Family Secret

Chapter 13

The moon hung low, veiled in drifting clouds, its light casting fractured silver across the cobblestone streets. Alexia moved like a shadow through the narrow alleyways, her figure concealed beneath a dark hooded cloak. The cloth that covered her face from the nose down allowed only her sharp eyes to show, gleaming with a deadly focus. Beneath the cloak, she wore her assassin’s attire—a corseted leather bodice strapped with twin belts, intricate metallic detailing running down the seams, and a high-slit skirt that revealed the strapped holsters fastened to her thighs. The mix of dark leather and black fabric gave her both protection and mobility, while the ornate embroidery along her cape spoke of a silent authority. She looked every bit the phantom she was meant to be—stealth wrapped in elegance.

Every step was deliberate, practiced—silent. Even the soft leather of her thigh high boots seemed to know better than to betray her presence. She paused once, tilting her head toward the sound of a guard’s footsteps echoing faintly from the far corner. With the patience of a predator, she waited, pressing herself against the wall until the rhythm of boots faded away.

The building she sought loomed before her: an old Order housing unit, its windows barred except for one neglected pane on the second floor. Alexia crouched, withdrew a thin leather case, and selected her picks with steady hands. With a faint click, the lock surrendered. She eased the window open, not a sound escaping, and slipped inside like smoke drifting through a crack.

The interior was dark, filled with the smell of oil lamps extinguished hours earlier. Alexia let her eyes adjust, moving low and silent, each step measured. Her gloved fingers brushed against walls and furniture, memorizing the layout without disturbing so much as a misplaced speck of dust.

At last, she reached an office. A heavy desk stood against the wall, its surface neat but not untouched. She scanned swiftly, finding a stack of documents tucked beneath a ledger. Carefully, she drew them out.

Her eyes flicked over the words: The Order has deployed an operative to infiltrate target Cisco Monroe.

But no operative’s name, no designation. Just vague directives, cryptic notes. It wasn’t much—yet it was enough to raise questions.

Alexia replaced the documents precisely as she had found them, aligning edges, smoothing the desk with the back of her glove. Nothing appeared disturbed. She slipped back through the window, sealing it once again before disappearing into the night.

The entrance to the Resistance hideout lay beneath the city, buried within twisting tunnels that smelled of damp earth and smoke. A concealed hatch opened at her coded knock, and she descended into the dimly lit chamber where flickering lanterns revealed steel pipes running across stone walls.

Her leader, a grizzled man with lines of battle etched into his face, waited at the long metal table. He looked up as Alexia entered, his sharp gaze softening only slightly at the sight of her.

“Well?” he asked, voice low.

Alexia pulled down her mask, her tone crisp as she reported. “The Order has their eyes on Cisco Monroe. They’ve assigned a spy to infiltrate him. No name, no code. Just a directive. That’s all I could recover.”

The leader’s brow furrowed, his fingers drumming once on the table. “Cisco? That doesn’t make sense. We believed he was already working with The Order. Why would they waste resources on him?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Alexia replied smoothly.

The leader leaned back, the chair groaning under his weight. “Keep your eyes on Cisco. If The Order’s investing in him, there’s more at play than we see. Find out why.”

Alexia gave a short nod. “Consider it done.” She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“One more thing.” His eyes narrowed. “Why did you bind yourself in that fake marriage? Why a stranger? You could have partnered with another assassin. Someone we could trust.”

A brief silence stretched before Alexia answered. Her lips curved slightly behind the mask as she tugged it down once more, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “The Secret Service was closing in. I didn’t have the luxury of choosing. I ran into a man who happened to need a wife, and I happened to need a cover. His children’s academy required a mother—my presence made sense. So, in the end, it worked out.”

The leader studied her, skepticism in his expression, but after a moment, he exhaled and gave a curt nod. “Just watch yourself, Alexia. Don’t let this cover consume you.”

Her smirk widened, cool and unbothered. “I always do.”

And with that, she disappeared once more into the tunnels, swallowed by shadows.

---

Morning came far too quickly. Ryan tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt, nerves already tightening in his chest. Across the room, Kyan hummed softly to herself while brushing her doll’s hair, as if today wasn’t the most important day of their lives. She was calm, her usual dreamy smile in place, while he was pacing like a caged animal.

“Come on,” he muttered, snatching his satchel. “We can’t be late.”

Kyan set the doll down carefully and gave him a bright, knowing smile. “We won’t be. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The certainty in her tone only made his stomach twist tighter.

By the time they reached the academy, the long corridor outside the examination hall was buzzing with nervous chatter. Children shifted from foot to foot, clutching their papers, some whispering prayers under their breath. Ryan’s eyes darted around the room, scanning faces, already feeling the swirl of stray thoughts leaking into his mind. Fear. Determination. Blank panic. He clenched his fists, trying to focus only on Kyan beside him.

When the heavy doors creaked open, the teacher ushered them all inside. Desks were neatly arranged in rows, each with a single test booklet resting on top. The scent of ink and old wood filled the room.

“Seats are assigned,” the teacher announced firmly, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. She stepped forward, her hand landing lightly on Kyan’s shoulder. “You, here.”

Ryan immediately moved to follow her, slipping toward the same desk, but the teacher blocked him with a sharp look.

“Not you. Over there.” She pointed across the room.

Ryan froze, his heart lurching. “But—she’s my sister. I always sit with her.”

“Assigned seats,” the teacher repeated, already guiding him toward the far row.

His throat went dry as he glanced back. Kyan was on the opposite side of the hall, sitting neatly at her desk with her doll’s ribbon tied around her wrist like a charm. She caught his eye and waved lightly, her calm smile completely at odds with the storm inside him.

Ryan’s chest tightened. From this distance, Clint’s thoughts were faint—just flickers, like static on a broken radio—and Kyan was far too far away for him to tap out the answers in Morse code. His pulse spiked. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t control this.

Sliding into his assigned seat, Ryan gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles went white. Panic crawled up his spine, whispering that they were doomed before the test even began.

And then, as if sensing his fear, Kyan tilted her head toward him across the room. Calm, certain, she mouthed: It’s okay.

Ryan swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He didn’t know how she could be so sure, but he clung to that small smile like a lifeline, even as the teacher passed out the exams and his world closed in around him.

The scratching of quills filled the room, a steady hum that made Ryan’s pulse spike with every passing second. He forced himself to tune into Clint’s mind across the hall, reaching for each thread of thought that flickered his way.

Question one… easy. Done. Question two—hah, too simple. Question three… got it.

Clint’s mind was sharp, precise, cutting through each problem with the ease of a blade slicing paper. Ryan’s breath hitched as he tried to keep up, copying what he could before the thoughts jumped to the next question. But Clint was too fast. Every time Ryan latched onto one answer, Clint had already moved two questions ahead.

Ryan’s chest tightened. He was falling behind.

Out of desperation, he shifted focus to Kyan. Her mind was always easier to touch, softer, like flipping through half-finished sketches.

Question one… hmm… I think it’s C. Wait, no, maybe B?

Her focus wavered, suddenly drifting—I wonder if my doll is okay in my bag. Did her bow come loose?—before jerking back to the test. Oh! Right. Question two. I’ll just guess. C again.

Ryan clenched his jaw, the erratic rhythm of her thoughts sending his stomach into knots. She was guessing. Guessing and daydreaming. His nails dug into the wood of his desk as he groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

We’re done for, he thought bitterly. Absolutely done for.

His mind ran faster than his quill could write. If they failed, Nate would see them as useless, dead weight. And if Nate was truly what Ryan suspected—a spy—failure wouldn’t mean a second chance. It would mean being sent back to the orphanage… or worse. Disposal.

Ryan swallowed hard, his throat aching as fear pressed down like a vise. He could see it in his head: Nate coldly turning them away, Alexia—dangerous in her own quiet way—standing by without a word. They didn’t know that he knew. They didn’t know that the children they’d taken in weren’t as blind as they thought.

And Kyan… she had no idea what kind of fire they were both standing in.

Ryan’s quill hovered uselessly above the page. His heart hammered so loudly he was sure the teacher could hear it.

Focus. Just focus.

But with Clint racing ahead and Kyan drifting off into daydreams, all Ryan could feel was the slow crushing certainty that this test would be the end of them.