Behind The School Gates

The rain came down in sheets, turning the alley into a mirror of neon and shadow. Ethan's breath came steady despite the three men circling him like wolves. Water dripped from his hood, pooling at his feet. "Should've stayed out of this, kid," the one with the scar said, cracking his knuckles. Ethan didn't bother responding. Words were wasted on men like these. The first one lunged from the left. Ethan sidestepped, letting momentum carry the attacker past him, then drove his elbow into the man's spine. He went down hard, face meeting pavement with a wet c***k. Two left. They came together this time, coordinated. Smart. Ethan blocked the punch aimed at his jaw, twisted the arm, and used the momentum to throw the guy into his partner. They stumbled. He didn't give them time to recover. A kick to the ribs sent one sprawling into a dumpster. The other got a fist to the temple that dropped him like a stone. Ethan stood there, chest rising and falling, rain washing the blood from his knuckles. The controlled anger in his eyes never flickered. This was just another night. Another job. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out, water beading on the screen. One message: HQ. Now. The National Intelligence Agency headquarters in Washington looked the same as always—cold, clinical, full of people pretending they weren't exhausted. Ethan walked through the security checkpoints without slowing, his wet jacket leaving a trail on the polished floor. Director Morrison's office was on the seventh floor. The door was already open. "Sit," Morrison said without looking up from his paperwork. Ethan sat, studying the man across the desk. Morrison was in his fifties, gray creeping into his temples, eyes sharp behind frameless glasses. He'd been Ethan's handler for six years. Trusted. Reliable. Or so Ethan thought. "How was the Boston job?" Morrison asked. "Clean. Three arrests, evidence secured." "Good." Morrison finally looked up, sliding a manila folder across the desk. "I have something new for you." Ethan opened it. Photos of a school. Westbrook High. Student lists. Faculty roster. A highlighted name: Principal Richard Hayes. "School corruption case?" Ethan asked, flipping through the pages. "Among other things. Principal Hayes has connections to several state officials. Money laundering, document forgery, possibly human trafficking. We need someone inside." Ethan looked at the student photos. Kids. Seventeen, eighteen years old. He was twenty-six, but he'd been told enough times he could pass for younger. Baby face, they called it. A curse until it became useful. "You want me undercover as a student." "Transfer student. Senior year. New identity is already prepared." Morrison pulled out another file. "Your name is Ethan Parker. Father's job transferred, so you're new to town. Clean background, solid grades. You'll blend in." Ethan studied the photos of the school again. Something about it tugged at his memory, but he couldn't place it. Just a feeling. Probably nothing. "How long?" "As long as it takes. We need evidence that'll stick. Hayes is careful. He's covered his tracks well." "Faculty?" "Most are clean, as far as we know. Your homeroom teacher is Nancy Mitchell. Twenty-five, been teaching there for three years. She's not involved, but she's observant. Keep your distance." Nancy Mitchell. The photo showed a woman with sharp eyes and dark hair pulled back. Professional. Serious. Pretty, in that no-nonsense way. "When do I start?" "Monday. That's three days. Memorize everything in that file. Your cover needs to be airtight." Ethan closed the folder and stood. "Understood." He was halfway to the door when Morrison spoke again. "Ethan." He turned. Morrison's expression was unreadable. "Be careful with this one. The school has history. Things buried deep. Don't dig where you don't need to." The warning felt strange. Morrison never told him to hold back before. But Ethan just nodded. "I'll keep it clean." Outside, the rain had stopped. The city lights reflected in the wet streets, turning DC into something almost beautiful. Ethan lit a cigarette, the first one in months, and watched the smoke curl into the night air. Three days until he became eighteen again. He wondered if he even remembered how to act like a kid.