Two very big things are happening today.

First, the job posting for the position in Marcus' team goes up.

Second. Tonight, I am assassinating the bomb-maker.

I cover the heavy purple bags under my eyes with make-up. My hands tremble as I apply it and it takes all my effort to keep my mind as blank as possible. I don't even want to think about any of it. I just need to be calm.

The morning passes in a strange, disorientating blur. I almost feel as though I'm not in control of my own body as I get ready and then travel through the city to work. It's a routine I've done over and over so much so that my body knows what it's doing without any instruction.

The chatter is awkward and quiet as I enter the office. I immediately pick up on the jittery atmosphere and it only makes my own nerves increase. My stomach flutters and I let out a shallow, shaky breath before rushing to my desk, not in the mood to talk anyway.

As more people come in and log into their computers, the quieter the office seems to become. It's like no one wants to discuss anything about it. No one wants to give anything about themselves or their applications away.

I open up the email that has the link to the application form. It opens at 9 a.m. I look at the small clock on the computer screen and take in a harsh breath.

Five minutes.

The sound of clicking at keyboards and of draws opening is deafening. Even more deafening is the sound of my own heart.

If I were in a room on my own doing this, perhaps I wouldn't feel so terrified. The tension radiates off everyone. I cast a quick look around at them. Eyes are locked onto screens. The room is full of pale faces and people biting nervously at the tips of their pens or at their nails.

It's like being back at the academy during the moments before sitting an exam.

I peek a look over at Serena's desk. She is just like everyone else. Her gaze is locked on her screen. I thought she would do something to sabotage me, but now I realise that she isn't going to today. Getting her own application in is far more important than wasting time on screwing me over. At least, I hope so.

The number on the clock shifts.

Three minutes.

My hands begin to sweat, and I wipe them on my skirt. The muscles in my chest feel tight and I take in long, slow, deep breaths.

I lick my lips. My whole mouth feels completely dry.

One minute.

I look over the instructions a final time. My eyes hover over the last sentence.

Applications close at 10 a.m.

Before I can think further about what is going to be included in the application, the clock strikes nine.

I click the link immediately.

The screen shifts to a blank page.

It stays white.

My eyes widen and white-hot panic surges through me. For a second, I don't know what to do. I scramble at my desk, harshly clicking keys. A burst of terrified heat spreads through me and my heart pounds in my chest.

Just as I'm about to get up and run to Zoe's office, the page loads.

I let out a long breath and try to calm down.

Come on, Rowan.

I close my eyes, square my shoulders and grit my teeth in determination.

"It's just another exam," I whisper to myself. Then, I open my eyes and read the first question.

***

After my initial panic, I cleared my mind and got to work. The world around me faded and I soon found myself working with a steady rhythm. The questions weren't difficult in the end. Once all the personal details were out of the way along with many generic application questions including work experience, strengths, and education, the application was almost over. Of course, it never could be that simple.

The final twenty-five per cent were various tests and scenarios. There were maths, problem-solving, observation and reaction tests.

Finally, with ten minutes to spare, I click complete. A big breath of air leaves my body as I slump back on my chair. I close my eyes and rub my temples, my head throbbing thanks to the stress.

I just hope I've done enough. I need to get this job with Marcus. My realm relies on it. If I've failed at the first hurdle... Well, that doesn't bear even thinking about.

I lean forward and bury my head in my arms.

I won't have failed. I know that. The skills given to me by the academy are exactly the skills they're looking for here. In fact, I probably have to worry that I did suspiciously well.

"Are you okay, Ivy?" Leo asks. I sit up and rub my aching eyes.

"Yep, just stressed," I sigh.

He nods his head. "Yeah, that was tough." He pauses and chuckles. "I know my application isn't going to be taken further. They're going to take one look at the results for problem-solving and observation and stop me right there."

"You really think so?" I ask, biting at my lip.

"Oh yeah," he sighs and leans on my desk. "They don't accept anything less than near perfection."

I gulp, a lump forming in my throat. Leo laughs at the look on my face.

"Seriously, Ivy?" he asks.

"What?"

"We both know you'll have passed all those tests with exceptional results."

"Really?" I ask, biting at the insides of my cheek.

He rolls his eyes. "Ivy, you're one of those annoying overachievers who is good at everything. You passed all the tests."

I laugh and shake my head. "I can't decide if that was a compliment or a veiled insult," I say.

"Both," he replies. "Anyway, the big test is over. Now it's time to get back to our boring jobs."

"Do you know when we'll find out?" I ask.

He shrugs. "No idea. Do you want to go to lunch with me and the others again?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Sure," I reply. We say our quick goodbyes and then get back to our normal work. I ignore the excited chat around me as my colleagues discuss the application and what they put as the answers to the test parts of it.

Now my mind is focused on tonight. Suddenly, being so terrified over an exam seems stupid because what I've got to do tonight is infinitely more challenging.

***

Connor had asked if I wanted him to stay as I got ready, but I said no. My flat is completely silent and I need that quiet so I can think.

I go over the plan again and again. With every second that it gets closer to leaving, my stomach grows more and more unsettled. I can feel every heavy thump of my heart and a strange ringing fills my ears, numbing me to the world around me.

My hands shake as I close my front door. My stomach is a mess and I haven't ruled out being sick yet.

As I get into the lift, I close my eyes and let out a shallow breath, reminding myself to act normal. People will notice anything unusual. If I look and act nervous, people around me will notice and people noticing would mean people remembering I was there in the first place.

Tonight, I need to be invisible.

The air is cold against my face as I step out into the night. I appreciate it the cold burst. It is refreshing against my hot, sweaty skin.

I roll my shoulders, spin on my heels, and walk in the direction I need to go.

It isn't long before I get to the first location of the night. At the end of the street, there is a blind spot from cameras for about five metres. In that spot, is an alleyway.

I walk toward it and as I approach, a figure steps out from the shadows. They wear the exact same clothes that I do.

Hardly sparing them a second glance, I walk into the dark alleyway as they walk out, taking my place on the street and walking in the direction I was going. I didn't need to see the face to know it was mine.

For a second, I wonder if it is Cobalt who is pretending to be me this evening in order to give me an airtight alibi. Or is it another skin changer?

At the end of the alley, I find a black backpack waiting for me. Inside is my disguise.

I change quickly. Under my clothes, I wear a tight black body suit which clings to me like a second skin. From the bag, I yank out plain black clothes and a large black men's coat. Over my hands go latex gloves, which I secure tightly to the bodysuit with tape.

It is imperative that no DNA evidence is left behind. A single hair or skin cell being left at the scene of the crime could be enough to get me killed.

A tight latex cap goes over my hair, which I have already secured into a low, tight bun with gel. Over that, goes a wig. The hair is short and dark brown.

Over my face, I put on a fake nose and a layer of what is known as second skin. It clings to my own skin tightly, like a face mask. This new skin is a different shade to my own and wrinkled to add age.

Around my lips goes a scratchy fake brown beard and moustache. To finish the disguise is a black beanie and boots that have hidden platforms inside to make it look as though I am taller. They are also too big and weighted so that if any prints were to be left behind, they would be those of a man.

With the clothes themselves making me look bulkier than I am, along with all the other trickery from my disguise, I now look like a middle-aged man.

The last thing I need is a voice changer. I pop the little mic and speaker, which looks similar to a metal brace, into my mouth, clipping it around my teeth.

"Testing," I say and nearly jump as a deep, croaky voice comes out instead of mine.

I shake my head and pick up the backpack after I stuffed it with my old clothes.

Now, it's time for the next part of the plan.

I can't be seen leaving the ally on camera. In fact, I can't be linked to being anywhere close to where 'I' have been seen walking.

Luckily for me, there is a ladder running up the side of the building. Squaring my shoulders, I climb up quickly until I'm on the roof.

I make my way carefully and quickly over it, avoiding all the vents, chimneys and pipes. The next building is only a metre away, and I jump across it with ease. I don't look down at the five-story drop beneath.

Speeding up, my heart races with exhilaration as I hurdle over obstacles. It reminds me of all the old obstacle courses at the academy. In fact, this is almost easier.

I leap over another gap. For a moment, I feel as though I'm flying. The air is still around me, my body is weightless.

That slow feeling comes to a sudden halt as I land on the opposite building with a loud thump. I flip my body forward, rolling on the ground so the force isn't taken completely by my knees.

When I stand, I realise I'm smiling. My heart races, but this time it's with excitement instead of fear. I laugh to myself then take off again until I get to the spot where I must descend into the city once more.

The alleyway I leave is a mile or so away from the one I first entered. This street is also busier. Effortlessly, I duck into the crowd, moving with them and using them as shields to hide as much as possible from the cameras.

I descend into the underground, paying for my ticket with cash as the machine, making sure to hide my face from the cameras all around the station.

On the train, I keep my head down, which is far from unusual in this place.

After twenty minutes, I arrive at my station. Once again, I blend into the crowd as we make our way out. Once I'm out, it is only a ten-minute walk to the next location.

No one looks at me as I enter the bar. It is dark inside and the air is thick with the stench of sweat and stale booze. The soles of the boots stick to the floors.

Around me, the lights flicker and everyone inside is slumped over their drinks, looking horribly dishevelled.

Ignoring them, I walk into the toilets, which are a mess of sloppy toilet roll, stained floors and shitty graffiti. They are dark too, the only light source coming from a flickering, yellow fluorescent tube in the corner.

Going into the far stall and closing and locking the door behind me, I put the lid down on the toilet and step onto it. The low ceiling is made predominantly from gunky, cracking tiles that are badly slotted into place. I give it a shove and push one up and to the side, revealing a dark space beyond. Stretching on my tiptoes, I reach my hand inside.

I grit my teeth, grinding them together as I stretch as much as I can all whilst tapping around. Finally, my fingers graze something. After a few more attempts, they latch around a handle.

I pull it closer, letting out a breath of relief before I awkwardly shift the long, hard case so that it can come out of the gap vertically.

Once it's in my hands, I pull the tile back in place and sit down.

For a few seconds, I stare at the long, black case which rests heavily on my lap. Sound disappears, leaving nothing but a low hum and the thumps of my own heart.

With shaking hands, I reach out and grip the clips of the case.

I can't help but jump as they unlock. Then, slowly, I pull back the lid.

Inside, surrounded with protective black padding, is a disassembled sniper rifle. I gulp, my mouth drying as I stare at the dull black metal.

I'm about to kill someone and in my hands right now is the object that is going to let me do it.