Donavon McDonough ran at full speed toward the woods. He held a tracking device in his left hand. Not much further now, he thought to himself. The green dot on his tracker grew stronger, the closer he came to its source. He opened his mind, praying that she’d respond if he called to her. Talia! Talia! He mentally screamed. No response came. Fear propelled him rapidly toward his target. He was nearly on top of her before his eyes found her small form.

Leaves obscured her body, and he nearly tripped over her. Relief washed over him.

“I’ve got her!” he yelled into his headset.

Donavon knelt in the leaves next to Talia’s limp form. The foliage shrouding her was stained red with her blood. Her normally olive-toned face was pale and waxy-looking. Her lips were dry and cracked. Donavon probed her delicate neck, searching for a pulse. Finally, his fingers registered the weak beat of her heart. She’s alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. He frantically peeled the leaves away and gathered her in his arms. As Donavon stood with her limp body in his arms, he noticed several pieces of paper scattered underneath where Talia’s body had just been. Taking care not to drop her, he bent back down and grabbed the pages.

“I need someone to come cleanse the area,” Donavon spoke into his headset again.

“Affirmative,” the voice on the other end replied.

Talia was small and weightless in his arms, childlike. Donavon ran out of the woods as quickly as he’d come, trying in vain not to jostle her still body. Talia’s chest wasn’t perceptibly rising and falling, and he feared the worst. Panic coursed through Donavon when he felt a sticky wetness seeping through his jacket, her blood was already soaking through it. She couldn’t die. Her life was worth too much, much more than his own. His father had never let him forget that.

Donavon reached the clearing and carried her aboard the waiting plane full of medics. They rushed over and scanned for her vitals while she was still draped in his arms.

“She doesn’t have much time,” the medic declared gravely. “She’s lost too much blood.”

“Then you’d better make some time. She has to live,” he snapped back. The team of medics sprang to life around him, taking her small body from his arms. Not caring if he were in the way, Donavon knelt next to the gurney. He swore that he saw her eyelids flutter, and he grabbed her bloody fingers.

“Hang in there, Tal. Just hang in there,” he sent.

“Move back, sir,” one medic ordered, shoving Donavon aside. He stumbled backward as the team of doctors converged on Talia’s near-lifeless body. Donavon sank into a seat in the corner of the plane, the pages that he’d found still clenched in his fist. A word caught his attention: Natalia. Donavon smoothed the wrinkled sheets against his thigh, and began to read the contents.

Natalia,

A couple of nights ago, you asked about the circumstances leading to me attending the McDonough School when I was fourteen. I know that you were hurt I wouldn’t share my story with you, but I’ve never shared it with anybody. I’ve never trusted someone enough with my secret. I’ve never wanted to let anybody get that close to me.

I’m so sorry about what happened last night. I’m sorry that I let things go so far with you, when I’ve known all along that you’re still upset over Donavon. But you’re right; I do know how you feel about me. I’ve known for a long time how you feel, maybe even before you knew it yourself. I feel the same way. You’ve captivated me since the first time we met, during your placement exams. I thought that it was just a crush, an odd fascination with a girl who managed to surprise me. But the more time I spent with you, the more I began to realize that what I’m feeling is so much more than a crush.

I’d known about Donavon and the girl—her name is Kandice—for a while. I really wanted to tell you, but Henri persuaded me not to. He thought my feelings for you were clouding my judgment, and he was afraid that if I were the one to tell you, you might not have believed me. He sensed you were starting to realize that I am falling for you. I stand by my decision. I wish that you hadn’t found out the way you did, but I’m glad that you found out on your own. Honestly, I’m not sure you would have believed it otherwise.

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I can’t put into words how much it pained me to see you hurting so much, but slowly you bounced back, just like I knew you would. You’re a fighter. When you finally started to understand that what you’re feeling for me is real, I was elated. I tried to hold back, tried to give you more time to grieve, but I was selfish. I want you, so I started something even though I knew that you weren’t really ready. I was jealous again when I realized that you still think about him when we’re together. I want all of you for myself, and when you thought about him last night, my temper got the best of me. I said things that I can’t take back, but hope you forgive me. If time is what you need, that’s what I’ll give you.

You wanted to give me something that you’ve never shared with anyone, and I want you to know that I don’t take that lightly. I also want to share something with you that I’ve never shared with anyone. Just know that once you’ve read what I have to say, you might not like it—or me. That’s a risk I’m willing to take; I honestly think that you, of all people, deserve to know. So here it goes:

My parents were firm supporters of the movement to repeal the Mandatory Talent Testing Act. Both my brothers and I were born at home instead of in a hospital because both of my parents are Talents. They were confident that at least one of us would be born talented, and they didn’t want our births on record. I’m the oldest. When I was three, my parents noticed that I was able to replicate both of their abilities. It unnerved them because Mimics are so rare. They knew that The Agency would come for me if they ever found out. Both of my younger brothers also exhibited talent at a young age, although neither is very strong. My middle brother is a Mono-morph, and my youngest brother is a low-level Brain.

We moved around a lot, staying off of TOXIC’s radar. We lived mostly in rural areas and kept to ourselves. I grew up fearing The Agency and what they stood for, but as I got older, I began to think that maybe my parents were paranoid. I met a girl on one of my grocery runs when we were living in North Carolina. We became close, and I got cocky. I told her all about my abilities, trying to impress her. She, in turn, told her parents. Days later, Agency operatives raided our home. Ordinarily, the penalty for refusing to submit children for testing is jail time and a heavy fine. But my parents were proud and fought. My mother was killed in the raid. My father and brothers probably would’ve been, too, but I knew that TOXIC hadn’t come for them; they’d come for me. The man in charge of the mission told me that I was in no position to bargain, but I could tell he was lying. I surrendered myself in exchange for the lives of my father and my brothers.

Mimics are so rare, and I could tell how badly he wanted me, so I called his bluff. I threatened to take my own life if he didn’t agree to the terms of my deal. In the end, he agreed. I offered to go willingly to the School and take my “rightful” place within The Agency. In return, my brothers would be free to attend regular school and live normal lives, and my father wouldn’t be penalized. My father and brothers now live in Raleigh, N.C. and are closely monitored by Agency personnel. Under the terms of my agreement, I’m not allowed to speak about what happened, visit my family, or step out of line. They’ll all be executed if I violate any of these conditions.

I’ve been closely watched since my first day at School, and truthfully, I’m shocked that The Agency allowed me to become a Hunter. However, my willing sacrifice—and the constant vigilance of those in charge—has proven me to be a loyal operative. I don’t agree with the Mandatory Talent Testing Act or its subsequent laws, and I don’t really care about The Coalition and their rebellion, but I do care about my family’s well-being. If that means I have to fall in line and play my part, I will—and I do.

I told you that I’d tell you all of this when you were ready to hear it. I don’t really know if you are ready now, but I wanted to share something with you. I also want you to understand that The Agency isn’t all that you believe it to be. There are many within it who are corrupt, and the system in general is incredibly flawed.

You had a choice about whether to join this organization. I know that you see it as a chance to right the wrongs in your past, but just remember that the rest of us weren’t given the same option. The Agency is responsible for the wrongs in my past. I feel the deeply buried doubt that you keep bottled up inside of you. I’m not saying that you should leave The Agency or anything like that, I just want you to keep your eyes open, and hang on to that doubt. It’s unlikely that Donavon is the only one who’s lied to you.

I gave this to Henri because I trust him for reasons he’ll have to explain to you some day. I gave it to you now because I wanted you to have a chance to read it away from the ever-watchful electronic presence of TOXIC’s prying eyes. I know you’re too curious not to read this before you return, so we can talk about it when you get back if you want to. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. I hope that you’ll understand how much trust it took for me to write this, and, even if you believe nothing I say, I hope that you won’t share its contents with anybody.

E.

Donavon carefully folded the pages and shoved the note in his jacket pocket. Decisions, decisions, he thought, processing the ramifications of giving the defamatory document to his father. There wasn’t really a choice in the matter. His family came first; Donavon knew what he needed to do.