Trace's heart was eager in his chest, threatening to burst through and beat him to the parlor, where the rest of WP-0770 was waiting for him. He leveled his breathing by focusing on the inhales and exhales—he couldn't let them see how excited he was.

When he turned into the parlour, all of the members were dressed in their uniform, their eyes glowing purple. Trace could now tell them apart, even though their postures and expressions were virtually identical. Wyze and Dior sat side by side on the floor next to the couch. Peter and Derek took seats in the chairs next to them, and Hailey sat in the white leather couch, her arms crossed. When she moved her leg, so did they. In perfect unison.

If Trace's Modifier had been active this entire time, why wasn't he experiencing Hailey's reign of control? A part of him yearned to be forced into submission as they were—copying each and every movement of their leader perfectly.

Ah, there you are. Hailey's voice was bright. Trace could almost see the grin hiding beneath her purple mask. Come, sit. She softly patted the seat next to her.

Trace slipped into the couch and crossed his leg as she did, watching carefully for any movement so he could match it. Maybe the other members were just so used to her movements that they could mimic them without thinking about it.

Hailey caught on quick, and began to laugh. You choose to follow me even when given freedom, which means you're certainly an assassin deserving of membership in my squad. She reached around Trace and patted his shoulder roughly.

Thank you, Trace said sheepishly, averting her powerful stare. But I still have much to learn.

Of course you do, Hailey agreed. She pulled her arms together and clasped her fingers in her lap. But first, I need to check to see if your body is truly ready for the full effects of your Modifier.

The other members seemed unfazed by the gravity in this statement, but then again, they could've been under so much of Hailey's control that they couldn't express shock or surprise.

Hailey twitch her finger, signaling for Trace to lean forward. Once he did, she carefully pulled back his cloak and brushed her finger along the incision at the base of his neck. He twitched at first, then relaxed. She pressed slightly on his skin and something clicked beneath it. His vision went completely black.

#

"Trace? Trace? Are you awake?" Wyze's voice pulled him from his unconsciousness, but he had yet to see anything. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He did so carefully because of the brightness of the room he was in.

He blinked a few times, and he realized that he was still in the parlour, laying on the couch, but it was just him and Wyze. She knelt next to him, her hand cupped in his. She was in her casual clothes. Her gray eyes expressed concern, dipping under her worried eyebrows.

"Oh thank the Association," she gasped. She pulled Trace up from his laying position and inched forward to wrap her arms around him.

Trace's heart jumped to his throat and blood rushed to his cheeks. This was definitely not allowed.

"What happened?" He finally asked after he regained control over himself.

Wyze reluctantly moved back to look at him, dropping him back into the couch. Her short hair was frizzed around her face, matted from sweat. Her eyes glistened with moisture. "You're alive, so that's all that matters."

Trace raised an eyebrow. "Was I near death?"

Wyze looked away. "Not exactly. . ."

"Wyze. I told you to call me when he woke up," Hailey's voice called from the kitchen. It was filled with disappointment and made Wyze physically lower herself. Hailey was also no longer in her uniform as she approached them. She stood next to Wyze, looking down at Trace. "If you hadn't woken up, Phantom would've had no use for you."

Trace shook his head. "No, I don't understand. What happened?"

Hailey nodded to Wyze—a dismissal. Wyze bowed out and scurried off to her room without looking back.

"I turned your Modifier off," Hailey said, half-smiling.

His eyes widened and anger washed over him. "What? Why?"

"I had to. If you were truly ready, you would wake up. Then, your Modifier would be fully functional once it was activated again."

Trace didn't understand. "I thought you severed a nerve and replaced it with the Modifier. That's what it felt like, at least."

Hailey smiled. "Oh, yes. I did." Trace's eyes widened at her honesty. "Your Modifier—and all of ours for that matter—are never fully 'deactivated,' since they connect directly with our brains." She knelt next to him now so they were eye level. Her brown eyes moved between looking at his blue-green ones, as if searching for something there. Or maybe she was debating internally about what to reveal next.

It somewhat made sense now: his body needed to adjust to the new device, hence the five-day recuperation period. Shutting it off was a huge risk, especially if he had supposedly gotten used to it a few days earlier than planned. The thought that if he'd made a false call about his readiness, he'd be dead now, struck him with a strange sense of both fear and peace.

"You blacked out, that's all," Hailey clarified. "Had you died, or had you not woken up, you wouldn't have known either way."

That was true, but something about the way she casually explained this felt wrong. The idea that death shouldn't be any of his concern erked him, even though it hadn't necessarily been a huge worry for him before.

"So if I'm awake now, that means. . ."

Hailey nodded. "Your Modifier is currently in its passive state, and your eyes are back to their vibrant sea foam color. Once you've adjusted to your body again, I will reactivate your Modifier. The world will look a little different when I do, so be prepared for that."

When she moved to leave, Trace leaned forward and reached for her arm. She moved out of his way and stood. Her eyes didn't show any offense, but Trace felt embarrassed for trying to ground her.

"When will it be reactivated?" Trace asked, rushing his words. He could tell she was no longer interested in explaining things.

"Both you and your trainer deserve a good night's rest. So how about tomorrow?"

Trace's eyes widened. How had Hailey known about his dream trainings with Alexis? As soon as he thought this question, he felt dumb. Of course Hailey would know what happens in his Modifier. Even if they were dreams. He was suddenly aware of everything he'd ever said to Alexis, including how disrespectful he was.

Hailey sensed this and laughed. "Don't worry. You didn't know I could see it all. Now you do, so don't forget that, okay?" As she turned around, she smiled. "You were unconscious all night, but I'm sure that doesn't change the fact you're exhausted. Get some rest." She turned, then paused. "That's a recommendation, not an order."

Then she headed for her room, leaving Trace alone on the white leather couch in an empty parlour.

#

That night, Trace dreamt of nothing and no one.

He'd been able to remove his cloak and bindings, toss his smelly undergarments and shoes to the side to air-out, and slept naked. It felt amazing to be free again. No voices in his head, no pain. He didn't realize how much he cherished these freedoms, no matter how small. He'd been okay with all of his training up until now, but losing control of himself was crossing the line.

Sleep didn't come as quickly as it had when the Modifier dictated it, though the natural pull of exhaustion felt more comfortable.

He slept so peacefully that he almost forgot that starting tomorrow, his entire world would change again.

#

After eating his morning meal and stretching his limbs into a fresh uniform, Trace rushed downstairs. As conflicted as he was about the Modifier's power, he was eager to witness its full potential.

"Morning," Peter yawned, elbows resting lazily on the kitchen counter. A white mug balanced between his thumb and forefinger, lilting from side to side. Seeing Trace's fascination with it, Peter raised it to his lips. "Coffee. Want some?"

"Coffee," Trace repeated. He'd heard of it, but had never had the chance to try it. A part of him felt like he knew he wouldn't enjoy it.

"Yes. It's a bit of a rare trade item, but because we've been doing well on our missions, they've rewarded us," Peter explained, setting the glass on the counter. He cocked his head to the side. "If you've never had it, you might not like it at first. But trust me, it can provide real energy, unlike the fabricated adrenaline from the Modifier."

The thought intrigued Trace. As much as he loved his water and green meals, he also felt like trying something new. And he liked the smell. The mix of earth and spice hanging in the air was almost enough to energize him on its own.

"I'd like to try some, with your permission," Trace conceded. Peter smiled, turned, and walked to the back counter by the fridge. A strange device, made of glass and metal, had been placed on the counter. Peter filled it with water from the sink and pressed a button. Dark liquid slowly dripped from the machine into a fresh white mug. The smell in the air grew stronger, fresher.

Once it was finished, Peter slid the mug to Trace and the liquid sloshed up the sides. Trace caught the handle nimbly with his fingers.

The coffee was bitter, but not bad. It felt almost symbolic, like there was something to like about it even though it tasted metallic, spoiled. A lesson to be learned—even foul things could be appreciated.