Blue Piranha

Across the hall Steven stood near the doorway, arms clasped behind him, white uniform immaculate, scanning the room—yet every so often his blue eyes flicked to me. I crushed the cup in my fist, forced a neutral face, and set to my food.

The day I've waited for has come. Time to start the mission.

I stared into the tin tray, memories flooding in as sharply as if they were playing right now:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯***⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

"Ashur ?"

A photo slapped onto the desk before me.

"He's your entire assignment."

The picture showed a man no older than twenty-four, twenty-five.

"Forget the snapshot," the voice said. "It's the last image we have. By now he'll be about twenty-nine."

The Tailor sits across from me. 

That's what we call him—"tailors" our orders the way a seam-master cuts cloth and you end up wearing the suit. In truth he works for the higher-ups and I'm just the client in between.

Middle-aged, still handsome; every time I look at him I imagine the father I never had.

And today he's handing me a fresh assignment—the 

special order that dragged me from London to New York.

He taps the photo on the table.

"Triangle Union stole Ashur from us. We've hunted him for years—sent countless sleepers into their ranks. Every one of them was exposed or failed to reach him."

I study the picture: piercing black eyes framed by thick lashes and a broken brow; long angular face, pale-tan skin, and that serpent tattoo coiled across his skull. Even in print his gaze feels lethal. My fists tighten on the steel tabletop.

"Why do you think I can find him after all this time?" I ask.

"Infiltrating the Triangle is almost impossible—and getting out is worse. Haven't you heard about their second apex? The doctor? He's insane."

The Tailor exhales.

"Viuna, you're the only elite operative we truly trust."

I scowl.

"What about Steven? Don't tell me you pushed him in there too—he's been dark six months."

He rubs his stubble, eyes unsettled.

"Steven made it inside. Through him we can slip you straight into Yellow Sector—the lab. The doctor's right-hand just died; you'll pose as the new assistant. Your cover's ready: name 'Aalis,' a girl Rose discarded who now 'serves' them. With Steven an admin and you in Yellow, you two can finish the job—like always."

Anger twists my mouth into a smile; I bite the painted corner of my lip.

He leans closer. "Admin oversight is brutal. Steven can't manage alone."

I brush blue hair from my eyes, cross one leg over the other.

"So you tossed Steven into the lion's mouth. What if something happens to him? He's all I've got left."

I breathe hard, shut my eyes.

"If you want me in, I need to know what I'm dealing with. Who exactly is that boy? Why does everyone lose their mind over him?"

The Tailor locks his familiar, serious gaze on me—he's briefed me on dozens of missions, and I've nailed every one, but this feels different. A bad taste clings to it... especially now, when I've filed for discharge.

He sits back, wool sweater matching his hazel eyes.

"Years ago, alongside our political and military wings, Rose launched something new... We needed a weapon unlike any other. Decades of experiments, endless trials—none of them worked."

He massages the base of his neck; the crow's-feet deepen.

"Until we found Ashur. The only subject who responded."

He stands, plants both hands on the desk, leans in.

"You wanted out, wanted a normal life? Free Ashur, and the Organization will cut you loose."

Something cracks inside me.

He straightens, smooths his collar.

"You could start over anywhere—live with anyone."

I snort—he's clever, but even he can't grant me freedom. The brass will never let a tool like me walk.

I rise, palms on the cold steel, and growl,

"I'm not taking this mission."

My fist slams the photo.

"They won't let me go unless they're sure I'll die in that tower."

I stride for the door.

"Viuna!" he calls.

I turn; his eyes look tired, almost sorrowful.

"They've given you a yellow card... You have to accept."

Of course.

Teeth grind. They're ready to sacrifice Steven and me for one cursed prisoner.

"I should've known."

Hand on the knob, I hiss,

"Tell them I'll do it. But they'd better keep their word, because I don't plan on dying. I'll break Ashur out—and when I do, they sign my exit papers, because I'm gone."

I yank the door open and leave.

Damn that boy—and everything attached to him.