vii. CAT AND MOUSE

The girl staring back at me in the mirror has light olive skin, rose lips, and messy brown hair from rolling out of bed only five minutes ago. Everything about the girl was fairly mundane—except for her eyes.

One resembled a light brown oak tree while the other was a stark green forest.

I inhale deeply as I study my reflection. The reason for the difference in eye color was heterochromia iridium, a genetic mutation. My hands fumble through the cabinet for a single brown colored contact to hide the asymmetrical feature.

It slips my mind when, exactly, I started to wear colored contacts. All I remember is why I chose brown over green.

My mother had brown eyes; my father died when I was young, and mom always described him with vivid, notable green eyes. My eyes were a juxtaposition of both of them. The mutation felt, as cheesy as it sounds, like a piece of him is always with me. Though the thought of him every time I saw my reflection would be too much to bear.

I splash some cold water on my face in order to wake myself up. A buzzed feeling reverberated around my head—the alcohol downed by yours truly last night was seriously starting to hit.

The alarm pinged 8:00 AM. I rubbed my temples, as if that could alleviate the growing headache. It was time for the last CIA test.

The others are already in the expansive living room by the time I leave my room. Promising sunlight shone directly into the entire penthouse, illuminating it, somehow making everything shine with more grandeur than it usually was.

This view is something I'll never get used to.

Skye, as pristine as always, propped herself against the black sofa. A perfectly photogenic waffle was in her hand. Chase too, sat down at the table munching on waffles.

Ace was in the kitchen adjacent to the living room. He whistled while turning the waffle maker periodically, which helped give waffles their golden brown glow.

I knew exactly what he was trying to do; the spy was trying to get under my skin, and it was working.

"Do you want a waffle, Cupcake?" Ace asks. There's a smug look on his face, the one I saw all too often.

"You're funny," I retort through narrowed eyes. The come-back was weak, but the pain of hangover and the early morning really dampened my sarcasm. I hesitate, feeling my weak self giving in to the delicious smell wafting into the room. "But yes, I want a waffle."

"Enjoy this one. It's not burnt."

"Shame, really. I was looking forward to starting my morning with a burnt, black crisp. That's what my soul feels like."

My tone is dry, reflecting my hangover. The waffle in my hand disappears into my mouth mere milliseconds before I can even comprehend the hunger stirring in my stomach.

Ace, legitimately stunned, gapes at me. "You ate that in three seconds. Do you have a garbage disposal up your ass or something?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Golden eyes flicker away from me as a knowing smile tugs on his lips, and that's when I realized how inappropriately my comment could be interpreted.

"Where's Xavier?" I immediately blurt out to move past my mistake, "he's gone, again."

The dark-haired Xavier timely enters from his room. His hair is unkempt, his eyes are groggy, yet there's an enormous grin on his face.

Skye raises an eyebrow. "Care to explain what happened?"

"Remember what I said last night about sleeping with my target?" Xavier winks. Skye immediately flinches with visible disgust. "You're unbelievable," she breathes.

The Director suddenly enters the room and interrupts our conversation. The man looks down at his clipboard for today's details. "Alright, today you have your last test."

"Please, tell me we're finally going to kill some people," Xavier interjects. I didn't know if he was kidding or not.

Chase rolls his eyes. "Let the man finish, Sleeping Beauty."

The Director continues with his lips drawn into a fine line. "Today you will be spying on someone for two hours. You must be within twenty meters of your target at all times."

Skye grins. "Sounds easy enough."

"The person you're each assigned is another CIA agent undercover," the Director adds. All our jaws drop. Spying on another federally trained, not to mention deadly agent would be impossible.

"Ace, Octavia you two are on a team," the Director continues.

I couldn't believe my ears. "Are you trying to kill me?"

The Director laughs dryly at my outburst. "Quite the contrary; all your targets are trained agents in the middle of classified missions. They won't hesitate to kill if they suspect anything. Ace is a... precaution to make sure you don't die if you're caught."

"I'm going to put a bullet in my own head if I have to be around him for two hours straight."

Ace smirks at me. "You're not exactly a walk in the park either, Cupcake. You can barely do a fucking push up."

He then turns to the Director. "If I can keep her alive, let's revisit our discussion about my pay raise."

~

My eyes peered over the copy of The New Yorker that I wasn't really paying attention to. Eve Miyazaki, the dark haired, pale skinned spy sipping on a cappuccino in the coffee shop had retained my undivided attention.

Ace sat directly across from me. Blue light from his phone illuminated his features as his thumb casually scrolled.

I pushed my nerves down to not seem suspicious. Less than five meters away, a trained CIA ate a croissant. Sparse details ran through my mind. Twenty meters, sixty feet. Two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes.

After today, I'd be safe from prison for good.

"Stop worrying, Cupcake," Ace states. The voice jerks me from my thoughts. "Right now anyone observing you can tell you're out of place. You're on high alert, your fingers are stiff, and your left leg is practically causing an earthquake under the table."

He wasn't wrong. My eyes search for something that would take my mind off my jitters, and they landed on the only thing that could help—food.

I order one of those overpriced coffee store pastries to make it seem like I belonged to this upper-class neighborhood. In reality, spending my hard earned saving absolutely irked the indebted college student inside of me.

Eve seemed normal enough. With her denim jacket, dark beanie, and combat boots, she resembled more like a regular teenage girl than a spy.

Then again, so was I.

I wondered what Eve did on a day to day basis. My knowledge about her was limited; all I knew was that she was undercover on a mission, and if she found out I was following her, both our covers would be blown. Eve had finished her coffee. With one last glance at her phone, she swiftly exited the coffee shop onto the streets of Brooklyn. Ace and I follow.

Countless people roamed the streets, creating a tide pushing against me as we tried to keep up with Eve's fast pace. She generally stared straight ahead though periodically would casually examine her surroundings.

The girl eventually turned right on 36th street into Marine Park. She sat on an empty bench facing the water. Ace and I sit down at the tables about twenty feet behind her. Eve's dark eyes scanned the park with intent.

Almost as if she was waiting for someone.

Sunlight reflecting from the water hits Miyazaki directly. She takes off her beanie, untangles her hair, then pulls it up into a bun. Maybe she put her hair up was because the sun was hot. Maybe because of something else.

A minimalist, interlocking triangle tattoo on the back of Miyazaki's neck caught my eye. It was on full display since her raven hair was pinned up.

Five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes had ticked by on my watch. Eve nonetheless sat staring into the water at the park. Knowing that she was a spy let in a sliver of tension to the whole situation.

What are you doing, Miyazaki?

Forty minutes later, a man finally approaches her and sits beside her on the bench. I legitimately dozed off like I was in Calculus. I turn to Ace. "Who do you think that man—"

Without warning, Ace interrupts me by yanking me into his lap. A small yelp comes out of my mouth. "What the shit—"

He plants a small kiss on my forehead that puts me in shock.

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