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“Appreciate you uploading recaps by the end of day. Plan to meet again Monday, but you’ll get invites for individual and partner debriefs.” He flipped his field book closed but not before glancing down to check he had the rookies’ names right. Everly wanted to trip up on his tongue — maybe too close to Eva, who’d been overly tired and cranky about school, wanting to tear up when it was time to get out of the car. He’d received an almost sympathetic look from Sister Mary Louise. Almost. “Ransome, Everly, my office in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Ransome laid his pen atop his notebook and laptop, and Tick thought the kid might salute. He had the bearing — perfectly groomed hair cropped short, the straightest gigline Tick had ever seen this side of Gene, and sharp, economical movements. His mind appeared just that sharp and efficient.

With a slight smile, Everly nodded, gathering her things with much slower, although no less deliberate, movements.

On his feet and shrugging into his suit jacket, Sealy caught his eye. “Sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

Tick froze, then pulled in a sharp breath. He tucked his field book in his inside pocket, aware both Aviles and Everly watched his face. “Thank you.”

Passing him on the way to the door, Beech slapped the middle of his back.

Shoulders straight, Tick strode down the hall to his office. The days surrounding Louise’s funeral had eaten his transition time, so he hadn’t unpacked his stuff from his cubicle yet. He rifled through the box on his desk, laying the framed copy of his favorite photo from their wedding flat on one corner, piling his FBI award and a half-filled field notebook on top. Pulling a headache powder free from a jumble of pens, he chased it with a swig of flat, lukewarm soda Caitlin would give him grief for drinking.

A hand slapped on the open door, hard, and he flinched, coughing. Taylor grinned at him. “Nice digs. How’s it going?”

His shoulders relaxed, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“Nobody does at first.” Taylor crossed his arms, a hint of pride in his brown eyes. He’d been as influential to Tick’s growth as an agent as his original mentor back in Atlanta. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

“Pfft.” He knocked back another swallow of flat Coke, the sugar cloying. “Smart’s not everything.”

“See? You’re already getting it.” Taylor smacked the door again and stepped back, already turning toward his own office down the hall. “You know where I am.”

“Yeah.” The exchange lightened the lump wedged between his ribs and gut. If he needed anything, Taylor would guide him without judging, a nice counterweight to Aviles waiting for him to fuck up.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slumped in the chair that didn’t quite feel real yet. He’d worked damn hard for this, had left Virginia confident after his leadership training. That had been only last week, and now he was slogging underwater.

This would be normal in a few days. He’d be normal.

Voices drifted nearer in the hallway. Dragging his hands down his face, he stood, and straightened his tie. The rookies appeared at the door, Ransome hanging back and waving Evers — no, Everly — ahead of him.

“Have a seat.” Tick indicated the chairs before his desk. Ransome waited a beat so Everly sat first before he lowered himself into the second chair, hands resting lightly on his knees.

Pulling his pen and notebook from his jacket, Tick settled in his own chair and dated a fresh page. Ransome’s incisive blue gaze bounced around the office. Everly scanned Tick’s face, then his torso and his hands, before meeting his gaze.

He tapped his pen on the notebook. “Tell me a little about yourselves.”

With a quick glance at Ransome, Everly shifted forward, her shoulders erect, legs crossed. “I graduated FSU with honors. My bachelor's is in psychology, and my master’s is in criminal justice.”

“Do you have road experience?” Tick looked between them. Ransome gave a negative shake of his head.

Everly’s features tightened. “No.”

He nodded and scratched a note. “Not everybody does?”

“Do you?”

Was that challenge in her tone? He flicked up a glance. “Four years before Quantico.”

Her mouth compressed.

He lifted his pen from the paper and held her gaze. “It’s not going to work against you. Not having that experience doesn’t mean you are less qualified.”

A slight relaxation moved over her form.

Shifting his gaze to Ransome, he waited.

The younger man cleared his throat, but his posture didn’t relax. “I did four years in the Marines. Went to Savannah State when I got out. Worked as a bouncer while I did my master’s.”