No, I definitely shouldn’t have said that. Zeta’s eyes narrow, and he stands up really tall. Yep, he has military training. He looks as if he wants to break me, and I don’t doubt for a second that he could.
“Or maybe,” he says in a quiet, dangerous voice, “you should learn to exercise better impulse control. You’re now the seventh recruit I’ve trained, and not one has had a single problem obeying orders in the field. Not one. But if you want to do this the old-fashioned way, we can. You won’t learn in the field. You can learn in the library. You can write me so many essays on the difference between altering and enhancing that your hand will want to fall off. You’ll never gain access to more of our secrets, and you probably won’t survive this probationary period. Is that what you want?”
My stomach sinks. I’m better than this; I know I am.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Save it. We’re going back.” He turns and starts walking toward Beacon Hill. Well, the empty tract of land that will one day become Beacon Hill, I guess.
Zeta doesn’t say a word to me. He watches me press the knob that automatically sets the watch to the present—as if he thinks I could screw up something that simple—and doesn’t speak as he pulls out a special key that unlocks a hidden door in the side of Hancock Manor. The only communication I get is when he jerks his head toward our broom closet, indicating that I should go first.
Alpha is waiting for us upstairs when we get back.
“How did it go?” His smile is wide.
I bite my lower lip as Zeta saunters up next to me, shaking his head. “How would you like it if we were still under British rule? Because that’s what your star recruit here almost did.” There’s sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Oh, and we failed with Monk.”
Alpha’s face gets very still.
“I’m not taking her out into the field again until she can prove she understands the difference between enhancing and altering and demonstrates a better sense of self-control.”
Zeta whips off his wig and stalks toward the stairs, leaving me alone with Alpha in the living room. Alpha doesn’t move for a few seconds. When he finally does, he takes out his old Moleskine notebook from his inside jacket pocket and makes a note with a heavy sigh. Then he tucks the notebook back inside and turns to me.
“So, all in all, not such a great first day?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s, like, my tenth apology of the morning.
Alpha looks at me. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes, but then something changes as he stares at me. He softens, and I’m confused.
“Eh, you win some, you lose some.” But he winces when he says it.
I’ve failed. I know I’ve failed. I feel like I’ve disappointed Alpha, and it dawns on me that I feel guilty. Guilty. Like I should feel bad for letting Alpha down. The man who ripped me away from Peel as a junior. Ripped me from Abe.
I do feel bad. Why is that?
His lips press into a grim line. “Do better tomorrow.” And then he leaves.
But his implication hangs there. Do better tomorrow , because there might not be another chance after that.
The next morning there’s a note slid under my door. It’s from Zeta. He wants me to write an essay on any historical event of my choosing. I have to explain the difference between enhancing and altering, then bring the essay to his office when I’m done.
Great. An essay.
I ball up the note, whip around, and send it sailing through the air. It bounces off the back wall and lands on the bed. Essays are not going to help me gain clearance. I’m angry. Partly at myself, but mostly at Zeta. No organization sends its operatives on a mission without a thorough briefing beforehand. Learning in the field can get you killed. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone except Zeta, I guess.
I decide to skip breakfast so I don’t have to face Zeta or the rest of them. I bet Yellow’s heard about my failure, and I can’t trust
“Or maybe,” he says in a quiet, dangerous voice, “you should learn to exercise better impulse control. You’re now the seventh recruit I’ve trained, and not one has had a single problem obeying orders in the field. Not one. But if you want to do this the old-fashioned way, we can. You won’t learn in the field. You can learn in the library. You can write me so many essays on the difference between altering and enhancing that your hand will want to fall off. You’ll never gain access to more of our secrets, and you probably won’t survive this probationary period. Is that what you want?”
My stomach sinks. I’m better than this; I know I am.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Save it. We’re going back.” He turns and starts walking toward Beacon Hill. Well, the empty tract of land that will one day become Beacon Hill, I guess.
Zeta doesn’t say a word to me. He watches me press the knob that automatically sets the watch to the present—as if he thinks I could screw up something that simple—and doesn’t speak as he pulls out a special key that unlocks a hidden door in the side of Hancock Manor. The only communication I get is when he jerks his head toward our broom closet, indicating that I should go first.
Alpha is waiting for us upstairs when we get back.
“How did it go?” His smile is wide.
I bite my lower lip as Zeta saunters up next to me, shaking his head. “How would you like it if we were still under British rule? Because that’s what your star recruit here almost did.” There’s sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Oh, and we failed with Monk.”
Alpha’s face gets very still.
“I’m not taking her out into the field again until she can prove she understands the difference between enhancing and altering and demonstrates a better sense of self-control.”
Zeta whips off his wig and stalks toward the stairs, leaving me alone with Alpha in the living room. Alpha doesn’t move for a few seconds. When he finally does, he takes out his old Moleskine notebook from his inside jacket pocket and makes a note with a heavy sigh. Then he tucks the notebook back inside and turns to me.
“So, all in all, not such a great first day?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s, like, my tenth apology of the morning.
Alpha looks at me. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes, but then something changes as he stares at me. He softens, and I’m confused.
“Eh, you win some, you lose some.” But he winces when he says it.
I’ve failed. I know I’ve failed. I feel like I’ve disappointed Alpha, and it dawns on me that I feel guilty. Guilty. Like I should feel bad for letting Alpha down. The man who ripped me away from Peel as a junior. Ripped me from Abe.
I do feel bad. Why is that?
His lips press into a grim line. “Do better tomorrow.” And then he leaves.
But his implication hangs there. Do better tomorrow , because there might not be another chance after that.
The next morning there’s a note slid under my door. It’s from Zeta. He wants me to write an essay on any historical event of my choosing. I have to explain the difference between enhancing and altering, then bring the essay to his office when I’m done.
Great. An essay.
I ball up the note, whip around, and send it sailing through the air. It bounces off the back wall and lands on the bed. Essays are not going to help me gain clearance. I’m angry. Partly at myself, but mostly at Zeta. No organization sends its operatives on a mission without a thorough briefing beforehand. Learning in the field can get you killed. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone except Zeta, I guess.
I decide to skip breakfast so I don’t have to face Zeta or the rest of them. I bet Yellow’s heard about my failure, and I can’t trust
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