Prodigy

eyes wander around the room in an organized sweep, noticing things that I’d probably never see. Sharp and calculating like any good Republic soldier. One of her hands lingers near her waist, where she keeps a pair of knives.
    An instant later, my attention turns to a girl standing behind the center couch. She locks her eyes onto mine and squints as if to make sure she’s really seeing me. Her mouth opens in shock, small pink lips formed into an O. Her hair is too short to braid now—it drapes to the middle of her neck in a messy bob.
Wait a sec.
My heart skips a beat. I hadn’t recognized her because of that hair.
    Tess.
    “You’re here!” she exclaims. Before I can reply, Tess runs over to me and throws her arms around my neck. I hobble backward, struggling to keep my balance. “It’s really you—I can’t believe it, you’re here! You’re okay!”
    I can’t think straight. For a second, I can’t even feel the pain in my leg. All I can do is wrap my arms tight around Tess’s waist, bury my head in her shoulder, and close my eyes. The weight on my mind lifts and leaves me weak with relief. I take a deep breath, taking comfort in her warmth and the sweet scent of her hair. I’d seen her every single day since I was twelve years old—but after only a few weeks apart, I can suddenly see that she’s not that ten-year-old kid I’d met in a back alley. She seems different. Older. I feel something stir in my chest.
    “Glad to see you, cousin,” I whisper. “You look good.”
    Tess just squeezes me tighter. I realize that she’s holding her breath; she’s trying hard not to cry.
    Kaede is the one who interrupts the moment. “Enough,” she says. “This isn’t the damn opera.” We break apart to laugh awkwardly at each other, and Tess wipes her eyes with the back of a hand. She exchanges an uncomfortable smile with June. Finally, she turns away and hurries back to where another person, a man, is waiting.
    Kaede opens her mouth to say something else, but the man stops her with a gloved hand. This surprises me. Judging from how bossy she is, I would’ve assumed that Kaede’s in charge of the group. Can’t imagine this girl taking orders from anyone. But now she just purses her lips and flops onto the couch as the man rises to address us. He’s tall, probably in his early forties, and built with a bit of strength in his shoulders. His skin is light brown and his curly hair is pulled back into a short, frizzy tail. A pair of thin, black-rimmed glasses rest on his nose.
    “So. You must be the one we’ve all heard so much about,” he says. “Pleased to meet you, Day.”
    I wish I could do better than standing hunched over with pain. “Likewise. Thank you for seeing us.”
    “Please forgive us for not escorting you both to Vegas ourselves,” he says apologetically, adjusting his glasses. “It seems cold, but I don’t like risking my rebels needlessly.” His eyes swivel to June. “And I’m guessing you’re the Republic’s prodigy.”
    June inclines her head in a gesture that oozes high class.
    “Your escort costume is so convincing, though. Let’s just conduct a quick test to prove your identity. Please close your eyes.”
    June hesitates for a second, then obliges.
    The man waves a hand toward the front of the room. “Now hit the target on the wall with one of your knives.”
    I blink, then study the walls. Target? I hadn’t even noticed that a dartboard with a three-ring target is on one of the walls near the door we came through. But June doesn’t miss a beat. She flips out a knife from her waist, turns, and throws it straight toward the dartboard without opening her eyes.
    It slams deep into the board, just a few inches shy of the bull’s-eye.
    The man claps his hands. Even Kaede utters a grunt of approval, followed by a roll of her eyes. “Oh, for chrissake,” I hear her mutter. June turns back to us and waits for the man’s response. I’m stunned into silence. Never in my life have I seen anyone handle a blade like that. And even though I’ve seen plenty of amazing things from June, this is the first time I’ve witnessed her using a weapon. The sight sends both a thrill and a shiver through me, bringing memories that I’ve forced into a closet in my mind, thoughts I need to keep buried if I want to stay focused, keep going.
    “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Iparis,” the man says, tucking his hands behind his back. “Now, tell me. What brings you here?”
    June nods at