Double Agent

○ thirty four ○

3:32 am, the clock reads.

I run through the plan that's been formulating in my head the whole day.

If Ezra doesn't understand my desperation at keeping my closest friends alive, then I will simply have to go myself. I know my safety isn't guaranteed. But there's no other way. Keep silent and test her patience, or do as she says and hope for the best. Pray that the worst that can happen is I get tortured and have time to formulate an escape. Or maybe, I've caused so much damage that they'll let me go.

My head shifts to stare down at a sleeping Ezra, who's almost entirely on me, his arms locked around my waist, his warm breaths caressing my neck. His body heat makes me shiver when I think about leaving, but I have to.

I know he'll freak out, but by the time he picks a course of action it'll just seem to my mother like he's realised through intuition that I've left and not that I've told him. It's ironic that I used to get mad at the characters in those movies that didn't tell anyone when there was a secret message, but now that I've told him I'm not sure we can resolve the problem. He's quite adamant on his stand, I wouldn't put it past him to place me on house arrest if it meant keeping me away.

I shift slightly, and his head hits the pillows next to mine, long eyelashes fluttering. With as much control as my ab muscles can handle I weasel my way out of his grip. It's difficult because he keeps pulling me back towards him, but thank god he's been a heavy sleeper as of late.

I'm barely off the bed when his arm reaches forward towards the space I was in, splaying out to reach me, brows furrowing in frustration, when he can't find me. I place a pillow at my spot and his arm goes around it, his features mellowing out. If my heart wasn't breaking at this exact moment I might've laughed, even taken a picture.

I don't blame him for wanting to keep me safe, and I hope he doesn't blame me for trying to save my people.

—

The gates of my neighbourhood open wide. I stand outside, waiting with my breath caught in my throat, document in hand as they creak and slam at the hinges. The green mermaid fountain smiles eerily at me as I round the cul de sac.

I walk right through the neighbourhood, coming to a stop in front of my house, the main house, the most lavish looking building in the neighbourhood. The tall double doors beep and then open slowly, exposing the lighted interior. As I peek inside, the crowd of people gathered at the table turn to face me, but the face that strikes out the most is my mothers, her fingers steepled, her eyes a bloodshot dashing red.

"Guarda chi c'è," she smiles and my stomach turns. (Look who's here)

I walk through the door, fingers clutching the binder tightly, staring at the faces of the people I've been around my whole life. Ironically people that have both loved me and treated me like shit. The girl that tried to poison me bares her teeth at me, smiling deviously, looking at me like an easy target.

Suddenly this isn't looking like such a good idea. But what other choice do I have?

"Sit," one of them orders and I sit at the end of the table opposite her. All pairs of eyes flit between us, and I slide the document forward so that it sits in the middle.

She eyes it suspiciously, "That was easy."

"Unlike you I care for my own."

She scrutinises me, before flicking through the document, her eyes scanning for any mistakes. I hold my breath, praying she doesn't recognise the biggest mistake at the end.

She finishes reading and closes the binder calmly, before sliding it back to me.

"We both know whose signature was on these papers. So you care for your friends eh? And to ensure their safety, you brought me a fake? Such a shame," she flicks her knife out, and out of the corner of my eye I catch Belize's eyes widen when she sees me, then she turns and whispers something to the other servant maids.

Their eyes watch me in fear. Their clothes are dirty and Miranda is still holding a bucket and a mop in her hand, her eyes glued to me. I miss them so much.

"It was the one we fought for, the one we found in the house. You'd know that because one of your little minions' blood is smeared on the outer corner, and a quick little blood test would confirm it," I narrow my eyes at the girl that poisoned me.

Her eyes drop down the the stain, taking it in.

"You could've faked that cute little story."

"Not if you ask her why she has a cut on her cheek," I glance at the girl Ezra smacked over the face.

My mother nods and a guy comes forward and grabs the girl roughly before pushing her head downwards so it's eye level with her. My mother grabs her cheek roughly, turning it to the side so light can fall on it, and inspects the fresh cut on it.

"Is this true?" she whispers to the girl.

Her eyes meet mine, burning in hatred and I smile at her.

"Yes," she hisses.

My mother pushes her face away.

"You asked for the papers, I gave them to you. I never said they were authentic."

Her eyes harden like callouses, "You have one chance to walk your way back to your little terrorist organisation and give me the real ones. One chance."

"That's a lovely offer, if I had it in the first place. I gave you what you asked for and that's our deal complete. No one dies."

"You're right. You might not have the real one, and fine, this is the one you retrieved from your grandparents, but I bet your little boy toy would know."

"You mess with him and the entire Secret Service will tear this place down before you have time to send out one convoy. Choose wisely."

Someone grabs my hair from behind and pulls, placing a knife at my neck.

"Smile, darling, your little boy's about to come running to save your life. And don't worry, we won't be messing with him directly, all we have to do is mess with you."