She Will Persist

7

Adira

Ricki swore loudly and tumbled out of his bed.

Luckily he was on his bottom bunk, but to be fair I was two feet in front of him, cross-legged on the floor and absentmindedly staring out the window. The sun was beginning to rise, and if you positioned your head just right then you could see the city in the distance through the branches of the tree that was planted below and in front of the window. The morning sun was probably bringing out the worst of the stitches on my face. The peck of heat that was starting to warm the tattered skin by my right eye was making the threads itchy.

Entangled in his blankets, Ricki stood up and rubbed his face. His curly brown hair stood up in all different angles and his left cheek had a pillow-crease imprint on it.

"You snore," I commented, looking up at his coffee-colored eyes.

He groaned and sat down on his bed as the covers fell off him.

"The fuck?" Sam glared down at me over the side of his bed.

Hunter slowly started to stir awake too and my heart jumped.

If he so much as whispers Owen Hoffmann's name, he's a dead man.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I couldn't sleep last night because I didn't want to wake up the agents with any screaming from my nightmares, but his words were just another reason to keep my eyes pinned open all night. I had eventually come and sat down in front of the window to see the sunrise, but I kept turning around to check that he hadn't crept up on me.

Flynn also shook awake at Ricardo's outburst, but then his curly brown hair disappeared back under the black covers when he realized he still had a few minutes before Owen came to bang on the doors to get everyone awake.

Dùo stirred too, muttering, "Ruin my precious minutes of sleep again and I'll cut you."

I turned back to look out the window. The boys were worked pretty hard in training, and I just saw the younger agents.

Today James was taking me to the Director's office to get a personal file made. Every agent had one, with their backstories, personal traits, physical state, acquaintances, preferences, previous mission reports, weapons of choice, family history, everything, all to decide who was fit for each mission.

So that will be exciting. Maybe. Probably not. From all that I've heard about him, Flagg sure sounds like he needs a good slap to the face. Or just beheaded.

Suddenly a bang came from the other side of the dorm room door, and I started to hear commotion come from the rooms on either side of us. I jumped at the noise, and my hot breath bounced off the morning frosted glass and hit my nose. I scrambled to my feet. Sam swung over the edge of the top bunk and landed about two inches away from me and I stiffened. He was tall, tan, with devious freckles coiling around his nose and under his eyes.

He started to say, "Morning—"

"If you say 'sweetheart,' this time I'll bash your nuts in," Dùo interrupted Sam's greeting. He swung his legs over the side of his mattress and rubbed his short spiky hair.

Sam gritted his teeth, bit his bottom lip and silently fumed.

"He's right," I glared up at him. "Touch me and I shave your head."

I walked back to my own bed, which was unfortunately closer to Hunter. The Australian got up and started to dress like last night hadn't happened. He didn't even glance in my direction. I had already put on new clothes underneath the covers of my bed before all the boys had woken up, afraid of what would happen if I did it in front of all of them. Axel had said the agents should keep their hands to themselves, and I hope Sam's bloody nose yesterday morning would enforce that, but I wasn't a particularly trusting person.