Page 191 of Golden Eagle

She was slipping. And the worse part was that she didn’t care anymore. She’d always prided herself on being a good detective; on caring about justice, and doing things by the book, and solving crimes because she had the stomach to handle it, and the kind of curiosity that might have gotten her in trouble otherwise.

But she found, to no small amount of personal shame, that she didn’t…care, like she once had. Meeting Nikita – coming face-to-face with a great-grandfather who was still perfectly preserved as he’d appeared at twenty-seven, immortal and blood-drinking – had smashed through all her priorities. She hadn’t realized it, at first; maybe Nikita’s clannish personality had rubbed off on her over time. But her sense of justice was aimed elsewhere, now; was pinned on shadowy institutions and the looming dark threat of a war that sounded like pure fiction, but which scared her down to her bones.

“Wha…?” Lanny asked blearily, pressing his face into her blanket-covered hip.

The call had gone to voicemail, and she thumbed the screen awake to see that it was from Nikita. She sighed as she pulled up her contact list. “Team meeting, I’m guessing.”

But, inwardly, she felt a little thrill of anticipation. The desk could wait. Pack was everything.

~*~

The door to Dr. Severin’s office stood open, and the doctor himself was in the process of stowing notebooks into his briefcase. He lifted his head, and nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose when Seven filled the doorway, expression cautious before he smiled and said, “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“What is Gustav going to do to Alexei Romanov?”

Dr. Severin went still a moment, his smile freezing, and then slowly fading. “Seven,” he said, almost stern, “don’t you have lessons to be preparing for?”

Seven stared at him.

The doctor zipped up his briefcase and came to stand before Seven. “What is it this morning? Physical fitness?” he asked, attempting another smile. “You want to make sure you’ve got on the right shoes, and tape your wrists, right? You don’t want another sprain, like last time.”

“He called him a puppet. What’s he going to do?”

Dr. Severin let out a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped. “Seven…damn it.” He stepped around him, peered out into the hallway, both directions, and then shut the door. He set the briefcase down and set a hand on Seven’s shoulder. It trembled.

“Seven. Listen to me: you don’t need to worry about any of this.”

How many times had he been told that in his life? More than he could count. His questions about historical events or his own powers had been answered readily, effusively. But each time he inquired about his parents – the two people whose genetic material had created him – or his larger purpose, he was shut down. You don’t need to worry about it. That’s not for you to know. It will be explained in time.

But no explanations had ever come. And now he had a letter in his pocket, crinkling when he walked, in which a man who claimed to know his sister was offering him answers – had already given him some, in just a few handwritten lines.

A vampire named Alexei had broken into this facility, and kissed him, and now the vampire Gustav talked about him as a puppet…but he wasn’t. Because a puppet was something someone else controlled; something that dangled on strings, that had a hand inside it. Puppets didn’t have free will. Puppets were owned…

Just like Seven.

They don’t own you.

“Why was he here?” Seven asked. “What does he want? Why is he your enemy?”

“Seven–”

“Why?” It wasn’t until he saw Dr. Severin take a staggered step back, eyes wide, that he realized he’d shouted. And in the process of screaming, he’d broken loose something vital inside himself. Some crucial bit of cold self-control. In the aftermath, he felt frenzied, like a wire come loose, hissing and spitting sparks. He felt alive in a way he never had, no longer merely conscious and cerebral, but anactivesort of living.

“Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?” he asked through clenched teeth, fuming. Fire pressed hot beneath his skin, ready to be called. “If I’m so important, if I’m so special, why do you keep me locked up? Why can’t I go outside? Why do I wear these clothes” – he yanked at the front of his white scrub top – “instead of what all of you wear?”

“Now, Seven.” Dr. Severin held out his hands, empty palms toward him. “We’ve talked about this–”

“Why is everyone afraid of me?”

Dr. Severin froze, poised at the edge of speech.

“I see the way everyone here looks at me,” Seven said, some removed inner part of his mind marveling at the sheer abundance and humanity of this speech. He’d never talked like this before. “They think I don’t recognize the way their eyes get wide, but I do.I do. They’re afraid of me. They’re afraid of what I can do.” He lifted his right hand, and a tight ball of orange flame burst to life on his palm, leaping and crackling, not as contained as it should have been, indoors like this. With the exception of the lead-lined training rooms, they were always telling him to pull back, to exercise restraint.Don’t want to burn the whole building down, do you?Followed by nervous titters.

Dr. Severin’s gaze went to the flame, eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses,frightened.

Seven’s first thought was,Good.

He pushed a little more thought into the flame, and it swelled; its heat pressed against his arm and face; pushed Dr. Severin back a pace.

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