Zayden
The Agency appears in the darkness, and the sight of it still makes me take pause.
My driver slows, as if he too is taking in the sight.
I remember the first time I came here, into the deep woods of Seattle, thick forestry hiding the blood and secrets within the ivy-clad stone building.
It looks the same, but the technology has been upgraded over the years.
The heavy iron gates appear old, but they’re state of the art, and you’d never know your face was being scanned as you wait for security to allow you through.
The guard, Peter, is more for show. He has a gun on his hip and is trained, but even if he was taken down, the gates are impenetrable. He doesn’t open them. A computer does.
Peter nods at us as the entrance swings open, the gravel crunching as we take the long, winding path to the property.
Trees line either side, and soon, this drive will be heavy with snow.
There are times I wish Silence could see it, because despite the monsters we create within, the place is beautiful.
But there’s no way in hell I’d ever bring my wife here.
We pull up at the front of the large home, and even though it’s late, the annex used as a shooting range is aglow.
It’s always busy, and people tend not to sleep, because training is more important.
Also, you’re more likely to be taken out by another recruit when your eyes are closed, even though sabotage is something we prohibited the moment we had the power to do so.
Trainees are recommended to us by crime syndicates all over the world, or we seek them out based on an already deadly reputation.
Some show up after hearing about us, and we allow them in if they show promise.
The goal is to create lethal, loyal killers.
It’s the place Xavier, Yale and I found ourselves.
I heard about the Agency through my dad’s only remaining friend.
After he died, everyone jumped ship, but one man gave me three bus tickets, an address, and a recommendation letter. We never looked back.
I exit the car, and Envy is standing at the top of the steps, black hair swept into a high bun, dark eyes fixed on me, jaw tight.
I’m not sure of her exact age, but I’m guessing she’s early thirties, like us.
Her birth certificate no longer exists, something she said she burned a long time ago, along with memories of her family.
That information is about the only personal thing I know about Envy, and she only revealed that after too much absinthe.
She’s a quiet, powerful woman, which is directly at odds with what she’s wearing right now—bright pink pajamas with bunny rabbits on them.
“Don’t say a fucking word,” she snaps, pointing at me as I reach her. “They were a gift, and I’m not ungrateful.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “A gift from Nyx, I’m guessing? Where is she?”
Envy scoffs and waves her hand. “Where do you think? She’s running amok somewhere when she should be asleep.”
Eight years ago, two recruits fell for each other, and one ended up getting pregnant.
She hid it for as long as she could, even from the father, until she went into labor and gave birth to Nyx in the dead of night.
When she told the father, he refused to be part of the baby’s life, so she did what any killer would do. She cut his throat and left.
Envy convinced the previous owners to let Nyx stay. We’ve all raised her in some way over the years, which means she’s smart and deadly when she wants to be.
She also has access to all our accounts, hence the pajama gifting.
Envy and I walk side by side as we venture through the large, echoing hallways of the house.
It’s enormous, with thirty bedrooms but the capacity to hold three times that many people given that most rooms have bunk beds, and two ballrooms converted into training centers.
Everyone lives, trains, and sometimes dies, here.
Which is why I’m unsurprised to find the largest training room busy, even in the middle of the night.
The high-ceiling room is filled with weapons, mats, gym equipment—everything you need to stay fit and deadly. It’s loud when we first enter but quickly quietens when we’re spotted.
I’m not just a part-owner—I have a reputation all my own. So, as we walk across the training room to reach the basement door on the other side, we’re watched. Weapons are lowered. Conversations end.
“I bet you feel so cool right now,” Envy says from the corner of her mouth.
“I’d rather be at home with my wife.”
“Hello!” I stop as a woman skids in front of me. She’s mid-forties with gray hair tied into a ponytail, and large hazel eyes. “Are you Z?”
She’s tiny, probably five feet at most, so I’m looking directly down at her. “Yes.”
“I’m Mercy. I’m so glad I bumped into you,” she says cheerfully. “I was wondering if we could discuss my career path.”
I keep my tone level, despite my patience wearing thin. “I’m a little busy right now, Mercy.”
She raises her hands to keep me in place as I go to step around her. “Oh, I know, I understand, but it’ll only take two seconds, I promise. I just don’t think contract killing is for me, and I wondered if there were other things I could do.”
I frown. Why would she come here unless she was positive about wanting to do it?
“You don’t think it’s for you?”
“Yeah, the vibes are all off,” she says, waving her hand. “It’s been fun, but this was an impulsive decision. My daughter went to college halfway across the world, so I was a bit lost! I heard about this place and thought, why not? But now I’m wondering if I’d be better suited somewhere else.”
“Heard about us? Did you see our ad on Facebook?”
Her brows rise. “You have ads on Facebook?”
Now my patience is all but gone. “No, Mercy.”
“Oh! You’re kidding. Funny.” She punches my bicep playfully. “No, I just know people who know people. Which is how I ended up here! But maybe I could be placed elsewhere?”
Now, I’m intrigued. I fold my arms. “Like?”
“Protection, maybe? I’m sure Peter would like a break from the gate. Or maybe you know someone in security you could refer me to?”
“That isn’t really how this works, Mercy. We spend a lot of money training you so you can return on our investment. We don’t simply hand you out to others to use the skills we’ve honed in you.”
She tuts. “Biscuits. That does make sense.”
She uses biscuits as if it’s a curse, and that has me close to smiling. “Are you good at what you do, Mercy?”
“Oh, the best,” she says earnestly.
“Show me.”
Envy looks amused, her eyes shifting between us, but says nothing. Mercy glances around the busy training center and spots a group of young recruits.
She waves excitedly. “Simmons! Come over here for a second.”
The tallest, buffest member suddenly sags, his eyes widening. I expect his friends to tease him for being chosen, but they’re exchanging glances, brows furrowed in what seems like … concern?
Still, Simmons approaches. He has light hair and is in his early twenties, his tank top revealing large, scarred arms. He stops a good few feet from Mercy.
“Oh, come here.” She chuckles, gesturing for him to get closer. He does, but not before giving me a terrified glance.
What the hell is going on?
“Did I do something wrong, Mercy?” he asks quietly.
She shakes her head. “No, honey. But I need you to get on your knees.”
He swallows. “My knees?”
Mercy’s smile vanishes. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?”
Simmons drops to his knees, and he’s trembling. Actually trembling.
“Good.” Mercy smiles again and looks at me. “See?”
I consider Simmons, and it is impressive, but it doesn’t mean much. “That doesn’t really tell me anything.”
She taps her bottom lip in thought, then looks back down at the young man.
“Simmons, break your finger.”
“Which one?”
I blanch at the immediate agreement, but Mercy doesn’t. She shrugs. “Whichever, love.”
Simmons grips his little finger—and snaps it. He winces, and his friends do, too. His eyes are scrunched closed, but he doesn’t make a sound.
“What do we say?” Mercy coos.
Simmons opens his eyes, sweat dotting his brow. “Thank you, Mercy.”
“Such a good boy. Go now.”
“Wait.” I hold my hand up, brow furrowed. “Why did you do that?”
Simmons looks panicked. “Because Mercy asked me to.”
“And she has control over you how?”
He swallows. “Because I don’t want to upset her. Can I go now?” He’s asking Mercy, not me, and that has me really smiling this time.
“Yes, honey, you can go,” she says.
He scurries away, and Mercy looks up at me hopefully.
That was impressive, but I’m not here to give recruitment advice. People sign their lives away to us for a reason, and it isn’t as simple as changing your mind.
“Give it some time,” I say, and Mercy’s shoulders dip. “Your first kill changes everything.”
She smiles, and though it isn’t as bright as before, it still seems real. “I suppose I am bowing out a little early. Well, I’ll get out of your way. Nyx and I are playing hide and seek, and I’m starting to think she’s in the ceiling.” She eyes the tiles above us, then slinks away.
We continue toward the basement door. “Can you send me her file?”
Envy nods. “You’re considering moving her?”
“Considering something,” I say, watching Mercy as she climbs a pile of mats and shifts aside a ceiling tile, lifting herself out of sight. “I just don’t know what yet.”
Envy shoves open the basement door. Clean lines of metal and glass greet us as we head downstairs into the offices, bunker, and medical facility. A duty doctor is on standby somewhere, but the basement spans the entire length and width of the house, so he could be anywhere.
“What was the emergency?” I ask, as we reach the medical bay. Envy types in her code, and the door shifts open.
Inside is the morgue, and on a metal slab is a man’s body.