Chapter 24
WHATEVER COMES NATURALLY
We don’t discuss anything about evaluations at breakfast the next day.
We haven’t discussed much this week, for that matter.
It’s strange, to say the least. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed.
June doesn’t doodle in her notes anymore.
Brielle doesn’t paint sunsets, not since Mister M told her that her works were a disgrace to the arts.
Morning classes pass quietly, each minute indistinguishable from the next. I used to find comfort in routine. Now it’s like I’m drowning in it.
Lunch and enrichment are much the same. We’re well into afternoon classes when I finally feel my humanity catch up with me.
The afternoon lecture is long and predictable. A speech we’ve been given a thousand times. How to make silence look graceful. The girls around me sit upright, nodding intently, smiling graciously at the appropriate beats.
I smile when the instructor glances my way. I even write notes. Nothing important, just a few phrases that sound clever if you don’t know what they mean. I’m being obedient, just like I’ve always been.
That should be enough, at least for today.
A knock interrupts the riveting presentation. The instructor turns in irritation as an unfamiliar enforcer steps across the threshold. His eyes flicker directly to me.
“214,” he says gruffly, beckoning with a lazy wave. “You’ve been requested.” Requested? That’s a new one.
A few heads turn. Brielle’s eyes widen; June’s mouth forms an “O.” I rise quickly, smoothing my skirt. I don’t ask where I’m going, or who requested me. Mister M would surely be mortified if I did.
He leads the way through a maze of corridors I don’t recognize, stopping in front of a wooden door. I linger by the handle, counting to ten before tipping the handle and pressing on.
I can’t tell if the room beyond was truly intended to be a room, or someone converted a supply closet.
It’s carpeted in gray, illuminated by soft lamp light yellowed with age.
Two uncomfortable chairs in one corner, an upright piano in the other.
It smells stale, like no one bothered to air it out for my visit.
Surprisingly, there are no cameras, at least not ones I can see.
Mister V, of all people, is here. Perched on one of the chairs like he’s afraid if he gets comfortable it’ll bite him.
Dark hair styled immaculately, cream sleeves rolled to the elbows, leather gloves folded beside a stack of files.
His legs are crossed, one hand resting lightly on the chair’s arm.
He’s not broad like the enforcers, but he’s certainly toned.
His gaze levels me in a second, and the pen in his hand might as well be a weapon.
“Maysie.”
My heart stutters at the sound of my name, but I force the right response. “Mister V.”
“Come in. Sit.” He gestures with his pen. I make my way slowly, every step deliberate. “You don’t have to look so nervous. This isn’t a test,” he adds. He sounds calm, dare I say mildly pleasant.
That doesn’t make me feel any better. Not after what Colt said yesterday.
“What is it then?” My voice sounds almost level even as I speak out of turn. I shouldn’t question him. It isn’t what a well-trained girl would do.
“A check-in, of sorts. More of a benchmark than anything. Your mentor’s record-keeping is,” he clears his throat, “unreliable, at best.” He flips open the top file and sifts through the endless pages of notes that I’m really hoping aren’t all about me.
“I had a full diagnostics panel two days ago,” I blurt, too quickly. If Mister M was here, he’d be livid.
“I know.” He plucks the results from the file and lays them neatly between us; proof that he doesn’t need me to tell him anything. “We’ll skip biometrics.” He sets the page aside. “Just some questions. No wrong answers.”
Uh-huh. Sure. If I were to believe that, I’d deserve whatever comes next.
“What’s your biggest fear?”
Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.
My pulse quickens as I sift through my mind, grasping for the perfect answer. The kind Mister M would drill into me: mediocrity, disappointing the board, getting paint on my white uniform.
Polished lies. Safe lies.
The words that tumble out of my mouth instead are far from a lie.
“Answering that question.” My eyes go wide with my own stupidity. Why on earth did I say that? My heart pangs with the sense that I’d just handed him something I can’t take back.
A genuine smile flickers across his face.
“Honesty,” he remarks. “Unusual.”
I press my lips together. “I’m not sure it was smart.”
“No, but it was true.”
I look away, cheeks hot. Mister V’s still watching me, the weight of his stare prickles against my skin.
“There’s a month until your next evaluation. I’ve been asked to ensure you don’t only perform—you excel.”
I freeze. “Asked by who?”
Mister V closes the file with a quiet snap. “From now on, you’ll have daily private instruction. Piano. Posture. Speech. Whatever I deem necessary.”
“Piano? Yesterday you said my performance aptitude is harp.”
“It was harp,” he interrupts dryly. “I changed it.”
“You can just do that?”
“I’m allowed certain…discretion. Most people prefer not to notice.” The chill that runs down my spine tells me he doesn’t just mean music.
That’s not a good sign. It can’t be, right? I shouldn’t press any further. I shouldn’t—
“Why me?” I say anyway, wishing I could kick myself in the face.
“The organization sees something in you.” Mister V is already on his feet, crossing toward the piano in slow steps. His hand brushes the polished edge, eyes going distant for a moment before slipping back to me.
“I’d like you to play something.” He’s not asking, but he’s not commanding either. It’s a little strange to hear something so casual from him.
“What would you like to hear?”
“Whatever comes naturally.”
The bench is cool against my palms. I lower myself carefully, focusing on anything but the man looming a foot away. This model doesn’t have a system attached, so I’m on my own. My fingers hover over the keys, but the notes don’t come.
Natural? That’s what he said. A little disorienting considering nothing feels natural anymore.
But I can start with something safe. One of the first pieces the system assigned me.
It’s bright and simple, pleasing to an untrained ear.
The melody flows, muscle memory carrying me through with surprising ease.
Mister V doesn’t move, but his attention drifts.
He’s fiddling with his pen, twirling it over his gloved fingers again and again. At first it’s nothing, until—
Two sharp taps of his pen, rough against the edge of the lid.
My mouth opens without permission. “I am lucky to be saved. I am eager for the opportunity to be corrected. I will strive to reflect the advancement program’s—” I choke on the phrase too late. The words die in a coughing fit as I struggle to grasp what just possessed me.
My head jerks up, horrified. Mister V is staring at me, judging my reaction.
“I— I didn’t mean—”
“You startled,” he says simply. “Your training surfaced. That’s all.”
Humiliation burns so hot I can’t breathe. “Was that—”
“Wrong? No, but you need to know what’s written into you.” His icy blue eyes bore into my soul like he’s dissecting me from where he stands.
My knuckles whiten on the edge of the bench.
He’s right. In a way, I think I hate him for it.
My thoughts tangle, loud and incredibly unhelpful.
I should want to be well trained, I know that much.
But something about losing my autonomy like that makes my skin crawl. For a moment, I felt like a puppet.
“Again.” His level tone cuts through me.
This time, my hands choose differently. My fingers slip into something older; deep and somber—nothing like anything the system assigns to me. The melody unfurls without invitation, slick under my touch. Notes dominate the air like they always belonged right here and nowhere else.
It feels like remembering.
Which is weird, considering that’s the one thing they don’t want me to do.
Every bar makes my chest ache more. When the final chord fades, my fingers don’t so much as twitch as I wait for his response.
“Better,” he says, slipping the pen into his pocket like nothing happened. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means,” he says, “that there’s more to you than you realize.”
I’m starting to get sick of people saying that.