Zach pulled his ID from his suit’s breast pocket and pressed it against a dark gray pad on the wall. Three low beeps rang out, and a clunk sounded through the hall as the door unlocked. I reached to pull down the handle, but Zach slapped my hand.
“Take it easy, gimp.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes while he pulled the massive door open, and we started down a much smaller hallway into the residential staff apartments. I wonder if Mom and Dad are still awake.
The narrow white walls of the base’s family housing were lined with sporadically placed numbered doorways. Zach and Gina pulled ahead of me. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my pace was a little slower than usual.
Gina glanced back over her shoulder. “Want an arm?”
“I’m good,” I assured her.
We finally reached 237. Zach once again pulled out his ID, pressed it to the pad, and opened the door to our family’s apartment. I faintly smelled casserole. Zach made a beeline for the kitchen and started making himself a plate.
“I’ll have a bite and then head to my apartment, if there’s enough,” Gina said, unlacing her boots beside me in the entryway.
“Mom always makes a full tray. Lyra, you want a plate?” Zach called.
“Not really hungry,” I said, carefully bending over to untie my own boots.
Gina eyed me. “You need to lie down.”
I nodded to acknowledge her concern but said nothing—I didn’t want her going into mothering mode.
She half-smiled. “You and your brother. So damn stubborn. I’ll see you at the ass-crack of dawn, Lyra,” she said, accepting the plate of casserole Zach handed her.
I waved over my shoulder as I headed toward my bedroom. I assumed my parents were asleep.
Most twenty-one-year-olds in America didn’t live with their parents, but most people in America didn’t grow up as second-generation OB agents. Bureau base housing was limited, so until Zach and I had families of our own, we shared quarters with our parents. Honestly, we were all so busy that we didn’t see much of each other on a daily basis.
Halfway down the hall, I noticed a light shining under the closed living room door—and heard voices.
The sound of my mother’s sharp tone halted my breath and footsteps. She rarely spoke above a gentle hum, albeit a hum that commanded respect. When I could hear her through a closed door, something was wrong.
I couldn’t make out her words, so I inched closer. I heard my father’s voice interject, lower and slower than my mother’s, but just as severe. I held my breath, now able to make out the words.
“I don’t understand how the Board hasn’t taken action on this yet,” my mom snapped. “It’s unacceptable. This is not how the Bureau is supposed to conduct itself.”
My heart jumped at another familiar voice, calm and thick as caramel. Uncle Alan. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Miriam. We’re dealing with something we don’t understand yet.”
It was hard to hear what they were saying over Zach and Gina chatting in the kitchen. Quiet. Quiet! I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the living room door—after all, it wasn’t like I could shush my brother and his girlfriend so I could snoop better.
Uncle Alan dropped his voice, and Zach’s fork scraping his plate from the kitchen drowned out my uncle’s words. Several moments passed, but I remained frozen.
My mother gasped. “Unbelievable.” My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that her higher timbre was the only thing I could distinguish.
Uncle Alan raised his voice an octave in response to my mother’s concern but then cleared his throat and returned to his hushed tone. “These are the facts we have. Like I’ve explained, even these vague details are strictly secret.”
My mother didn’t like her brother’s response, apparently, because her voice peaked again, cracking this time. “People’s lives are at stake! How could the Bureau keep something so dangerous a secret?! You and your damned red tape—papers and signatures aren’t more important than human lives!”
This time my father joined in. “How many more soldiers need to throw themselves at these monsters before we get this under control? These are our children—your niece and nephew, Alan.”
“Miriam, Russell,” Uncle Alan replied calmly. “We all know why the Bureau has to do this. Something like this getting out could be catastrophic. I understand your concern. But letting this information reach anyone else’s ears is out of the question. There’s a reason it took me so long to tell you. And that only happened because of your promotion last month, Russell.”
I bit my lip, and my eyes widened. My father was the new Head of Defense Technology.
“You are the only ones not on the Board who know anything about this at all,” my uncle offered.
A heavy silence fell in the room. I started to feel lightheaded from holding my breath.
Uncle Alan continued, his usual sweetness now turned slightly rigid. “Stability and calm are the most important things for the Bureau, this country—and the globe—right now.”
Guilt knotted my stomach. I was beginning to get uncomfortable about eavesdropping for so long.
I cleared my throat and knocked softly on the living room door. My mother’s voice became a hurried whisper, and my father called out, “Yes, we’re in here.”
I pushed the door open to reveal three weak attempts at smiles.
“Hi, everyone,” I said cautiously.
My uncle sat in the armchair to my left, across the coffee table from my parents. His platinum hair was slicked back in its usual fashion, his trim gray suit predictably impeccable, even at this late hour. He whisked two papers from the coffee table and into the depths of his shiny leather briefcase, but not before I recognized the emblem in the header—Bureau non-disclosure paperwork.
“Lyra! We weren’t expecting you home so early,” he said warmly, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. No matter how tired I was, I always had extra energy for Uncle Alan. “A successful operation tonight, I hope?” he asked, wavering slightly as he stood with the help of his cane.
The memory of crashing into frigid water jolted my mind. “Mostly.”
My parents weren’t as good as my uncle when it came to pretending nothing was wrong. I met their worried eyes, looking at each of them in turn. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Lyra, we’re fine,” my mother said, her usual tenderness returning. “Come and sit with us.”
