Chapter 23
MISSING IN ACTION
I slept through the chime. Not just the wake chime, but rise and line-up as well.
I’m still groggy when Vance appears at my door, barking orders and bellowing about the consequences of oversleeping.
I shake my head, ready to argue. Then, I remember what today is.
I jolt up, mutter an apology, grab the uniform he’s waving around, and bolt for the bathroom.
Of course I chose today to sleep in. I’ve been nervous about evaluations all week, and the constant change of sedative doses Noxen’s been trying has run rampant over my sleep schedule. Nothing’s worked, which has only amplified my nerves.
Two minutes later, I’m in line, tugging on my white flats while Brielle ties a ribbon around my ponytail.
Ralston has my wrist in one hand, fumbling with the cuff that’s refusing to sync.
It’s been doing that a lot lately, harboring a personal vendetta for no good reason.
Vance disappeared to find the manual. Instead, he returns with the velvet box that holds our designation pins, tossing it to Ralston and instructing him to forget the cuff for now.
“Left side of your chest, make sure it’s pinned straight.” Ralston calls us one by one, reciting the numbers like a checklist. “Brielle, 212. Ivy, 216. Juniper, 219. Maysie—” He stops. Frowns at the box. Then flashes a nervous glance at Vance. “Where’s 214’s?”
“She won’t be needing it,” Mister M calls as he steps across the threshold.
I can’t even process his words as I take in the sight of him.
He’s always polished, but today he looks downright immaculate.
His suit is perfectly tailored, with a blazer the deepest shade of crimson.
His chestnut hair is styled tighter than usual.
It makes him look older in a way, more distinguished.
The mischievous glint flecking his hazel eyes reminds me that he just said something incredibly disconcerting.
“Sir?” I clasp my hands behind my back to keep from fidgeting. Mister M watches me for a long moment, gauging my reaction. I give him nothing, because no answer is safe when it comes to him.
“You’ll be sitting this one out.” His smirk widens. I press my lips into a frown. He chuckles. “Don’t look so ungrateful little star, there’s always next time.”
“Why?” My voice is hardly above a whisper, but he flashes me a look of contempt like I just yelled in his face.
“Because I said so.” He sneers, gripping my arm. I catch June out of the corner of my eye, the look on her face mutinous. Bri bites her lip.
I just shake my head. “But my scores are almost perfect. I haven’t done anything wrong—”
“Exactly,” he says. “You’re too comfortable. Too proud. I’d rather you step back than falter in front of the board and make me look careless. Stable girls graduate; perfect ones draw questions.” He smiles, faint yet cutting. “You want to graduate, don’t you?”
I step closer, ready to push. “I can do it!” Regret seizes my stomach. I soften my voice into something pretty and pliant. “I want to graduate. I want to show them my—”
“Work in the art room,” he interrupts, plastered smile back in place. “I’ll send someone to escort you.” He waves me off without another word, turning on his heel and herding the girls out. Bri flashes me a sullen look over her shoulder, bottom lip pouted.
I give her a reassuring smile and mouth “good luck” to both her and June, who hasn’t moved from her spot. She gives me a disheartened mock salute and makes her way out, followed by Vance. Ralston flashes me a small look of sympathy as he shuts the door behind them.
Then I’m alone. Left with a thousand questions and a still-broken cuff.
When Ryder comes to pick me up, it isn’t hard to convince him Mister M had ordered me to stay in one of the piano rooms. I felt a little sick to my stomach lying, but if I had to spend the whole day in the art room by myself, I think I would actually lose my mind.
Ryder simply shrugs and drops me at the door with some terse words about staying put.
The practice hall is dead quiet today, and we didn’t pass a single other girl on the walk here. Which means either every single other girl has an evaluation, or this is a really intense game of hide and seek and I didn’t get the memo. My bet’s on the former, which only twists the knife more.
The schedule marked today’s evaluation as mandatory, which I know for a fact means Mister M had to do far more work to keep me out of it than to just let me perform.
The more I think about it, the more absurd it feels.
He’d rather put the other girls in front of the evaluators.
Ivy, who hasn’t completed a single movement sequence.
June, who recites her introduction like it’s the first time she’s seeing the words.
Or Bri, who can’t curtsy without shaking.
I’m not supposed to question my mentor. I’m not supposed to question the system that saved me.
I’m grateful. I’m obedient. I’m so lucky to have the chance to improve.
So, I do as I’m told. Well…partly. I lock myself away in a practice room and play until my fingers go numb.
I fight to convince myself that it’s better this way, I haven’t gotten to touch a piano since Mister V’s visit last week.
The bitterness that bites at me when I think of all the other girls who get routine time in their aptitude is startling.
But I can’t help it, piano time may be the only time I feel like myself.
The system is excellent. There’s no shortage of songs, and I don’t have to bother with turning pages or picking music.
The screen flashes, and another piece begins.
It’s one I’ve heard before, slow yet grand.
Every note intentional, every measure bigger than the last. I can’t hide the smile that consumes my features at the last note.
I pause for a moment, eyes closed in small victory.
A polite clap coming from the doorway frightens me so badly that I about fly from my seat. My head flies up in surprise, meeting a calm set of icy blue eyes.
Mister V.
He’s leaning in the doorway, the picture of perfect cool; notably not dressed for evaluations.
His dress shirt’s untucked, leather gloves slipped awkwardly in his pants pocket.
A massive stack of files tucked under his arm.
The tablet clipped to his belt is going off like mad.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mister M’s do that.
“You scared me,” I confess, keeping my tone polite. “I honestly didn’t think anyone would be here today.”
“You’re astonishing,” Mister V states, ignoring my statement. It’s odd, his face doesn’t bear the kindness that sort of compliment would typically bring. He takes a few steps toward me, inclining his head. “How did you learn to play so well?”
“The system taught me,” I say. “It really wasn’t that hard.” He says nothing, eyes still trained on my face. It feels like he’s waiting for something, so I continue. “It feels nice to play. Easy.” His face remains unchanged at this. I blink at him a few times, unsure of what he wants from me.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, passive.
“Just practicing. I wasn’t ready for evaluation today.” My cheeks warm in embarrassment. He nods, but the way his eyes settle on me feels off. I grip the hem of my dress nervously, trying to mask the awkwardness of it.
He hums. “I wouldn’t fret over it, evaluations are mostly for show anyway.” He’s lying, but I nod regardless.
“Do your girls have evaluations today?”
Stupid question. I’m pretty sure every girl but me will have an evaluation today.
And if they perform well, they may get a chance to attend an event or perform for investors.
Performances could lead to promising placements after graduation.
Something I won’t get by sitting on the sidelines.
I bite back the bitter taste in my mouth, smiling pleasantly like I know I should.
My eyes settle back on him. He’s watching me, calculating. Not responding.
“Mister V?”
“Did you know your aptitude is listed as harp?” he asks, distant.
How? I’ve never even touched a harp. A frown spreads on my lips before I can catch it, and it takes a few blinks to bring my expression back to the pleasant neutral that’s expected.
“I’ve never played the harp,” I confess.
“I know.” The way he says it makes me suspect he could recite my entire seven-month history faster than I could, backwards and forwards.
“May I stick around for a while and listen? It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone with your skill.” I have no idea how to respond to that. I nod curtly, swiveling back to the piano.
Mister V strides across the room, settling in an oversized red wingback. He flips through a stack of files, bringing one to the top and running his fingers over it gently. “214” is printed in bold letters. My stomach turns, bile rising in the back of my throat.
Why does he have that?
Evaluations are happening now, for everyone else at least. Girls being polished, graded, praised, rewarded. I, on the other hand, was told to stay out of the way. I wasn’t even good enough to try.
So why is he here? Why is he watching me?
He’s reading, but his eyes are glossed over, like he already knows what the file says. I force myself to breathe. To smile like a good girl. Smooth my skirt. If I can’t get answers, I can still give him a performance.
“Do you have any preferences?” I say, delivering the line as politely as I can. He almost smiles, snapped out of his haze. Bingo.
“Something up-tempo would suit you.” He’s by my side in a second, fingers flying across the screen as he flips through songs. It takes him a while, but I know the exact moment he’s found the one, his eyes lighting up with both recognition and something deeper.
The songs Mister V picks are perfect. Light, up-tempo, very motivating.
He claps after each one, offering gentle corrections and suggesting similar works.
My fingers ache desperately for a break, but I’m in no place to refuse him.
We’re deep in conversation about composers when his tablet springs to life again, pinging wildly like it’s scolding him. He lets out a deep sigh.
“Duty calls. Thank you for your time. You truly are…” He trails off, shaking his head more to himself than me. “Unique.” He gathers his files, shoes clicking quietly against the wooden floor as he slips out.
Alone again. Somehow with even more questions than before. Evaluations are a huge deal; girls and mentors alike spend weeks preparing for them. And yet, he was here. Watching me.
The adrenaline that’s been powering my performance has dwindled.
My fingers throb like they’re about to fall off, my back aches from holding proper position for hours on end.
I pull myself to stand, shutting the piano lid gently as if I could shut my wild running thoughts with it.
The light clicks off behind me, and I slip into the hall.
It’s a ghost town, which means everyone’s either resting, or still deep in evaluations.
No enforcer is waiting for me, which I guess means I should go back on my own? That’s what an obedient girl would do. I think.
Two turns in, I’m entirely lost. The corridors grow colder, less familiar. Full of cameras that actually blink and walls that might be breathing. Thankfully, the enforcer who’s supposed to be off-duty this evening is lurking at the end of a side hall.
Colt’s stationed outside an unmarked door, checking something on his wristband. An idea pops into my head. I’m in front of him before I have time to change my mind.
“Hi,” I say, uncertain.
“Mays.” He startles, then smiles, caramel eyes lighting the way they always do when he sees me. “What are you doing down here?”
“I was in the art room,” I lie, fiddling with the ribbon around my waist. He nods, assessing me slowly. Hesitation grips my system. I almost move past him, but my desire for answers overpowers my second thoughts.
“Do you know Mister V?”
His brows furrow. “Uh…yeah. Why do you ask?”
“Is he really a mentor?”
He pauses. Cocks his head. “Why?”
“He just happened to show up today. Unscheduled and unprompted, while everyone else was in evaluations. He said he wanted to listen to me play.” I fold my hands to keep from fidgeting. “It was strange.”
Colt exhales slowly through his nose. He sends a pointed glance down the hallway. It’s empty. Silent.
“He’s not assigned to anyone right now,” he says finally, eyes trained on the wall behind me like it’s suddenly fascinating.
“So then why—”
“I believe Carr calls it ‘supplemental support.’” His tone makes it sound like a joke that isn’t funny.
“What does that mean?” I ask, trying not to sound desperate. Colt shakes his head, like it’s not worth even trying to explain.
“It means he shows up when something’s off.” Something in my chest pulls tight.
What does that mean?
“Off like failing?”
“Off like different.” He doesn’t say it like an insult, but it’s anything but comforting. Being different doesn’t do a person any good here.
“Do you think he’s trustworthy?” I ask.
Colt flicks his eyes between me and his wristband. “I think he does what he’s told, which is usually worse.” He pushes off the wall, gives me a dismissive nod, and moves to scan his ID badge on the metal double doors. He holds them open for me, dark eyes swirling with unspoken words.
“Maysie.” I look back to find his face twisted with concern. “Just…keep being careful. With him.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s around, it means Carr’s looking for something.”