Chapter 14 #2
My stomach drops. Every head in the open office space lifts momentarily, curious eyes following me as I stand. Perfect. A public announcement ensuring everyone knows I'm being evaluated, watched, and questioned.
Great. Time to lie to yet another person about who and what I am.
I spend the next ten minutes reviewing my story, going over every detail to ensure consistency. That's the key to a convincing lie—consistency and just enough truth to make it believable.
The clock crawls forward while I mentally rehearse responses to predictable questions.
What did the wolf look like? Massive, black and gray, nothing unusual.
Did it exhibit any strange behaviors? Just typical predator evasion.
Did you feel threatened? Only professionally.
Each answer is carefully constructed to reveal nothing of importance.
The intercom chimes overhead just as I finish my mental preparation.
I straighten my shoulders, check my reflection in the window glass, and arrange my features into a mask of professional composure.
Like preparing for battle, except the weapons are words and the battlefield is my own mind.
I'm a perfect forgery of a normal GUIDE agent.
Every line is exact, every color matched, but under UV light, I glow with everything I have to hide.
Dr. Carrow is waiting when I arrive at Psych Services, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun.
She's been with GUIDE longer than anyone else in the department.
Rumor has it she helped develop the psychological profiles we use to identify potential magick users in the general population.
Those same profiling techniques I've been carefully evading for years.
If anyone could see through me, it would be her.
"Agent Mathieson." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat."
The evaluation room is deliberately neutral—soft beige walls, comfortable but not luxurious furniture, no windows. Designed to put subjects at ease while giving away nothing of the evaluator's own thoughts. I've been on both sides of this process many times.
"This is a standard post-exposure assessment," she begins, tablet in hand. "Nothing to be concerned about."
"I'm not concerned." I settle into the chair, body language open, non-defensive, despite the anger still simmering in my gut. "It was a standard pursuit that ended with lost contact. Nothing unusual."
"Mmm." She makes a note without looking up. "Let's start with the basics. Did you feel your life was in immediate danger during the encounter?"
"No more than any other field operation."
"Did you discharge your weapon?"
"Once. Warning shot only."
"And the entity's response?"
"It continued to retreat."
Dr. Carrow’s eyes flick up to mine. "Interesting choice of words. 'Retreat' implies tactical thinking. Did you observe signs of higher cognitive function in this creature?"
Careful, Astrid. "All animals make strategic decisions when pursued."
My training kicks in automatically. Deflect, normalize, appear reasonable. But beneath the practiced calm, alarms blare. She caught the slip. Too late to take it back, but I can still control the damage.
"Of course." Another note on her tablet. "Yet in your report, you mention it moved 'deliberately' toward water. That suggests purpose beyond instinct."
"Poor word choice on my part." I keep my voice even. "I meant the wolf followed the path of least resistance, which happened to lead to water."
She shifts tactics. "Tell me about the moment you lost sight of the entity."
The sudden pivot makes my muscles tense.
Veteran interrogator's move—change direction when the subject gets too comfortable with a line of questioning.
I've used it myself countless times. Dr. Carrow isn't just conducting a standard evaluation, she's hunting for inconsistencies, for cracks in my story. For proof that I'm hiding something.
"He disappeared into the trees. Heavy rain obscured the trail."
"And how did that make you feel?"
I almost laugh. How did it make me feel to watch the wolf that had just saved my life disappear into the forest? Confused. Grateful. Terrified. Not of it, mind you, but of what its existence means for everything I thought I knew.
"Frustrated," I say instead, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I don't like losing targets." That part, at least, is true. I hate that I'm being punished for "losing" the wolf when I should be focusing on the chimeras.
Dr. Carrow watches me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Agent Mathieson, you've been exposed to dozens of magickal entities during your career with GUIDE. What was different about this one?"
The question catches me off-guard. My pulse quickens, and I force myself not to fidget. Shit. Did I say something earlier that gave me away? I mentally replay our conversation, searching for the slip. Years of hiding what I am has made me an expert liar, but even experts make mistakes.
"Nothing was different." I keep my voice flat, professional. The same voice I use when reporting successful eliminations to Hayes.
"Then why are you speaking about it differently?
" She taps her tablet. "I've reviewed your previous post-encounter reports.
You typically describe entities as 'it' or 'the target.
' Yet throughout this evaluation, and in your written report you've referred to this wolf shifter as 'the wolf' and just now as a ‘he.’ You're personalizing it. "
My stomach drops. Sloppy. Careless. I mentally curse myself for such a basic error. This is exactly the kind of mistake that gets people like me killed. I need to recover, and fast.
I lean back slightly, adopting the posture I've seen Marcus use during evaluations—slightly defensive, but reasoned.
"I was using the language from the briefing material.
The initial reports referred to the entity as male.
" A practiced shrug. "Force of habit to mirror terminology.
I can assure you, Doctor, it was a target like any other. "
The lie feels like ash in my mouth, but I maintain eye contact. Years of hiding and hunting others that hide has taught me that looking away is the first tell evaluators watch for.
"Hmm." She makes another note, then looks up at me with those disconcertingly perceptive eyes.
"You know, many agents who've had close encounters with Class Three entities develop a kind of fascination afterward.
It's perfectly normal—the human brain trying to make sense of something beyond its experience. "
Fascination. The word echoes in my mind, uncomfortably accurate.
I can still see those golden eyes watching me through the trees, intelligent and wild all at once.
Can still feel the strange pull when our gazes locked.
But fascination implies curiosity, academic interest, not this constant, intrusive awareness that's been haunting me since that night.
Why can't I stop thinking about him? About the wolf? Years of hunting, and I've never lost focus like this. Never caught myself replaying an encounter in my mind during quiet moments. Never found myself wondering what it would be like to…
I shut down that thought before it fully forms. Dangerous territory, Astrid.
"I'm not fascinated. I'm doing my job." The words come out sharper than I intend, still raw from Hayes' accusation that I've neglected my actual job—hunting the chimeras.
But even as I say it, I recognize the defensive edge in my voice.
Would I react this strongly if there wasn't some truth to her observation?
Maybe that's what frightens me most. Not that I'm thinking about the wolf, but that I want to. That some part of me, the part I've spent my entire adult life denying and hiding, recognizes something in him that resonates with what I am.
"Of course." She offers a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Just a few more questions, then."
The rest of the evaluation passes in a blur of standardized questions and careful answers. I maintain my composure, but something must have slipped through my defenses. When Dr. Carrow finally sets down her tablet, her expression is thoughtful.
I've spent years perfecting the art of appearing human to people trained to spot anything that isn't. But for the first time since joining GUIDE, I'm not sure my performance was convincing.
Not because I'm slipping in my disguise, but because something fundamental has shifted inside me.
Something I don't fully understand yet. Something that started the moment I locked eyes with that wolf.
"You're cleared for restricted duty, Agent Mathieson. Seventy-two hours, as Deputy Director Hayes indicated. I'm also recommending an extended observation protocol."
"Extended observation?" I keep my tone merely curious, though my heart slams against my ribs. Being watched is dangerous. Being watched means mistakes can be seen. And in my world, mistakes are fatal.
"Just a precaution." Her smile is professional, empty. "Close encounters with predators, of which you have had many, can have subtle psychological impacts. We want to make sure you're fully processed this experience."
Translation: Something about my responses raised red flags, and now they'll be watching me even more closely.
Perfect.
Back at my workstation, I pull up the GUIDE archives and begin a two-pronged research approach. With Sherlock likely monitoring my digital footprint, I need to be strategic.
Seventy-two hours. That's all I need to ride out before Hayes puts me back on the chimeras.
Just three days of this bureaucratic bullshit, then I can get back to what matters.
My jaw clenches at the thought of Williams and Reyes handling my case in the meantime.
My case. They can't possibly screw it up too badly in three days, but these are the same agents who fumbled a simple goblin infestation last winter.