I think about beingneeded,about beinguseful,and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like the walls are closing in around me because of my own failures as a human being.
For the first time in my life, I feel the universe pointing me in this direction for a reason.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I think I might be.”
“Excellent! That’s wonderful to hear. We are hosting a meet-and-greet this Friday for prospective teachers. You’ll get to chat with alumni and ask whatever questions you need to if that helps you decide. How’s that sound?”
“Sure. That sounds great. My name is Ivy, by the way. Ivy Bennett.”
“Excellent! I look forward to meeting you, Ivy! I can send you the details over text. I hope to see you soon!”
When the call ends, I pull my phone away from my ear and stare down at the fading screen, watching the soft glow dim to black. The room feels too quiet now, letting every loud, anxious thought rattle around in my head like marbles in a tin can.
My thumb hovers over the call log for a second before I finally lock the screen and set my phone back on my nightstand. Then I just… stare at it. Like it might light up again with Miss Dori’s voice on the other end, calling me back to say,“Oops! Just kidding, we meant to give this opportunity to someone else!”
I sit back on my bed and rub a hand over my face, still trying to shake the headache from earlier, but a new kind of ache is blooming behind my ribs now, tight and persistent.
It’s not fear, it’s longing. An ache from seeing myself watch everyone else around me live the life I’ve been too afraid to chase because of my chronic fear of fucking up. I don’t know if this is real, and I don’t know if this will crash and burn around me, but what’s the harm in trying?
If this program is half as good as it sounds, I not only may have just stumbled onto my next chapter, but I may have also just found my new future.
For the first time in a long time, that idea doesn’t feel impossible.
It actually feels hopeful. Messy, reckless, probably naïve, but hope, nonetheless.
And honestly? That’s more than I’ve had in a while.
2
MAKSIM
The sharp crack of a gunshot snaps through the air, echoing off the concrete walls surrounding us like a whip cracking.
The man at my feet jerks once, twice, then crumples in a heap. Two perfect holes bloom crimson across his chest, one just left of his sternum, the other closer to his shoulder. He gasps wetly, blood rising in his throat to choke him as he tries to speak, but it’s no use.
It takes all of six seconds for him to die.
The blood pools beneath him in a slow-moving flood, thick and syrupy, inching toward my boots.
Beside me, Hector Scaroni flinches so hard he drops the rusted metal crowbar in his hand, the sound of it clanging just as loudly.
“Shit,” he breathes, face going pale. His hands tremble as he stares down at the body like it might reach up and drag him down next.
I flip the safety back on and extend the pistol without looking.
At my right, Lev takes it, silent and efficient like always. His gloved fingers close around the grip, drawing it back with him in one smooth motion before tucking it back into the holster at his hip.
Scaroni swallows hard, a thick gulp audible even over the ringing silence. His face glistens under the overhead lights, sweat shining like oil slick across his brow. “I–I didn’t think he’d actually?—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off with one flat word.
He freezes.
“This entire deal has been nothing but a goddamn liability since you brought it to me,” I say. “You should’ve handled it yourself.Cleanly. Quietly. Instead, I had to come down here, waste my time, and clean upyourmess.”
He flinches again when my hand cuts through the air, gesturing to the body on the ground, the blood painting the concrete in a macabre way.
“Now look at what’s happened.”
