’t try to be chivalrous.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before writing the rule the way she had decided it should be.
When Clara was finished, she handed him the journal to approve. He nodded. “I feel like we should sign this in blood or something,” he quipped.
She shrugged. “Works for me.” She pulled a knife out of her boot—he hadn’t even known it was there—and sliced a small cut in the tip of her finger. She held her finger up, letting the blood pool and handed him the knife hilt first.
He took it gingerly. Though he had been trained with weapons, the part of being a spy he enjoyed the most was that he rarely ended up in combat. He forced himself not to flinch as he cut. He met her eyes, and they pressed their fingers to the page, careful not to brush against each other, sealing their agreement.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” Clara responded. “See ya tomorrow.” Just like that she was gone, leaving Carver still sitting in the hallway holding the blood sealed page in front of him. He read the rules again, sighing deeply as he realized just how hard he would have to work to abide by them.
Rule 1: The mission comes first.
Rule 2: No flirting.
Rule 3: No physical contact.
Rule 4: No mention of our history.
Rule 5: No defending the other person beyond what is necessary for the mission.
Rule 6: If there’s only one bed we take turns sleeping on the floor.
5CLARA
Clara practically ran back to her room. She closed the door carefully, holding the doorknob until she could slip it in place soundlessly. Completely alone, she slumped against the door, sliding to the floor and almost knocking her mirror off in the process.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t spend the next couple weeks around him. Not like this.I have to be strong.She reminded herself over and over, but she felt like all of the work she had done in the last few years evaporated in his presence. And when they sealed their rules, she caught his scent and it threw her back to all those moments wrapped in his arms. She had almost hesitated.
Had almost given into weakness and leaned into him. She wanted to. God knows she wanted to. “Okay,” she whispered to herself, “This is just a test, right? A hard assignment to once again prove your worth. You’ve done this before.” She paused, pulling down her ponytail and letting her hair fall around her shoulders. It would be smart to cut or shave it; she would have if she were a soldier, but for her purposes she kept it long to blend in. And because she liked it. “Well, not this exactly. But you can do this.”
Her speech did little to encourage her, but it did keep her from completely giving up. As she had so many times before, she pulled down one of the books her father had left her. She traced her fingers over the lines in the pages, running one gently over her father’s hastily scrawled notes on the edges. This was why she fought.
Because he fought. Because he died fighting. And though it may damn her, she was her father’s daughter. A fact both her mother and Carver had reminded her of through the years. Strong-willed, rebellious, but she had never been as strong as him. He had been a spy, like Carver. She wondered for a moment what her father would think of his daughter having so much blood on her hands. Would he be proud she attempted to follow in his footsteps, or disappointed in the number of lives she had taken?
She put the book back, and pulled the sketchbook onto the floor with her. On her hands and knees, she reached underneath her bed and tugged out a small box. It was filled with the braided bracelets Reese gave her each time she left for a mission. A reminder that someone wanted her to return unscathed.
Clara opened the sketchbook to a new page, and took a pencil from the box. The scritch-scratch of lead across paper helped to slow her heart rate, and she drew until her eyelids grew heavy and her lines were no longer precise. She’d give it to Reese in the morning. A sketch for a bracelet. A bond the years hadn’t broken.
She almost fell asleep slumped against the door, but managed to return the pencil to the box and slide it back under her bed before turning the light off and slipping between the covers. This was the last moment of peace she’d have for awhile, and she didn’t know how well she would sleep in the coming weeks with Carver so near. If today was any indication, even his presence was a bane.
She was relieved to awake from a dreamless sleep. It made it easier to ignore the anxiety spiraling in her stomach. She dressed carefully, again meticulous in the storage of each weapon. She braided her hair back, leaving it hanging over her shoulder. Today was just transportation. She wouldn’t need to have her hair back yet.
Clara joined her class in the mess hall, being cautious to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want anyone to know just how much she already hated this assignment. She forced a smile when Reese plopped down across from her.
“So?? You were super quiet last night, but you leave today. I want to know everything. Well, everything you’re allowed to tell me.” Reese’s enthusiasm comforted Clara, not everything had changed. Though it felt like her life had been suddenly upstaged, in reality everything was the same.
She shrugged, finishing her bite of food before responding, “I was given an assignment with a spy. We’re heading to enemy territory, but that’s all I can say.”
Reese’s eyes widened, “Oh my gods. A spy? Isn’t that where…” her voice trailed off, her eyes searching Clara’s face for the answer to the question she wouldn’t dare ask.
Clara forced herself to calmly take another bite of food. Her stomach churned, but she willed herself to keep it down. “Yeah.” She admitted.
It didn’t seem possible, but Reese’s eyes widened further. “And is he…” Another question she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask.
“Yeah.”
