"You're going to do great," Connor tells me. I let out a shaky breath and pull at the collar of the smart white blouse I wear.

"I want to go over it again," I say to him. He rolls his eyes.

"Where did you get your degree from?" he asks.

"From the University of Etrayer. I completed an online course which took me four years and I graduated with a first-class honours in politics and wartime studies. During the four years, I learned about major political movements in this realm and in the Second Realm. I also intensively studied the many wars that have plagued this realm. I studied in-depth reasonings as to why the wars began, the strategies both sides used, what caused victories, what caused defeats, battle tactics and where they spent their money just to name a few. Because of this, I am very politically aware and up-to-date on current affairs. During my degree, my assignments often included writing detailed, well-researched reports on a variety of political or wartime subjects. Not only that but through tutoring and my own personal study, I learned how to speak the prominent language of the Second Realm, Athainian." I speak quickly, getting it all out in a single breath. Connor laughs.

I rub my sweating hands on the black pencil skirt and glare at him.

"This is serious," I scold.

"Okay," he says holding up his hands, "you've memorised it all, but maybe don't say it like it is a researched speech."

"Duh," I reply and roll my eyes. "I just want to make sure that I have all the information correct."

"Well, you do," he says. "The scariest thing is being able to back up your claims."

"I think they've been planning this mission for me for a long time," I tell Conner.

"Yeah?" he asks.

I nod my head. "A lot of the content that was in this supposed degree that I have was taught to me at the academy." I start laughing and I shake my head. "Some of the assignments the academy gave me were actually assignments from the Uni degree here. After I completed them, they got bought over to this realm, typed up on the computer, correctly formatted and submitted to this university," I tell him.

"Wow," he says, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, I wondered why they were making me write a lot of my assignments in this language. I went over the content of this degree during the first two weeks we were here. I know most of it. Some parts I had to catch up on, but with our training, it wasn't hard," I shrug.

Connor shakes his head. "I still can't believe they somehow lined you up an interview with the Ministry of Defence," he states. "I mean, if you get the job, there will be extensive background checks. Won't they see something's not quite right?" he asks, frowning.

"As I said, they've been planning this operation for me for a long time," I tell him and then show him my phone. On it are pictures of me at the graduation. There are screenshots of my face in the online lessons. There are pictures of me out and partying with my coursemates.

"Either that is photoshopped, or they have a shapeshifter working for them."

"They definitely have a shapeshifter working for them," I tell him, wondering if that is Cobalt in those pictures. "Anyway, for many years 'I' have been showing up to the online classes, talking to the lectures, going to the occasional party and I attended my graduation. For the last five years, I have been a person living in this world. I'm not sure how it works for further back, but from what I gather, my identity here is rock solid."

Connor just chuckles and goes through my small jewellery collection. I shudder as I think about how a shapeshifter agent of the second realm has been here for all these years, looking like me and creating a life ready for me to take over.

"So what about the friends' shapeshifter you made?" he asks as he hands me a pair of small diamond earrings.

"Well, shapeshifter me didn't make many friends and was a bit reclusive," I tell him, "they showed their faces every now and then and were friendly, but mostly kept to themselves. The excuse was studying. Shapeshifter me was seen at the library a lot and that is why it wasn't surprising that Shapeshifter me received the highest grades of the year group."

That makes Connor laugh. "So, shapeshifter you was a little suck up like real you too," he says. I laugh and slap him lightly.

"Well, many of the assignments shapeshifter me submitted I actually wrote, remember," I tell him. "So I got myself top of the class in both realms," I say and grin proudly. Connor laughs a little harder and then hands me my blazer. As I put it on, my stomach starts to flutter with nerves once more. I let out a shaky breath.

"You're going to be fine," Connor assures me.

"Yeah, it's only an interview for a job at the Ministry of Defence," I say sarcastically, "you know, the very organisation that is in charge of hunting down people like me."

"Well, you aren't applying for a job in that department," he reminds me.

I groan and reach for my handbag. "You know, I think I would rather do the torture training than this," I tell him.

Connor rolls his eyes and pushes me toward the door. "Go, you don't want to be late for the interview," he warns.

"Fine," I grumble, "I'll see you later."

"Good luck," Connor grins and moves out of view of the corridor so that no one will see him if they are happening to walk past.

***

As usual, the underground is hot, sticky, and smells of a mixture of sweat and soot. I rush down the stairs quickly, weaving in and out of all the commuters. The train pulls in just as I arrive on the platform. There is nowhere to sit inside, so I lean against one of the walls. In my head, I go over everything again and again. I even mutter it under my breath. Images of me forgetting my whole cover story or making a small error in front of them sends bolts of fear shooting down my spine.

I force myself to think back to Miss T's lessons about how I should hold myself, interview etiquette, questions I should ask them, and how to stop myself from nervous tics. 

What would mother do? I think to myself. She would be calm, confident and composed. She would be completely charming and by the end, the interviewers would be wrapped around her fingers.

Mother taught me better than this. She would be ashamed if she saw me right now, a nervous wreck.

So, I square my shoulders, let out a final deep breath and calm myself. I will do my job and I will do it bloody well. That is the Redbird way.

The MOD building is huge. It sits next to the river and is older than the modern skyscrapers that make up the rest of the city. It is made from light grey brick. It is gated all around with black metal fencing in between large stone pillars. The front gate is guarded by soldiers in black uniform that includes body armour. On their backs, in big white lettering, are the words POLICE. They carry with them large, semi-automatic weapons. Their postures are ready for anything and their eyes watch carefully.

I smile politely at one and come to a small booth at the front. "I'm here for an interview," I say.

"Name," the guard replies.

"Ivy Astor," I respond.

"ID."

I hand him my little card and he scans it on a little machine.

It flashes green and he gives me back my card.

"Someone is coming to meet you, do not enter until they are here," he instructs. I wait at the gate and watch as a man wearing a suit quickly leaves the building. The gate slowly opens and he walks through it and holds out his hand. I shake it and smile politely.

"Ivy, it's nice to see you in person," he says, "well done on passing all the other stages."

"Thank you," I reply, thanking shifter me for doing all the other stages of the online interview group and individual interviews that got me to this stage.

"It's Peter, isn't it?" I ask and smile charmingly.

"Yes, yes," he says and chuckles, "it's always weird seeing people in person instead of on a screen isn't it?" he jokes. I laugh.

"Very," I lie. Seeing people on a little screen is a lot weirder.

Peter leads me through the courtyard and toward the large black doors.

"This is the visitor's entrance. Don't worry, there is a staff entrance, so you won't have to go through all this faff if you get the job," he assures me.

"Security is important," I tell him.

"That it is," he grins and knocks on the door. "It doesn't open from the outside," he huffs and holds up his work badge to a camera.

"Peter Milton," he says into a mic. A few seconds later, the large door opens.

We walk inside and my mouth almost drops open in awe. The room is beautiful. It is circular in shape with cream walls and a tiled mosaic floor that makes up the shape of an intricate flower. A great, diamond chandelier hangs from the ceiling. There are large windows lined with dark purple velvet curtains and paintings of pretty landscapes hang on the walls.

"You'll need to sign in and have your photo and fingerprints taken. We'll also need your ID again," Peter tells me as we approach a large mahogany reception desk.

I pull out the card and hand it to the receptionist. They scan it. A red light pings up on the machine. My stomach drops. I force the calm smile to stay on my face, glad they can't hear my racing heart. The receptionist scans it again and the same thing happens.

"Is something wrong? It worked outside," I say, keeping the shaking from my voice. The receptionist smiles awkwardly.

"This system is more thorough," she tells me.

"Is something wrong?" Peter asks. I don't miss the way he briefly glances at the security that stands around the room. My throat dries as I look at the pistols on their hips.

"The system isn't accepting the card," the receptionist sighs. "It does this every now and then. I've been asking for months to get a new scanner," she says and reaches under the desk to unplug it.

"Well, whilst we wait," I begin, and force a charming smile onto my face, "shall we do the fingerprints?"

"That is an excellent idea," Peter grins.

"Just leave your card with me and I'm sure I'll get it sorted," the receptionist says. I nod my head and follow Peter to a smaller room. Somehow my hands aren't shaking as the worker inside instructs me to dip my fingers in the ink.

"You haven't got a criminal record, have you?" Peter jokes. I laugh and go and wash my inky fingers at the sink.

"I'm not that interesting," I tell him and gulp as the attendant puts the paper into some sort of machine and it starts scanning.

Peter chuckles. Then, the room falls into an awkward silence as we wait for the machine. I ball my hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking. Images of the guards rushing in and tackling me to the ground fill my mind. I haven't even started working yet and already I may disappear, never to be seen again. My stomach churns in my chest. It takes all my concentration to make myself seem as calm as possible and to hide my nervous tells.

The attendant gives the machine a slight slap and mutters under his breath.

"Technology really doesn't like you today," Peter says.

"I think I'm cursed when it comes to technology," I tell him, thinking of something quickly. "I've been through four phones in the last two years," I sigh.

"Wow. What did you do?" he asks, raising his brows.

"Well, two out of the four weren't my fault," I laugh.

"Oh really?" he asks.

"I dropped one in the toilet," I say sheepishly. He laughs and rolls his eyes.

"Young people," he says, shaking his head and as he does, the machine lights up green. I try not to let the relief flood my features.

"Right, now that is sorted, let's go and see if your card has been accepted yet."

"Okay," I agree. "What is that machine for, anyway?"

"A few things. First to put your prints on the system and second to check if your prints have been identified before."

"Wow, interesting," I say and we approach the desk. "Any luck?" I ask the receptionist.

"No, not yet. I've had to restart the system," she huffs. I smile calmly.

"Have you tried hitting the scanner? I always give something a little jolt to get it working," I joke. Peter laughs behind her.

"So, that's what happened to the other three phones, huh?" he asks.

"Maybe," I say playfully. The receptionist laughs and gives the machine a thump with her balled fist. When she scans the card again, a little light goes green.

"See, I told you," I joke and take my card back from her. She doesn't notice my trembling hand. Instead, she just smiles and looks at the screen on her computer.

"Well, you're all set," she grins, "sorry about the wait."

"Oh, don't worry about it," I say, smiling widely. "It happens. I hope you have a nice day."

"You too, good luck with your interview."

"Thank you so much," I grin and follow Peter into another area.

Peter leads me to a small room. Inside, there are three other people. All of them wear smart, simple suits.

I shake their hands and smile charmingly as I take a seat opposite them. Soon, the questions begin. It all comes completely naturally to me. After memorising everything, I do not struggle for the answers. I smile charmingly, I maintain eye contact, and I don't stutter or twitch. Though I am not relaxed, or informal. I keep my posture calm and controlled.

Everything is fine until I am asked a question about my university degree and the second realm.

"Now, it says here that you studied a module called Studies of the Second Realm and through that module, you learned how to speak Athanian. However, when we investigated the module and asked the lecturer who runs it, they said that the University doesn't teach Athainian. Can you just clarify what you mean by this?"

My heart thuds in my chest. Fear pulses through my veins and for a millisecond, my mind is blank.

I force that fear away and smile calmly.

"Of course," I say, making sure to look into the eyes of the man who asked me the question. "I have always been interested in languages. In fact, if I hadn't done my politics and wartime studies degree, then my second choice was going to be languages study. When I took the module on Second Realm studies, I thought it was important that I learned the language of the Second Realms' most influential nation. As you know, the library at the University of Etrayer is the biggest library in the country, so it wasn't hard to find textbooks and dictionaries of Second Realm languages."

"So, you taught yourself?" Peter asks, his eyes widening.

"Mostly," I say, "I did find a tutor. Frances Falker, the head of languages at the university helped me too. He speaks Athanian so he let me practice with him. I could email you a reference if you want."

"No, that won't be necessary. We know of Mr Falker," Peter says, smiling widely. The man who asked the question is still frowning slightly as he writes some notes. In my lap, I pick at my nails nervously as I wait for the next question.

"With the tensions rising with The Second Realm," he begins, putting his pen down and looking me in the eye, "it seems like a strange coincidence that someone would land on our doorstep with a perfect CV and who can also speak the language of our enemies."

"On the contrary," I say, "it isn't a coincidence at all." I make my tone slightly less friendly and more authoritative. "I studied politics and wartime studies for a reason. It is a subject that I am extremely interested in and have been since I was a teen and I first learnt about the tensions between this realm and the second realm. I have always been a headstrong young woman who wants to fight for what is right. I'm not a particularly physical person so joining the military didn't appeal. Knowledge, however, is my greatest passion. I love studying and learning about the inner workings of governments and political groups so this apprenticeship has been a dream of mind for a long time." I pause and smile confidently, putting my hands on the table calmly in front of me. I look into the interviewer's eyes. "Thank you, for saying that my CV looks perfect. It means that all my hard work paid off and I have done everything right to get myself here today."

The interviewer gulps slightly and quickly looks away to scribble on his paper. I look away from him and at a woman who is smiling softly. Peter looks as though he is repressing a laugh.

By the time the interview comes to an end, I am joking around with the interviewers and laughing.

"Thank you," I say as Peter leads me out.

"No, thank you for making your way down here," he smiles. "We will call you in the next few days to let you know whether or not you've been successful."

"Okay, I'll keep my phone close by," I joke. He laughs and we shake hands a final time.

"It was lovely to meet you, Miss Astor."

"And you too," I reply and turn to make my way home.

***

Connor is waiting for me in my room when I get back.

"How did it go?" he asks, standing up quickly. I grin.

"I definitely have the job," I tell him.

"That well, huh?" he asks.

"There were a few hiccups, but nothing I couldn't overcome," I reply confidently and throw my bag on the floor then lie on the sofa. "Now, I'm going to have a nice warm bath whilst you cook dinner."

"That's a bit presumptuous?" he scolds.

"You're my guardian, it's your job to look after me," I say, pouting.

"You are abusing your guardian privileges," Connor laughs as he opens up my cupboard and reaches for a frying pan.

I poke my tongue out at him and then make my way to my room. I let out a sigh of relief as I take off the heels and the tight clothes. Wrapping myself tightly in a towel and walk back into the kitchen.

"My eyes!" Connor shouts and dramatically shields his eyes.

"Oh stop it," I scold, "pass me that wine glass will you?"

Connor, still covering his eyes, flaps around with his other arm, trying to pat down the location of the glass. Eventually, he finds it and hands it over.

"Thanks," I laugh and fill it with some red wine.

"I was going to use that for dinner," he says.

"I'm not taking all of it," I chuckle and kick at him. He jumps back, laughing before snatching the bottle from my hand.

"Go and have your bath, diner will be ready in half an hour," he says with a soft smile.

My heart warms and I smile back widely at him.

"Best roommate ever," I say.

"I know," he replies and gestures for me to go.

The bath doesn't take long to fill up. I watch with wonder as I drop in the bath bomb and the tub is consumed with exploding bubbles and bright pinks, purples, and oranges. A sweet, citrus smell fills the air.

As I lie in the tub, the glass of wine in my hand, I can't help but sigh happily. Perhaps this is going to be easier than I thought. I can't help but laugh at how they just invited me right into their ranks. Years and years of setup and building a perfect identity hasn't been for nothing.

I smirk.

I am going to destroy this realm.