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Spencer Porter

Headmaster of St. Ellesta Academy

Congratulations.

Congratulations.

Congratulations.

I got in… Did they accept me? Me? Mireya… I’ve been accepted.

“Holy fucking fuck.”

I think I said that too loudly, judging how this old lady covers her son’s ears and gazes at me like I lack education. But I don’t care.

Milo and I’s future is on this paper, and I can’t stop shaking.

I press my head against my steering wheel, counting my breaths the way Edna taught me to stop me from spiraling.

The sleepless nights. All the late evenings I spent studying with Hayzel. Exams. Physical fitness tests. For months, days crawled backward. I stared at the calendar like it might explode. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking; my stomach twisted itself into knots, and sleep came in scraps; it was never enough.

I ran every day, thinking: one more day, one more test, just get through this.

Doing this after work so dad won’t notice. And it all paid off.

I got in.

“I got in…I got in, mom, I did it,” I whisper to myself, wiping a small tear from rolling down my cheek.

Would she even care about this? Probably, or maybe she’d tell me that my father needs me here forever.

I don’t even know anymore.

I can't wait to tell Edna; she's going to be so happy.

And Hayzel— “Shit…” the word flies from my mouth as I scramble around in the car, looking for my cell.

I flip the small device and press 1 to call my best friend.

2

Damien

Play - Angel by Massive Attack, Horace Andy

Memories of the dead

The mission started at 3 a.m. and ended at 7 a.m.

No time for coffee or sleep, not even a chance to shower.

I don’t really like working like that. The only thing that brings me peace is knowing I only take missions that make a real change. I do this for the safety I never got growing up on the streets.

My ribs are still painfully sore, my head pounding, and I can’t find my glasses anywhere.

Mondays at the Bureau make me question why I’m still doing this. Extraction went clean, hostiles down, minimal collateral. Plus, I made it back in one piece. Yes, my uniform is shredded, my hands sticky, I have some gunpowder in my hair, and the cut on my head probably needs stitching too, but that’s a problem for another day. At least we made sure the man who kidnapped his ex-wife got arrested and she is finally safe.

Today is an important day; there’s no time for whining, not for wounds, not for second thoughts, even though I’d be happy to have at least the time to change.