Standing outside the massive, white building everything seemed to finally hit him like a ton of bricks. It was clearly the same building he'd seen in photos of the school, but up close it looked more intimidating than beautiful. And he was scared. Scared about the mission, scared of the things it may end up requiring of him. He couldn't afford to be, though; in the middle of everything, fear was nothing but an unnecessary distraction that kept him from living up to his potential.

On his father's side, Ryan was from a military family. Navy, to be exact. His father was a retired SEAL, as were his two uncles, and his grandfather had been too. Several of his cousins were stationed all over the world with the navy as well; two of them SEALS themselves already. Every man in his family had been involved in the military ever since the Separation War and he'd been expected to follow those same footsteps. Sadly, Ryan's physique and, at times, frail health didn't allow this. Instead he'd ended up at the bureau, and he had yet to make his family understand that what he was doing was just as, if not more, important than what the Navy SEALS accomplished.

This was his chance; that was what he had to keep reminding himself. This was his shot at proving that what he was doing was enough, that he was good enough. This was also his chance to do something potentially great for his country, to serve like he'd been raised to. This was his great war to fight; not with the means his family usually approved of, hopefully not with weaponry or force, but this was still it.

He took a deep breath and heaved up his suitcases, walking up the driveway's crunching stones and up the wide staircase until he reached the doors. They were closed for the evening and he was unsure whether he should knock or do something or if he was supposed to simply walk inside. After a few moments' contemplation, he decided on the latter.

The door was heavy in his grip, but he managed to maneuver himself and both suitcases through and found himself in what looked like a large hall. Doors and stairs seemed to be leading away in all different directions. The walls were a pleasant cream color with paintings and pictures decorating them and chandeliers were hung from the ceiling. The floor seemed to be solid grey stone, and Ryan's footsteps echoed through the room as he crossed it.

There were people huddled here and there, just a few boys between the ages of eleven and eighteen, chattering amongst themselves, but no one really made any move to approach him. People should give the place warmth, make it something that was easier for him to take in, but instead they somehow made it even more intimidating. He swallowed that feeling, though, biting his lip as he reached what looked like the middle of the high-ceilinged room where he stopped walking, putting the suitcases down. He honestly had no idea where to go from there.

Five minutes or so later he was put out of his misery when a stern-looking man who looked to be somewhere in his forties, with greying hair, a thin mustache and thick glasses showed up, looking him up and down in distaste that was so well guarded that Ryan probably wouldn't have picked up on it if he hadn't been trained for things like that. "Mr. Hastings, I assume," the man started, cocking one thick eyebrow. Upon receiving a nod he managed a smile that really only made him look scarier. "I'm Mr. Brown, the boarding inspector on duty tonight. Welcome to Saint Francis of Assisi's Academy for Boys."

"Thank you, sir," Ryan answered, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Ryan Hastings," he added, although the man already seemed to know this minor detail. When Mr. Brown took his hand, he remembered, last minute, to loosen it a little. A handshake said a lot about a person, and he wasn't supposed to be a confident young man here. He was supposed to be a possibly cocky, spoilt, rich boy.

"We have a simple set of rules here," Mr. Brown continued. "Anyone should be able to appreciate them. I'll let you study them yourself, and then you can ask any member of the staff if you have questions." He pushed a small folder and a key into Ryan's hands, stern look on his face. "Key is for your dorm room. Breakfast is at seven thirty to eight fifteen, classes commence at eight thirty. Lunch is at twelve and dinner at seven. We do not tolerate tardiness nor do we accept skipping class. Your uniform is in your room, and it must be worn for meals, classes and mass, which is at ten every morning, weekends included. Since you came in the middle of the school year teachers are likely to cut you a bit of slack, but we expect you to catch up quickly. You can always ask your classmates for help."

"Thank you, sir," Ryan replied, nodding slightly to indicate that he understood while he struggled to get the folder to go into the pocket of his all-too-tight jeans. The key was a little easier, and after a few moments both items were inside, the key digging into his flesh slightly. And as crazy as that may sound, he really couldn't wait to get into his uniform.

The frown on the man's face seemed to grow deeper, giving his whole appearance a darker tint, and Ryan had to force himself not to shudder slightly. He was an academy trained federal agent. He should be above getting scared by high school teachers, dammit. "Where is that Walker?"

Rounding a corner, Jon jogged passed students and teachers alike, intent on getting to where he needed to be without any distractions. Rounding yet another corner, he jumped over someone's discarded binder and finally skidded to a stop near Mr. Brown. He looked from the old teacher to the boy he was talking to and frowned slightly, then smirked. Oh, this was going to be good. New students meant Jon got to grill some unsuspecting kid for all he was worth and possibly make him just a little bit apprehensive about the school. He loved seeing the fear he could create in some poor guy's eyes. Upon seeing this lanky teenager, Jon had no doubt that he would be easy to frighten.

"You asked to see me, sir?" Jon asked, making his presence known. The old man turned to look at him, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Jon had to stop himself from laughing. He looked over at the new student and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Who's this?" he inquired, motioning towards the boy, who seemed to be sixteen, if not younger. A really tall fourteen year old, perhaps. Jon shrugged and looked back to Mr. Brown, waiting for an answer.

"This, Mr. Walker, and I would advise you to remember your manners, is Ryan Andrew Hastings. He has come to us from England and I trust you will be nice enough to show this young man to his room, and walk him to all of his classes, so that he can get acquainted with his new home. His room number is three, Mr. Walker, I'm sure that will be easy enough for you to find... Now, go on. I don't want you two dawdling in the hallways any longer."

Once Mr. Brown was gone, Jon looked back at Ryan and grinned. He stuck out his hand for Ryan to shake, "Jonathan Walker, at your service. Ryan Hastings, is it? Lovely. Whereabouts in England are you from, then?" he asked, and started to walk, looking back at Ryan as the other boy took up stride beside him.

"Dover," Ryan answered, struggling slightly with the bags. No matter how much training he'd gone through back at the academy, heavy lifting had just never become his thing. "In the south," he added. "Right down by the Canal. You can see France from my room."

Jon nodded, looking thoughtful. He made a little appreciative sound and continued, "really? That's awesome," he said, his voice slightly sarcastic. He smirked to himself as he looked away from Ryan momentarily. "What does your father do?"

"He's in business," Ryan answered with a slight shrug. "He's the CEO of my grandfather's company, really, so it was sort of always in the cards." He was finding it hard to really sound believable. Acting had never been his strong trait, and it was difficult to avoid sounding like he was just listing facts someone had made him learn from a sheet of paper. There was something about the other boy that irked him, though, but at the same time also made him feel slightly more comfortable. Something told him that this Jon character really didn't care about his answers at all, was just trying to get to him or something. So perhaps he needn't really be as careful as he'd feared, not with this guy anyway.

Jon hummed and had to resist from stroking his chin in thought. He nodded, rounded another corner and led the way to a stairwell. "Sounds exciting," Jon said, not sounding like he meant it at all. He looked over at Ryan and studied him for a few seconds. "How old are you, anyway? Fifteen?"

"Seventeen," Ryan corrected, a little more force in his voice than actually intended. For some reason he'd always hated having people look down on him, especially for his age. A large part of him really just wanted to spit 'twenty-four' out into the face of the boy, but he held back. One kid bugging him wasn't really a proper reason to blow the assignment. And that, he reminded himself, was all Jon Walker was. Some snotty, spoilt kid.

Jon snorted, not even trying to cover it up, and took the steps two at a time, one hand supporting him on the railing. "Guess you'll be in some of my classes, then. Which ones are you taking?" When they arrived at the double doors leading to the living quarters, Jon seized the handle and opened the heavy door, waiting for Ryan to walk through. After that, they started walking down the narrow hallway, Jon checking the numbers on the doors as they went by.

"Creative Writing," Ryan started, picking up his pace slightly to keep up while he hoisted up his bags a little. Those things seriously were a little too heavy for his taste. He'd have to find some way to get back at Tobias for making him buy and bring too much clothes. "History," he continued. "English lit, science, math, Latin, Spanish and social studies. At least as far as I remember. I could be wrong about a couple of them."

Jon nodded, taking a right at the end of the hallway, and waving to someone he didn't know as they happened to walk by, eyeing Ryan curiously. "Can I ask you why the hell you moved here?" he finally asked after a few minutes of silence. He didn't want to be rude, except, well... he kind of did.

"Well, along with my parents, I decided that I should go abroad and see another part of the world. It's more educational that way, really, and I decided to come here because it's a country that's so different from my own and yet has a lot of the same principles. I thought it could be interesting," Ryan answered, narrowly refraining from rolling his eyes. By now there wasn't really any way the guy wasn't just trying to be annoying. Well, that, or something was sort of wrong about his feel for situations, but he really didn't strike Ryan as that kind of a boy. Smart, but out to have a bit of fun at someone else's expense.

Jon snickered at the absurd (to him, anyway) answer. "Right..." he said, taking yet another sharp turn to the right. It almost seemed as though they were going in circles. "Don't you miss any of your friends, though? You did have friends, right?" he looked over at Ryan with interest that seemed almost genuine and waited expectantly for an answer that wouldn't make him laugh.

"Yeah, of course I do, but they'll be there when I get home as well, and I have my phone and my computer, so I can stay in touch. I mean, the Internet has been invented over here by now, right?" Ryan asked, eyes growing just a tad harder. He was starting to really dislike this kid. And the fact that it looked like they were taking the long road everywhere. The bags were starting to hurt his shoulders and he'd really rather not carry them for longer than necessary.

Jon nodded, "yeah, Internet access is one thing we do have, fortunately. So, why do you have a single room? I mean, not only are they more expensive, but they're usually saved for someone who needs... extra protection, you know?" he asked, walking down the last hallway. Room number three was at the end of the hallway, right near Brendon's, and his and Spencer's room, as well.

"I've been to boarding schools pretty much all the time since I was seven," Ryan answered, the lie slipping out easily and without him really caring. It didn't really matter anymore, but somehow he was surprised by how quickly it was starting to feel natural. "I came here more or less straight from Eton where we had to share dorms, and I was going out of my mind, really. I guess I just need to have my privacy and be able to be alone sometimes or I go crazy, and the money really isn't an issue."

"Makes sense," Jon said, nodding to himself once again. They arrived in front of Ryan's room and he shrugged. "Well, you seem like a pretty okay guy. Here's one last question before I go; Have you ever met royalty?" he asked, his voice a loud whisper as he glanced around even though they were completely alone.

Ryan was more than just a little tempted to ask just what kind of a question that was. "I think in my first year at Eton, Prince Harry was in his last, so I sort of saw him around in hallways and at meals and such, but I never actually talked to him," he answered instead, shrugging as best as he could with the bags. He swore his arms had to have grown under the weight. "That's pretty much it. And you seem good enough too. Was nice to meet you." Biggest lie of the evening, but oh well.

Jon chuckled and winked. "You're sleeping right next to Brendon, by the way. So if you see a really big guy in a suit outside that door," he pointed to the door right across from Ryan's, the gold 'four' gleaming under the artificial lights, "don't be afraid. He'll only kill you if you go near Brendon." Jon grinned widely before bowing his head in Ryan's direction and spinning on his heels, practically skipping to his own room, only a few doors down.

Ryan shook his head slightly at the disappearing boy, not quite understanding where the excess energy came from. But then again, Jonathan Walker hadn't had to carry two very heavy bags for the duration of their walk. Remembering the bags, he put them down on the floor and wriggled his hand back into his jeans-pocket, pulling out papers and - score! - his room key. He put it in the lock, twisted it and opened the door effortlessly.

The room he entered was plain at best. The walls were plain and off-white and seemed to, except for the crucifix hanging over the desk, be for the students to decorate. There were two windows with navy curtains and in the corner was a bare bed with what seemed to be his uniform on top of it. The dark blue carpet matched the curtains and felt soft and expensive even beneath his shoes. The room may be plain, but it was still clear that the sons of the richest people in the country lived in this school.

Between the large windows a large, dark, wooden desk was stood, a comfortable-looking office chair in front of it. By the foot of his bed was a dresser and a small distance away was a chest of drawers and a bookcase. In the other end of the room was a small coffee table, a sofa and a chair, all of it kept in dark wood and navy to match the rest of the room. Ryan guessed this feature was part of a single room: a small living corner instead of an extra bed.

There was a door too, other than the simple entrance door he'd already closed and locked behind him and his bags, and upon further inspection he could conclude that it led into a small but nicely equipped bathroom. The off-white walls were already cutting into his eyes, and he had the feeling that they had the ability to make him go crazy over time. And thus he actually found himself grateful for the posters Tobias had equipped him with.

Ryan spent the next hour or so unpacking. First he found the best place to hide his most suspicious gadgets (bottom drawer of the chest. If he took the handle off and put the drawer back in backwards it sort of looked like there was no drawer at all, unless you decided you needed to look really close). Then came the bed linens, and the clothes, most of them quite unfamiliar to him still, went into dresser and drawers. He lined his shoes neatly by the door and put the few books and CDs he'd brought or been made to bring in the bookcase. Then the manipulated photos of himself and his 'family' went sort of everywhere, just stood or hung wherever they looked like they'd fit, as many of them visible as possible. The more tangible his 'family' became to everyone else, the less suspicious they'd be of him. The posters went to cover as much space on the dull walls as possible, and finally he plugged in the laptop he'd been given for the 'trip'.

He needed to check his email, see if there was anything he needed to know, any updates on the assignment he needed to be privy to, and so he plugged it up to the Internet as well before hurrying off for a much needed visit to the bathroom, letting the computer load on its own.

Ryan returned a few minutes later to the sudden sound of a beep, and when he looked at the screen an unfamiliar program was staring back at him, blinking incessantly.

zeke: where have you been??

He looked at the message for a moment and then it suddenly clicked. The Prince! He'd completely forgotten that the messaging and online contact was now also a part of his job. He quickly regained his composure, though, and sat down in the soft computer chair, turning to the keyboard and writing back. And for a moment he wondered what kind of a name Drew was anyway until he nearly beat himself across the head for forgetting that his supposed middle name was Andrew.

drew: sorry. the last few days have been a little hectic. moving, new school, the whole shebang. i just arrived a couple of hours ago, actually. not nearly settled in yet. how've you been, though?

Across the hall, Brendon seemed to start breathing again when his IM alerted him of a response. He maximized the window and smiled, shaking his head. Every time he saw the name 'Zeke' on the screen, though, he cringed. Since he'd sorely been lacking creativity when creating this nickname, Brendon had been forced to use his middle name. Brendon Ezekiel Beauregard. He had no idea where his parents had come up with that, apart from probably scanning the Bible for names, but it was something that only a few people knew about him.

zeke: oh, right. moving, eh? sounds fun... not that i've ever left this place, but, i imagine it would be fun...
i've been.. i don't know. anxious. we're meant to write this journal for creative writing and it's just.. stressing me to no end. i kind of can't bear to put any feelings on display like that, you know? it's hard.

Ryan got comfortable in his chair. He was tired but didn't plan on going to bed for a while and there wasn't really anything interesting to do now that he'd unpacked and had yet to meet anyone but that Walker kid. And the urge to hang out with Jon Walker just wasn't there. Besides, talking to the Prince was not only more interesting than he'd have thought (as he'd gauged from the numerous conversations he'd been forced to read), but it was also his job.

drew: i guess it'll be fun once the jet lag goes away and i've settled in and actually met anyone but a teacher and the asshole who showed me around.
i can definitely understand that. writing something anyone else has to read is tough, especially if it's a lot of people or someone you don't trust. just guard it well, you know?

Brendon chuckled quietly to himself and leaned back in his chair. He grabbed his laptop from the desk and set it in his lap before propping his feet up on said desk and making himself more comfortable. He glanced over at the pile of papers he'd been writing and scribbling on before biting his lip and going back to his conversation.

zeke: yeah, i know. it sucks. i have these great ideas that i can't put to words.
and don't worry. every school has one asshole who's designated to show the newbies around. i'm actually quite close to the guy who does it here. you'd be surprised at how much they know about every single person in the school. they're like annoying gurus, really. and he's probably your only chance at a friend right now, so, be nice to him, yeah?

Well, Ryan had long-since decided he'd be damned if Jon Walker was the only person at the school he ever came into contact with. But then again he might end up finding everybody to be annoying little kids. After all, they were all at least six years younger than him. And not only that; Ryan was also used to working with and being around solely people who were older than him. Getting used to teenagers again may not be as easy as he'd first thought. He stretched slightly, listening to the pop his back gave as a late protest against the weight of those bags before turning back to the laptop.

drew: sometimes it's just important not to pine over it. get out of the school a little, hang with some friends maybe. i find that the moment you take your mind off writing is the moment inspiration hits you. then let it brew and brim until you can't not write it down. at least that's how i work best.
and i guess that must be why they ask all those damn questions then. he even talked about some guy who'd kill me if i came too close to one of the students. personally i think it's bollocks. he's just trying to scare the new kid. and i'll try, but being nice is a two-way street, right?

Brendon chuckled softly and nodded his head. He started typing out "going out isn't as easy when you're..." but deleted the whole thing when he realized what he was saying. He then started writing "if the man is dressed in black and wears sunglasses, I'd say it wasn't an empty threat," but ended up deleting that, too, because, how could 'Zeke' know something like that? He finally settled on something that wouldn't completely give him away.

zeke: maybe you're right about the going outside part. haven't just had time to breathe fresh air in a while, when i think about it. we're just so... busy... and i don't get the chance to really hang out with my friends. i don't really have many real friends, actually. sad as that is. but yeah. being nice is a two-way street.... wish that were true all the time.

Ryan observed a longer pause between the messages than what had been on the other side earlier and concluded that the boy on the opposite end of the connection must've had some trouble responding. Perhaps he should slow down on the hints a little, just to make sure he wasn't scaring the Prince off. But then again, Ryan had never been the most patient person. He should probably give it a rest for the night, though.

drew: then you probably should. it might do you some good. but then i guess that's kind of hypocritical for me to say. i mean, i don't really have that many friends either. i tend to focus too hard on my studies too. and what friends i did have are pretty much on the other side of the world right now. oh, well... haha, yes, i think the world could use some more nice at times.

Brendon chuckled and looked back at Zach, who was forever standing at his door, looking extremely bored. Brendon watched him thoughtfully before turning back to the laptop.

zeke: unfortunately, nice isn't something everyone cares for. it's much more fun being annoying or greedy. but, if you'll excuse me, i'm going to go down to the kitchen for a drink. i'll brb.

Ryan yawned slightly, deciding that it was probably a good idea to get to bed soon as well, so really, the Prince didn't have the world's worst timing. He'd have to remember to check that email first, though.

drew: no, doesn't really seem like it. i guess i've just never had to be greedy; my father and grandfather have enough of that trait for all of us. okay, sounds like a good idea. have fun. i'll probably be getting to bed. the flight still has me beat.

Brendon nodded to himself as he set the laptop back on the desk and let his feet fall to the floor. He whirled around in the chair and faced Zach. "Oh, Zachy," he drawled, smirking evilly. He got up and sauntered over to the man. "Could you please go down to the kitchen to get me some milk?" he asked, and, before the man could protest, Brendon pulled out a small change purse (he never showed it to anyone, but it was handy to have) and handed Zach the money he'd need. He smiled innocently and watched as Zach groaned and took the money, rolling his eyes as he opened the door and walked out. Brendon followed him into the hallway. He was, after all, meant to keep watch while Zach went on his little mission. As Zach walked away, Brendon pretended to whisper- quite loudly-, "run!" and then smiled, looking around to make sure no one was hanging about.

A loud yell cut Ryan off in the middle of the process of opening the email account on the laptop, secretly hoping that there wouldn't be any emails from the bureau - he didn't feel like messing around with the chest of drawers for decrypting and encryption devices already

And as much as he didn't feel like dealing with the kids around there, his natural curiosity got the best of him and he dragged himself out of the extremely comfortable chair with a slight groan and made his way to the door, unlocking and opening it and stepping out into the hall. His sneakers were making squeaking noises against the floor, reminding him that he needed to somehow make his shoes look more worn to be realistic.

For a moment he couldn't really see anything, but then he heard noise from the end of the hall that was opposite from where he'd been looking and he turned his face that way to catch sight of a large, suit-clad man and a much smaller boy who seemed to be headed in that direction. And honestly, it didn't take much squinting to realize that the kid was the fabled Crown Prince of Beauregia.

Brendon stopped at the end of the hallway and giggled (Zach was the only person who'd ever heard make such a horribly humiliating sound), watching as Zach shook his head and then disappeared out of sight. Deciding that his bodyguard could make his own way back, Brendon hurried back towards his room, but stopped short when he saw someone had opened their door to watch him. He put on his best look of indifference and sniffed at the boy.

"What are you doing?" he asked, one eyebrow raised as he folded his arms across his chest and stared the person right in the eye. He looked back towards the end of the hallway for a moment before looking back again. "And who are you?"

Ryan mentally rolled his eyes. The perfect incarnation of arrogance. It was hard to believe that this really was the boy he'd been talking to a moment earlier. "I was just checking my email and I heard some noise and got curious," he answered with a shrug, tugging absentmindedly at the hem of the fitted t-shirt Tobias had made him buy. It didn't always quite reach his jeans and that, honestly, made him a little uncomfortable. "I'm Ryan Hastings," he added, remembering to pay attention to the accent. "I'm new here."

Brendon didn't refrain from rolling his eyes, but that was only to keep from frowning. The phrase 'I'm new here' kept repeating in his mind. "Right. You might want to be careful, though. If Zach was here and he'd caught you spying on me, he would have had a reason to suspect you. He's not very nice when he suspects someone of wanting to hurt me," Brendon paused, looking Ryan up and down. "What on earth are you wearing?" he finally asked, his voice laced with disgust. He sneered at Ryan's clothing- not because he particularly cared, but because he'd been brought up to frown upon anything that didn't look normal.

"What, why would he- Oh," Ryan replied, nearly satisfied with his own faked surprise and realization. By the end of this he would probably be able to easily change his profession into acting. "You're the Prince, right? I didn't recognize you at first, your, uhm, Highness?" Then he looked down himself, eyebrows wrinkling slightly. He sort of looked forward to telling Tobias that his 'suggestions' concerning Ryan's clothes had been stupid, though. "A Dolce & Gabbana shirt from the summer '06 collection?" he answered doubtfully. At least that's what his friend had said. "I know it's old, but I still kind of like it." He gave another shrug, trying to just seem clueless enough. Well, perhaps this at least meant that he'd be allowed to lounge around in normal clothes.

Brendon wrinkled his nose at the mention of calling him 'Your Highness'. He shook his head and sighed heavily, like he thought the boy was stupid. "My name is Brendon, and you may call me Brendon as long as you respect me," he shrugged. Respect wasn't asking much, really, the way he saw it. He leaned against his door frame and looked at the boy for a few silent moments before speaking. "Anyway, it doesn't really matter to me what you wear. It just seems a bit more... effeminate than what we usually see," and with a sweet smile, he turned back to see Zach round a corner with a small carton of milk.

"Okay," Ryan answered, sucking in a deep breath. "I don't see why I shouldn't respect someone until they've given me a reason not to, Brendon," he continued, managing a small smile as he followed the boy's gaze towards the buff man who was returning with... milk? Bodyguard or personal servant? "And I guess the clothes are just normal where I come from," he added. "They're comfortable." Definitely another lie. "And I like them." Yet another one. Then he sighed slightly. "I should be going to bed, though. Jet lag and all. I guess I'll see you around."

Brendon plastered on a fake smile and took the carton of milk when it was offered to him. He looked over at Zach, who was blatantly staring at Ryan, so much that it was obvious even though he was forever wearing the black sunglasses. Zach clasped his hands over his stomach and stepped between Brendon and Ryan, obscuring both of them from each other's view. Brendon grumbled, mumbling 'honestly' under his breath before standing on the tips of his toes and peering at Ryan. "Yeah, see you later. Hey! I think Zach likes you!" He smirked at his own joke before walking back into his room to stand at the foot of his bed. He waited until Zach had followed him and closed the door to his room before opening the milk and chugging it down. He tossed the carton into the wastebasket near his bed before flopping down onto said bed and sighing. This was going to be a long term.

Now alone in the hallway, nothing was stopping Ryan from rolling his eyes at the attempted joke. He even gave a slight groan as he turned around and walked back into his room. He returned to the computer to find that the only mail he'd gotten was from Tobias.

Hey, kid.

I hope you got there all right and that Princey liked your clothes. Anyway, things are good here except the boss apparently feels the need to pester me and making me show up on time every day. One good thing, though, is that I'm sort of put on your assignment, so at least work should be more fun than it usually is. I also enjoy having the whole apartment to myself. Think I'll plan some crazy party this weekend or something. Later!

- Tobe

Another groan escaped Ryan's lips upon reading the email, but he quickly decided, like many times before, that he was too tired to deal with his roommate right then. He'd answer sometime the next day. Instead he logged off and shut the computer down before starting to practically peel the clothes off, finding a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt instead.

As he crawled into bed, enjoying the feeling of the crisp, new bedsheets around him, he quickly, mostly out of habit, went through the events of the day. The meeting with the infuriating Walker kid, the meeting with call-me-Brendon. The only conclusion he could reach was that this whole assignment looked like it would be even harder than he'd first anticipated.