Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 3-Lynn

3

Lynn Kramer

Agent: Fifty-three

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: August 22nd

Time: 0700

It was just a matter of time. Somewhere deep down, I think I've known it all along.

    My mission was never going to end in victory. My father used to say that disappointment is key to success. I'm not sure why his words come to me now, but the thought creates a foul taste in my mouth. Rage consumes me like fire and then embarrassment. I'm ashamed of my arrogance. After all, what have I to boast of? A clumsy bar fight?

    There's something else bothering me, and it takes me a long time to pin it down. I feel...hurt. Like a girl has just shoved me on the playground, and I don't know whether to punch her back or break down in tears. The Commander's lie isn't too hard to stomach, but Rey? I thought we were friends.

      Trainer first, friend second, I remind myself. Rey was only doing his job. I can't blame him for prepping me for this test. It's the one that mattered most and Commander Pyle was clearly impressed. I've always got that to be proud of.

    "You seem a little tense today, Lynn," Rey says as he's making his daily rounds. He didn't seem to mind that I was late to practice (as was the bartender boy, who I watched come in with my most intimidating stare) but Rey's different than the others. I knew that immediately. In fact, I've overheard some others saying that he's commanded half a dozen high risk ops— three in his first year alone. Saved hundreds, thousands maybe. They weren't too clear on the details. I learned to stop asking about his assignments long ago. There's too many to count and each one ends the same way.

    "I'm fine," I say as I launch another punch at the bag. Even when I'm seething like this, I can't move it. I'm wired for quickness and agility. Strength is not my strong suit, hence why building my upper body is essential.

    Rey doesn't say anything for a moment. He just studies me while I pause to wipe some sweat from my forehead. A hand runs through his head of thick black curls, pulling the strands apart. Despite his high ranking here, I swear he prides himself on looking so rugged. His training getup is almost always drenched in sweat and his hair is never tidy. (I secretly think this is why he took on the training position, as it's the only one that allows such negligence.) At twenty-three years old, some would call Rey the youngest successful agent in the ACA. He's like an older brother if I ever had one. Warm. Gentle.

    But no less deceitful.

    "I heard about your Mission Trial. How'd that go?" he asks me.

    I don't look at him. For a moment, I'd almost forgotten. I keep punching. "Fantastic."

    "Why? What happened?" he says.

    I keep my eyes on the fabric but stop. "You know what happened," I say. And then I turn and stare him dead in the eye. "You knew this whole time and you let me think it was real."

    I can just see him now—silently mocking me in a way I'd been blind to. Poor little girl, he must've thought. She still thinks she can make it here. Then he'd just manage to suppress a laugh. What a fool.

    He should've laughed. For real. I am a fool. 

    Rey's face drops at once. He looks down with a sigh and leans against the wall. (Made of hard cement—the room is about the size of a gymnasium, filled with punching bags and a series of other metal contraptions.)