Lethal

- 2 -

Name: Elton Harrington

Height: 5' 11'

Age: 17

Ethnic Background: Mother of European Descent / Father of East Asian Descent

Hair: Brown/Auburn

Eyes: Brown/Green

Weight: 167 lbs

Body Type: Lean/Athletic

Blood Type: AB negative

I read through the list of details at the top of the page for the hundredth time. There are more specific and descriptive factoids throughout the rest of the pages—where he was born, all the schools he'd attended, what sports he plays, etc.—but, for some reason, this short list at the top of the first page has truly captured my fascination. In just a few lines of words, numbers, and letters, there is the complete makeup of one human being.

A human being I'm going to kill.

This time, I feel the twitch at the corner of my mouth coming on and hold it back. It's time to get total control over myself.

It's time for me to carry out the duties that my training has prepared me for.

I look up from the file and stare out the car window, but the darkness outside makes it so my reflection is the only thing visible in the tinted glass. I stare hard into my own eyes.

Dark eyes—a brown so deep they're almost black. Thick, long lashes. A small, flat nose and smooth skin. One tiny mole next to my left eyebrow. Pink lips, drawn straight and emotionless. And, finally, long, straight hair, shiny and black. Blacker than the deepest feathers on the darkest bird.

"Cilla?"

I pry my eyes away from the window and turn to Sir in the driver's seat.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Are you up to speed on all the details? Do you know the plan forward and backward?"

I let out a frustrated sigh and lean forward in my seat, staring at the streetlights' reflection on the dashboard.

"My name is Raven Slate. My parents recently died, and I have no other living relatives. After they passed, I was entered into the foster system, and the Clarkson family was gracious enough to invite me into their home. I will be attending Oracle High School, where I'll share three classes with Elton Harrington. He is my target. I must eliminate him."

I slump back into my seat smugly. Sir always treats me like I'm some sort of airhead that doesn't listen, just because I get lost in my thoughts. But I'm more observant than he ever gives me credit for.

"And who am I to you?" he presses on.

I roll my head toward him, not even attempting to hide my annoyance.

"You're the nice agent, Mr. Knight, that has come to drop me off." My voice drips with false syrupy sweetness. "Sometimes, you might drop by to check on me. It's part of your job."

I give him a big, fake smile and turn my head to look back out the window.

Sir slams a fist down against the dashboard. I jump and then sit erect, facing forward. Years of training flash before my eyes, countless times when a switch came down across my wrists, my back, my ankles, rather than just a fist upon a car. Sir points one of his thick fingers at me.

"Drop the damn attitude," he barks. "You've got it all memorized, but if you keep acting like a bratty teenager, you're going to slip up. And we can't afford any slip-ups. Understand?"

I nod, face emotionless. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he grunts. "Now, moving on. What happened to your parents?"

I take a deep breath but pause. I lean back against the car seat and turn to my reflection in the window once again. It stares blankly back at me, the pink lips parted slightly, ready to speak.

My real parents. I never knew them. I don't think I ever will. If they're even still alive...

Sir clears his throat.

"My parents died in a car accident," I finally say, continuing my recitation. "They swerved to avoid a deer. The road was icy. The car spun out of control and flipped over the side of the bridge. The car sunk to the bottom of the river. I got out. They didn't."

Every word I speak creates a little splotch of foggy condensation on the window, shrinking and expanding with each breath.

"And now, I'm taking you to meet your new foster family," Sir continues for me, switching on his blinker and turning down a new street.

I look back down at the file, reading through the list at the top of the page once again.

Elton Harrington.

But, who am I? What would be on my short list?

Cilla. Five feet, three inches. Seventeen years old. Unknown descent. Black hair. Dark, brown eyes. One-hundred and twenty pounds. Athletic build. Blood type unknown.

My entire life, I've known nothing but preparation. For as long as I can remember, Sir was always there. Drilling me, teaching me, training me. Readying me for this very moment. I'd been waiting for so long.

Was this the moment my life would finally, truly begin?

I close the file and stare out the window, past my reflection.

My waiting is finally over.