Mystery ~ MV1

015. A lesson from Icarus

[Agent A]

My dad was an agent.

A damn good one too.

Until he wasn't.

From an early age I knew my dad loved his job, he loved being a hero and saving good people from bad people. I also knew he loved his family. He loved my mom more than anyone I've seen love another person. And he loved me and my sister enough that I never questioned it.

He thought he could balance both. My mom had her doubts — I'd hear from the top of the steps as my mom would stress that my dad was trying to live two separate lives at the same time.

And at first, I wondered what she meant. Why shouldn't he be able to have his job and his family? Everyone else did. Except for everyone else, it was easier. Their job didn't come with such a high price.

A high price that needs to be paid eventually. And nine times out of ten, it's paid in blood.

You can't have your cake and eat it too, after all.

And I knew it long before I was told by my commanding officer in training camp. I knew when I celebrated my sixteenth birthday alone.

And yet here I was. Walking with Max's hand pressed against my back, the carpet of the hotel's hallway muffling our steps as I tried to balance on the tightrope I never meant to walk in my life.

My body and mind were at war with each other, and I knew there could only be one winner. But the war itself was a strange one, one I didn't really know who how to counterattack because I've never once been drafted to it.

"Max, I told you I'm-" it was an argument that fell on deaf ears as Max swiped his key card to unlock his door.

"Just let me help you." He says so gently, such displaced gentleness I don't deserve. Not for what I've done to him. For what I now must do for him.

I follow him through, my feet moving on their own before I can plant them like a stubborn bull.

"Okay" is all I can possibly think of saying. For once I can't shut myself down, I can't ignore my beating heart enough to listen to my brain and it's all because of the man in front of me.

He smiles and I fight hard to paint one of my own.

He leads me to his bathroom, tapping the counter before saying, "let me find the first aid kit, I saw one here somewhere." I nod wordlessly, hopping on the counter but turning to look at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes trace over the cut along my cheekbone, scarlet blood is smeared across my tan skin ever so slightly. But while it didn't hurt, the cut was deep enough to make my heart bleed. It was a reminder — a warning, even — from Tavi. One that proved she knows I now have a weak spot to be exploited. Our fights have only ever been physical, never able to really get the jump on the other because we expected what swing the other would throw. But while this cut lack depth, it was proof I was caught off guard at the mere mention of a name.

Technically she didn't even mention his actual name. But she got more than enough proof when Max appeared.

Tavi knew of Max.

And Tavi knew he was a soft spot under my steel armor.

So that meant Max had to go. I couldn't risk it; I couldn't risk him.

A warm touch on my knee made my eyes focus on the mirror enough to see Max standing in front of me. I turned, my gaze catching his before his blue eyes drifted to the cut.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, voice as soft as his touch when he reached up to cup my jaw before placing a wet towel against the cut.

I sucked in a small breath of air when the liquid he placed on the towel made it sting. "I've had worse." I allude quietly, gaze trialing over his face as he's distracted.