“I need to go see Dr. March,” I said to Simmonds. “I’ll come back with Travis later. We can talk then.”
He nodded once and I was gone without another word.
I made it as far as the stairwell before Travis caught up to me. “Joss, hang on.”
I whipped around and took a step toward the stairs, my stomach a twist of emotions I couldn’t identify. “Please let me go,” I said. He leaned away, taken aback. I took a breath, calming myself enough to speak. “I need some space right now.”
He gave me a concerned once-over, but after a moment, he nodded. I hurried up the stairs, leaving him and my angry father behind.
• • •
I stayed in the medical wing long after Dr. March had finished with the acupuncture treatment. I felt significantly more stable now, but I still wanted to hide.
I couldn’t get my dad’s angry red face out of my mind. What I had pulled off was nearly impossible. Once he might have been happy about it.
I found myself lost in a time when he was.
I went through a phase as a kid where I loved to throw darts—I’d gotten the idea from a game show on TV. I’d made my own sad darts out of crayons and a target from paper, which I taped to the wall in our basement. The darts wouldn’t stick to the target, but I knew if I hit my mark. Then for my seventh birthday my parents got me a Velcro dart set. I played with it for three days straight and before long I was hitting the mark without too much effort.
“You can’t be serious,” my dad had said one day as he inspected the result of my latest game. One was dead center with the others not too far outside of it.
“What is it?” I asked him, confused.
“You’ve got really good aim, kid.” He smiled at me, impressed. “Let’s try something different. Do you think you can hit the outside ring instead of the bull’s-eye?”
It took me a few tries to adjust, but eventually I had the six darts ringed around the edge of the target. “Wow.” My dad shook his head in disbelief and I beamed. “All right, let’s try something else.”
He spent weeks modifying my game daily, having me either throw from farther away, shoot for a specific part of the target, or a combination of both.
After a few weeks, we moved the target outside so I could get even more space from it. My dad stuck the target to a tree. Then he had me throw a dart through the air—not at the target, but just to see how far I could throw. Once he’d measured the distance and told me that was how far away I had to stand. He pressed a rock into the ground so I’d know the spot, and stood with his back to the target, before laying the darts out on the ground in front of him.
“Now, what you’re going to do,” he said, “is glance behind you and find the bull’s-eye. Then, you’re going to grab a dart, turn and throw, and hit your mark.”
He demonstrated. He looked over his shoulder for less than a second, before reaching for a dart with his back still to the target. Then, in one easy motion he whipped around and let the dart sail through the air. It hit the bull’s-eye dead-on.
I felt my eyes widen. “Daddy, that’s too hard.”
He laughed. “It’s hard, but it’s not too hard. Not if you practice.”
I looked up at him. “Is that how come you can do it?”
He nodded. “That’s how it happened. Lots of practice.” I didn’t know my parents were spies. They used to tell me that they protected people, and I never thought too much of it. It was my normal.
I tried to throw the dart just has he had, and I missed horribly to the left of the tree.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Keep trying.”
I turned back around, steeling myself, and tried again. I still missed, but not by quite as much.
By the end of the day, I hadn’t come close to the target. I would have felt defeated had my dad not pointed out that I had, in fact, made a lot of progress. Now the dart dropped just to the left of the tree instead of ending up on the other side of the yard. “You’ll get it,” he said. “Just keep working.”
It took three weeks. Three weeks of spinning and twisting and learning how to adapt—which felt like months to me at the time. But every day I got closer, which made me even more determined. Once I started hitting the target, I flat-out refused to be stopped. My dad missed a few days here and there, but he was with me for the most part, helping me nearly every step of the way.
I stunned myself the day I finally pulled it off. I still remembered how quickly I’d moved, whirling around, letting the dart fly, and finding it stuck on the bull’s-eye.
I stared at it for a moment, completely shocked. Then I started jumping. “I hit the target! I hit the target!”
My dad came up behind me, swept me off the ground and put me on his shoulders. He ran around the yard laughing. “You did it! You’re a master marksman!” I felt like I was flying.
He was happy. We were both happy.
And now we weren’t. Most definitely not today.
A knock on the door brought me back. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw I’d been here for an hour. Dr. March stuck her head in. “Agent Elton is out here asking for you.”
I pushed myself up. “You can let him in.”
She stepped back so Travis could pass, then shut the door behind him.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and Travis sat down on the mattress next to me. He nudged me with his shoulder. “You doing all right? You’ve been in here for a while.”
I let out a heavy breath. “I’m fine,” I said. “At least as far as the cravings are concerned.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up about your dad,” Travis said. “He was in the room monitoring the mission with me. I knew he wasn’t thrilled with your play, but I didn’t realize he was that angry. He hid it well.”
“He’s not an agent anymore,” I said, kicking the bed frame in frustration. “What was he even doing there?”
Travis ran a hand along his jaw, seeming to be debating something. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you this—”
My eyes narrowed. “Whatever it is, you better start talking.”
He was still hesitant, but I stared him down until he caved. “He’s been reinstated.”
I froze. “He—What?”
“I was surprised too,” he said. “I don’t know when it became official. I found out when he showed up in the command center.” He watched me closely, trying to gauge my reaction. “From what I know, it’s strictly in an observational/consult capacity. But Asia and Europe are his areas of specialty.” Of course they are.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead before straightening. “All right, I’ll deal with it.” I felt annoyed, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do.
Travis gave my knee a reassuring pat. “It’ll be fine.” He sounded so sure. “You’ll just need some time to get used to it. So will he.”
I bit my tongue to keep all of my disagreements from escaping.
“Did you check on Nikki and Eliza?” I asked. I needed to talk about something else.
He nodded. “Nikki’s still asleep and Dr. March has been working with Eliza.” I suspected that would keep her busy for a while. Dr. March was the head of the medical team, but she wasn’t the only doctor the IDA had. She was, however, the only doctor who treated me, because of my complex drug history. Naturally, she’d have a similar interest in Eliza.
“What was it like in there?” Travis asked. He was talking about the safe house. “How did she look?” His eyes were hard—prepared for the truth. But I wasn’t certain I wanted to tell him.
“Are you sure you—”
“Jocelyn.” His sharp determined tone stopped me dead. “I don’t need you to protect me. Not from this.” I didn’t know if I was trying to protect him or myself. Probably both.
“Okay,” I said, giving him one last chan
ce to stop me. He didn’t take it. “It’s really bad.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. There was no point. “I think—” I hesitated. I hadn’t voiced this theory yet and I was a little afraid to say it out loud. I had a good feeling I was right, but I desperately wished I wasn’t. “I think it was a testing house.”
His expression darkened. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Yeah,” I said, standing to pace. “You shouldn’t.” I swallowed, giving myself a second before I explained. “As far as I’ve been led to believe, there are two safe houses that KATO uses to—experiment on agents.”
“What do you mean, ‘led to believe’?” Travis asked.
I shrugged. “It was something our handlers used to threaten us with. But I had never heard anything about it from the higher-ups, so I didn’t give it much weight. I thought it was just another lie used to manipulate us,” I said. “I guess it makes sense, though. The downside of kidnapping children and forcing them to fight is that not all of them are cut out for it.”
“So instead of killing them, KATO experiments on them.” The amount of venom in Travis’s voice could kill a person in seconds.
“Some of them, anyway.” I shrugged. “My handler’s threats were never specific, but he used to imply that these safe houses were how KATO found different techniques to torture their enemies and new techniques to keep the rest of us in line.”
Travis’s face sharpened. “Them.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You said ‘keep the rest of us in line.’ But you’re not one of them anymore.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose. “Right. Old habit.” I crossed my arms and made an attempt at a reassuring smile before continuing. “We can go over the details with Simmonds, but between the intel we had going in, everything I know about KATO, and the file Rachel and Nikki found in the house—which was in the hands of the director of KATO, by the way—I’m pretty positive she was being tested.”
Travis’s eyes widened. “The director of KATO was there? You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I saw enough of his face, and I got a look at the scar on his hand. He got it giving a tolerance test to a new agent years ago. She surprised him and turned the hot poker on him. I heard it happen.” I smiled for a moment, remembering how his screams carried down the hall. “She was my hero for about five minutes. Then he killed her.”
Travis shook his head, disgusted. “This keeps getting worse.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
After a moment, he stood. “All right, we need to talk to Simmonds and figure out what our next move should be.” I stepped toward the door, but Travis caught my arm. “Maybe you want to change first?” He looked pointedly at my sweatshirt, and it was only then that I noticed it was covered with Nikki’s blood.
I grimaced. “Good idea. I’ll meet you there.”
• • •
I stopped short when I stepped out of the stairwell onto my floor of the student housing building. My father was leaning against the wall beside my door. He straightened when he saw me coming. I drew a long slow breath, steeling myself before continuing toward him.
I walked past him to unlock my door. “I’m really not looking to be yelled at right now.” I put all of my effort into fitting the key in the lock, purposefully avoiding him. “And I don’t have time for it.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise his hands in surrender. “I didn’t come here to yell.” His voice was surprisingly gentle after how fiercely he had spoken to me in Simmonds’s office. “I’m sorry I yelled at all. I just want to talk.”
I ground my teeth together to bury my frustration. “I don’t have time for that either.”
“Come on, kid.” I froze. He used to call me “kid.” It’d been ten years since I’d heard it. My insides were a mess of conflicting emotions I couldn’t sort out, but I forced myself to face him. His expression was open and honest and slightly desperate. “I’m trying here.”
I studied him for a long moment, weighing my options, before I stepped back to let him in my room. He paused close to me as he passed, meeting my eyes squarely and giving me no place else to look. “Thank you.” He was more sincere than I could handle, and it took everything I had to nod.
I shut the door behind me, and for the third time in the past three days we were alone.
I perched myself on the edge of my bed, drumming my thumbs against my navy blue comforter, while he crossed his arms and leaned against my dresser, looking as anxious as ever.
We sat in silence for a while until my dad worked up the courage to break it.
“I’ve been reinstated.” He watched me closely, trying to gauge my reaction. “I’ll be consulting on Europe and Asia.” I nodded steadily, but stayed quiet. “Which includes KATO.”
“Yeah,” I said, finally. “That part I figured out.”
He squinted at me now, like I was a complex puzzle that needed solving. “I don’t want to make this—uncomfortable.”
I shrugged. “It’s a little late for that.”
He let out an ironic laugh. “I guess you’re right.”
I crossed my arms, pulling them in close. “Why did you do this?”
His eyes widened a fraction, and he looked mildly surprised. “Get reinstated?” I nodded. “You said you weren’t leaving. That means I’m not either.”
I took a moment to process what he was saying. “You’re staying for me?”
His face softened. “Where else do you think I would go?”
I swallowed the bubble of emotion that had expanded in my throat. I’d been trying to avoid him since I found out he was alive, and he was staying for me. Maybe I could get used to the idea of him being around.
“You’ve been gone for seven years,” I said. “How did you get your high clearances back so quickly?” A few months ago I had tried to access his personnel file but the clearance level was unusually high for a file as old as his. It meant he’d had to have access to some secure intel. The fact that he had been allowed to observe my mission into a KATO facility told me he hadn’t just been reinstated, but he’d been restored to his elevated rank.
“I left the IDA in good standing,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, Roy owed me. We’ve been friends for a long time. He knew you were alive when you showed up in the field four years ago, and he didn’t try to track me down until now.”
Deep down, I didn’t think it would have mattered. Back then I was very much convinced that I could not be saved. At least this way he didn’t have to see me in action. “Simmonds probably had his reasons.”
“He did,” my dad said. “They aren’t good enough. I had a right to know you were alive.”
I nodded slowly. He was here, he wanted to stay, and he was angry he wasn’t here sooner.
“If you’re going to be around, you can’t holler at me like you did today,” I said. “Not ever.”
He bowed his head, looking slightly ashamed. “I know. Roy—Director Simmonds—he told me as much after you left.”
I arched my eyebrows. “And you listened?”
He shrugged. “I might not be happy with him, but he’s good at his job. He always has been. And ultimately, he’s taken care of you.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He thinks very highly of you.”
“I complete missions,” I said. It didn’t have to be anything more than that.
“Oh, yes. I saw that,” my dad said, eyeing me skeptically. “So, do you always take crazy risks like squaring off solo against an enemy?”
“That wasn’t crazy, it was calculated.” He wasn’t attacking me, but I couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. “I knew what I was doing.”
He tilted his head to the side, doubtfully. “She came pretty close to getting you.”
“It was a lot closer than I thought it would be,” I admitted. “I may have made a slight miscalcul
ation, but I knew her well enough to recover.”
He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I think there’s going to be a lot about you in the field that I’m going to hate.”
“Probably,” I said with a smile. “But it won’t exactly be easy for me either. I’m not used to any of this.” And him being around—it was a glaring reminder of KATO. No matter what he said or did, there would always be this hole between us that they had caused.
“You know,” he said, after a moment, “if you ever want to talk about—”
“I don’t.” I didn’t need him to finish his sentence. “And we’re not there yet, anyway.”
He seemed taken aback and even a little disappointed, but he covered it quickly. “Fair enough.”
We both got quiet again. Suddenly it felt like any progress we’d made had been erased, and I was the one responsible.
“If you want,” I said, hesitating, “Travis and I are meeting with Simmonds to discuss the mission.”
He tilted his head a fraction. “Are you asking me to sit in?”
I nodded slowly. “If you want to.”
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Okay.” I exhaled, and I didn’t know if it was out of relief or fear. “Just give me a second to change.”
• • •
Travis arched his eyebrows when my dad and I approached.
“We talked,” I said, keeping my explanation limited. “He’s going to join us for the meeting.”
“All right,” Travis said, still notably surprised. “That’s good. We’ll take any insight we can get.” My dad nodded to him as we filed into Simmonds’s office. He was waiting for us.
“Are we ready to try this again?” Simmonds asked, looking between me and my father.
My dad tipped his chin. “We are.” Travis and I took the seats in front of Simmonds while my dad leaned against the wall to the right of the desk with his arms crossed.
“Now,” Simmonds said. “Let’s go over what we know and what you learned.”
Travis and I took turns sharing the details of what we had worked out before the mission. Then I took over, explaining what had happened in Russia, while Travis added information based on what he had heard in the command room. My father stayed mercifully quiet.
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