Covert Affairs

Is That Good Enough?

The sound that dragged me from sleep wasn't the gentle chime of my alarm, or the morning announcements that usually echoed through Gallagher Academy's halls, or even the terrible nightmares I've been having every night since my dad disappeared. No, it was an aggressive, persistent banging that seemed determined to wake half of Virginia. My eyes shot open, immediately squinting against the darkness that still blanketed our dorm room. The digital clock on my nightstand glowed: 2:32 AM.

What the actual hell?

I pulled my covers higher, hoping whoever was causing this racket would give up and go away. The banging continued, growing more insistent with each passing second. Through the haze of sleep, I could hear my roommates stirring in their beds. Soft groans and the rustle of sheets as they too were pulled from whatever dreams had been occupying their sleep.

Gallagher Academy wasn't exactly known for its conventional wake-up calls, but this was pushing it even by our standards. We'd been trained to expect the unexpected, to be ready for covert operations at a moment's notice, but I'd assumed Mr. Solomon meant during reasonable hours. Apparently, I'd been naive.

The banging stopped for a blessed moment, and I felt my body begin to relax back into the warmth of my mattress. Maybe it had been a drill after all, or some kind of test that was now over. But just as I was about to drift back to sleep, the silence was shattered by something infinitely worse.

A siren. Right outside our door. So loud it felt like it was drilling directly into my eardrums.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I groaned, pressing my pillow over my head in a futile attempt to muffle the sound.

The noise was relentless, echoing through the corridors of our dormitory wing with the kind of intensity usually reserved for actual emergencies. Around me, my roommates were all awake now, various stages of irritation playing across their faces in the dim light filtering through our curtains.

Dee sat up in her bed, her usually sweet demeanor nowhere to be found. "Who in their right mind thinks this is acceptable?"

Jade had her pillow wrapped around her head, her purple bonnet peaking from underneath. "I'm going to murder someone," she announced matter-of-factly, her doe-brown eyes blazing with annoyance.

Jess, ever the diplomat, was attempting to maintain some semblance of composure. But even she looked ready to commit violence.

The siren felt like it was physically assaulting my brain. I threw off my covers with more force than necessary and stumbled toward my dresser, grabbing the first sweatshirt I put my hands on.

The fabric was soft and oversized, hanging loosely on my frame as I pulled it over my sleep shirt. I didn't bother looking in the mirror. I already knew I looked like I'd been hit by a truck. My brown hair was probably sticking up in twelve different directions, and I could feel the imprint of my pillowcase etched into my cheek.

The siren cut off abruptly just as I reached for the door handle, leaving my ears ringing in the sudden silence. But the damage was done. I was fully awake now, adrenaline coursing through my system and my temper at a dangerous level.

I yanked the door open, prepared to unleash hell on whoever had decided to ruin my night, and found myself face-to-face with a grin that I'd unfortunately become very familiar with over the past few weeks.

Tyler fucking Greyson stood in the hallway looking absolutely nothing like someone who'd just been awake at 2:30 in the morning. His brown hair was perfectly tousled, not messy enough to look unkempt but just disheveled enough to be annoyingly attractive. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, and that infuriating smirk was plastered across his face like he'd just won the lottery.