Little Fox

3: The Director

☽

Linda Johnson is the epitome of unfriendly. She's a good director, sure, with her cool temperament and level-headedness, but she's about as approachable as a cactus. Being summoned by Linda for a face-to-face meeting is never a good thing.

I take my sweet time as I head to her office.

Normally, I would be uneasy about meeting with her. Now, with the silver scar on my neck, I'm downright terrified. My heart never slows its relentless rhythm, tattooing a bruise against my ribcage. Does she know? The thought makes my clammy hands shake, and I curl them into tight fists.

I can't not show up, nothing else would raise more suspicion than failing to report to a meeting with the director of my district. I need time. Time I don't have. I need to throw them off my trail.

She can't know­ – how would she? Doc would have said something if he had noticed anything earlier, and in my ear: they know, they know, they know.

When I reach her door, I have to take a deep breath before I rap my knuckles against it. For an absurdly long moment, I hope she's not here, but then a voice says, "Come in."

My heart sinks. I turn the handle and swing the door open.

Linda sits at her desk, her back ramrod straight and her mouth set in a thin line. Her dark hair is shorn close to her skull and her sharp eyes seem to pierce right through me. Doc is here too, leaning against her bookshelf, all beard and scruffy gray hair. The way he avoids my eyes makes the weight on my chest grow heavier. They know – oh God, they know.

I force my leaden feet forward and step inside, my heart in my throat. I have to remind myself to breathe when I shut the door behind me.

"Kat," Linda greets me, her voice clipped and stern, more so than usual.

"Linda," I reply stiffly. She doesn't invite me to sit across from her, so I remain standing by the door.

No one says anything for a while. The silence is thick and heavy, rank with my own fear. Movements wooden and jerky, I adjust my hair so it hides the bandage on my neck. Linda watches me like a hawk. Doc starts rummaging through the bookshelf, not meeting my eyes, and Linda studies me with narrowed eyes.

The thing about people like Linda, is that they know what power they have over others and aren't afraid to use it. Her calculating gaze creates knots in my stomach, and if the small, amused upturn of her thin lips means anything, it's that she knows it. Her gaze drifts to my neck again, and it takes every bit of self control and willpower I have not to cover it with my hand, but I think she notices the twitch in my fingers.

She doesn't even try to hide her smile now.

"How are you doing, Kat?" she asks, leaning forward and clasping her hands on her desk. I swallow hard. Linda isn't usually one for small talk.

This is bad.

"I've been better," I force out. She nods. My eyes flick over to Doc, and he makes a point of pretending not to notice, inspecting the books behind him. After a long, uncomfortable pause, I remember my manners and ask, lamely, "What about you?"

"Doc told me about what happened," she says, ignoring my question. The air is sucked out of the room, and suddenly my there's not enough oxygen to fill my lungs. My heart stutters and misses a few beats.

"Oh?" I say, and my voice sounds shaky and dry to my own ears.

"I'd like to hear the story from you, Kat. You never filed a report from your mission." r