Chapter 3

The mat room had become a holding cell, and everyone in it knew it.

Colonel Halloway stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the far wall over the recruits' heads. The window light had taken on a deeper gold, carving long shadows across the concrete. The drill sergeant had moved to the door, his back to it, arms crossed — a silent doorstop between the room and the world outside.

Nobody had been dismissed. Nobody had dared to move.

Grady Pruitt stood where he had dropped the cloth, his broad shoulders slowly settling from a fight-ready hunch into something smaller. His sunburnt face was pinker than usual, patchy with the red acne along his jaw standing out like a rash. He kept opening his mouth and closing it, the way a fish does when the water has gone wrong.

It was Terrence who spoke first.

"Colonel," he said, and his voice cracked on the word. He swallowed and tried again. "Sir. What is she?"

Everyone turned.

Terrence had not moved from the left edge of the mat. The blue hoodie knotted at his waist was still perfectly tied. The silver chain at his throat caught the window light. But his face was the color of ash, and there was something in his eyes that looked a lot like fear.

Halloway considered him for a long moment. Then he looked at Nadia.

"Recruit," he said. "Do you want them to know?"

Nadia met his gaze. "I wanted to finish basic training and disappear into the ranks, sir. That's not going to happen now." She paused. "They're going to find out eventually. Anonymity is a one-time resource, and I just spent mine."

Halloway's mouth did something that was almost a smile. "You'll be reassigned before the day is out. This conversation is the only chance these men will ever have to ask the question legally."

Grady's voice came out high. "She's a soldier. She's a soldier like us."

"She's a soldier," Halloway said, "but not like you."

The room held its breath.

"What you saw on her shoulder," Halloway said, "is the mark of an organization that no longer exists. It was never officially acknowledged. It was funded by a department that was itself a rumor, staffed by people who signed away the right to be asked about it. The mark is not a tattoo. It's a contract."

Grady's throat worked. "Contract for what?"

Halloway looked at Nadia.

Instead of answering, Nadia asked a question of her own. She turned to Grady — full body, eyes on his, the first time she'd ever truly faced him.

"Do you know why I didn't hit you back?"