Chapter 62
Mireya
Play - Arsonist’s Lullabye by Hozier
Congratulations or condolences
“Is it just me, or is there hardly anyone here?” Hayzel whispers to me as we enter the main hall for today's class.
“Didn't you know? A lot of people got kicked out this weekend, not good enough apparently…” Ethan replies as we all sit down in front of the screen.
There must be about ten of us... Expulsions happen often here, and it's scary. This is stressful, I can't afford to get rejected now.
“Well... they're not messing around.”
“Close the doors,” says Ms. Green, entering with our three other teachers, including Damien.
I don't know what they're planning, but given that the training only lasts a few months, I suppose it's not going to be easy.
Ms. Green smiles, looking at each student still present.
She seems principled; I get the feeling that, despite everything she's accomplished to get to this position, she must have had a really tough time.
“There are twelve of you now,” she pauses before continuing, “Congratulations, or condolences.”
I can feel Hayzel breathing harder beside me, unable to stay still as she leans toward me. “She seems pleased to see who’s left, don’t you think?”
“I think she’s pleased we’re getting down to business,” I murmur without looking at her.
“Have any of you ever wondered…where is the line?”
No one answers her question.
She tilts her head slightly, as if she’s been expecting it. “The line you would never cross. The one you swore you’d never go over.” She begins to walk slowly up the front of the rows. “Lying to someone who trusts you. Exploiting their weaknesses. Playing with their feelings... your body.”
Our bodies…
“Now, imagine that crossing this line could prevent an attack, save hundreds, thousands of lives.” She paused abruptly before smiling. “Does your moral compass still carry that much weight?”
She took a deep breath before continuing, “What you are about to experience tonight is not a theoretical exercise, and it is certainly not a role-playing game.”
A screen lights up behind her, images of a gala: golden lights, costumes, gowns, badges from the CIA, the FBI, foreign partners. All of it… right here, on the school grounds.
“In a few days, this academy will welcome active agents. Powerful people, intelligent and trained to spot lies. Every year they come here to see for themselves if they want to invest in the academy.” She turns to us and adds, “Your mission is simple and deeply uncomfortable. You must infiltrate the gala with a fake identity, find your target thanks to the file you will receive an hour before it starts, gain their trust, and leave with them.”
“What do we do next?” Someone asks.
“Steal from them. What better distraction than passion?”
She clicks the remote and the screen scrolls. “Remember, these are professionals, people trained to spot manipulation. Exactly as you’re supposed to be.”
Ethan, on the other side, raises his hand slightly. “Ma’am… is this an official mission or—”
“—or a test?” she cuts in sharply.
“Here, everything is a test,” Damien says, looking at Ethan. He rolls up his shirt sleeves before showing a box full of cards. “You’ll infiltrate the gala under civilian cover, no weapons, no safety net, just you and the targets.”
Ms. Green takes over before continuing, “That’s right, we’ll be there, but no help.”
“And if the target refuses?” Ethan asks.
She finally manages a smile. “Then you’ll have failed to read your target.”
I clench my teeth. “And if…” My voice escapes involuntarily. “What if someone doesn’t want to use that lever?”
Several heads turn toward me. I feel Damien’s gaze sink in, as if he’s trying to understand my question.
“That lever?” he asks.
My gaze meets his. “The body.”
He doesn't answer right away; he remains there, arms crossed. Ms. Green replies, “Then this person will have to accept that certain specializations aren't right for them.”
“Even if the mission could save lives?” I ask.
“Especially in this case.”
Hayzel leans toward me and whispers, “Reya, this is so exciting.”
I don't answer; I just imagine having to do it. Someone looking at the scars and asks what they mean, who inflicted them, and things that aren’t theirs to know.
“Listen to me carefully,” Ms. Green continues, “No one will force you.”
Damien raises his head slightly. “But no one will protect you either,” he says, “Every decision will have a cost. And for you, if you fail this mission, you'll be eliminated from the program.”
She turns off the screen, and our climbing instructor takes the box and brings it over to us. He places cards inside with our photos, fake names, and false affiliations.
“I won’t tell you how to do this. I won’t set any limits. Because in the field… no one will do it for you.” Damien continues, “If you’re not capable of using what you are; your charm, your intelligence, your body, then you’re not cut out for infiltration.”
Ms. Green moves closer and points to the door. “And if this idea disgusts you… The door is behind you.”
No one moves.
“And if we succeed?” I ask.
Ms. Green smiles at me and replies, “So you’ll have proven that you’re capable of infiltrating where no one else can.”
“And then?”
“Then… you’ll be deployable at the end of your training.”
I nod and meet Damien’s gaze. His eyes said: think.
Mine replied: I have no choice.
“Get ready,” she concludes. “Next week you’ll learn what you’re really made of.”
“It’s scary, but I can’t wait,” Hayzel says, packing up her things. The students all left at the same time as the teachers, and I caught Damien’s signal. Two taps on the desk
“Go on without me, I think I dropped my phone. I’ll catch up.”
Ethan frowns before Hayzel grabs his arm and pulls him along. “Okay, Reya, we’ll wait for you outside.”
Lowering my head, I make my way down the stairs. Damien’s gaze follows me and by the time I reach him, my attention has already drifted to his forearms. Scars disappearing beneath tattoos and veins. Black roots around a compass, wrapping all the way to his wrists.
“Do we have a plan?”
He looks at the empty class around before leaning closer and then replies, “Meet me at the library tonight, same time, same place.”
“Case study?” I ask.
“Yes, not the cliffs.”
Before I can say anything else, he takes a step back and leaves.