Espionage? Teenage spy? Sounds bonkers. That kind of thing only happens in movies.
Normal teenagers wake up every morning and go to school, come home, do homework, do their chores, go to sleep - then wake up and do it all over again.
Ariella Alder...
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𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎 | 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡
Racing through the streets of New York City is traumatizing.
Traumatizing if you're an idiot. Only an idiot would travel through New York City in a car. It's almost midnight on a Sunday night, so the streets aren't too crowded.
My matte black Yamaha YZF-R6 motorcycle leaves cars in the dust.
The matte black color keeps my bike looking inconspicuous in a crowd. Plus, with my helmet on, no one would ever suspect that a teenage girl is riding it.
My bike has special features that I've added over the years, but that's a surprise!
"I'm two minutes out from the location!" I shouted into my earpiece.
"The facial recognition is losing her in a crowd, but she was there less than thirty seconds ago!" Grayson's voice shouted through the earpiece.
I parked my bike in an alleyway less than a block away from where Grayson's coordinates are from. My electronic watch pinpointed exactly where I needed to go.
Sprinting at full speed up and down 33rd street, searching for Maya Hawthorne.
She's gone!
She's fucking gone!
"Nine, I don't have a visual," I said.
"The last ping was less than a hundred feet from where you're standing," Grayson said.
Left, right, and straight ahead all lead to the street.
To my right, the entrance to Penn station. Those trains go straight out of Manhattan.
How long ago was that ping.
If I lose Maya Hawthorne out of Manhattan, then I'm fucked. Commander will order me to stay in Manhattan to gather evidence and surveillance on Archer Hawthorne. He's the subject.
"Seven! I know what you're thinking. Don't do it!" Grayson shouted.
My body reacted before my voice did. I started sprinting towards the entrance of Penn station. Before I could get inside, the ear shrieking sound of a woman screaming caught the attention of pedestrians on the street.
No one incited panic because no one could tell where the screams were coming from. They most likely assumed that a homeless person was going through a schizophrenic break from reality. I don't believe in the probability of that scream being from a homeless person.
Down a small alley, I saw a woman screaming bloody murder. She was gripping the side of a dumpster for support.
I can't be sure if that's Maya Hawthorne, but I don't have the time to question it.
"Possible sighting of the subject," I said, running across 33rd street towards the alley. "I'm going dark to keep a low profile."
"Seven! Seven!" Grayson shouted. "Don't you dare! Seven! Ariella!"
