layout with a dozen desks in two columns of three pairs of desks facing each other. Along the left and right sides of the room, a few offices with frosted glass walls lay empty except for one. I couldn’t see who the two people inside were, only their silhouettes. A small coffee station occupied a nook between two of the offices on the right. At the back, a large boardroom with its door closed led me to think the rest of the agents had gathered there. But it was the man in his early fifties standing in front of the open door of a big office on the right corner of the back wall that held my attention.
I immediately started moving towards him. He was tall, at least 6’3, with lovely blue eyes wrinkled by a welcoming smile, and brown hair sprinkled with grey. As expected, he, too, was dressed in a black suit, black shoes, and black tie over a white dress shirt. Instantly at ease, and grateful for the first agent to show any warmth, I returned his contagious smile as I closed the distance with him.
“Good evening, Ms. Connors,” he said, extending his hand towards me. “My name is Alfred Thomson, Director of the Mist Squad Program. Congratulations on making it this far.”
“The Mist Squad Program?” I repeated while shaking his hand, emphasizing the word ‘Squad’ that had never featured in any of the very cryptic literature about the program.
He smiled and gestured for me to come in. “I will explain everything.”
I stepped inside the imposing space and took a seat in one of the two comfortable black leather chairs in front of his massive desk. The bookshelf behind him contained a few personal decorations, many official looking books and manuals. A worktable occupied the right side of the room, next to a window with drawn metal shutters, preventing me from getting an idea of where exactly they’d taken us. A family portrait of him, his wife, and a pretty young woman I assumed to be his daughter, sat on his desk. That further put me at ease. There was something reassuring about dealing with a family man.
“So, I’m guessing I’m here talking with you because Zain followed me?” I asked without preamble, stunned by my boldness. It was common courtesy to always let the interviewer initiate the conversation.
His brow shot up, impressed. “Zain is your Walker’s name?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“He told you?” Director Thomson insisted.
“Yes. But I heard his voice in my head,” I said, immediately feeling self-conscious, and wondering if he’d think me wacko.
His eyes flicked to my chest—which was completely covered by the burgundy, sleeveless, leather top that I was wearing with black leggings—before locking back with mine. A slight frown creased his forehead.
“Did he touch you?” he asked. “Do you bear his brand on your chest?”
I blinked, utterly confused, then looked down at my chest. My top’s frontal zipper was raised all the way up to my neck, showing no cleavage. Normally, I wore it open fairly low, but this wasn’t the place to be sexy.
“I don’t have any markings on my chest,” I said, baffled. “But what are you talking about? I mean, there was a thick glass all around the Observatory—”
“I don’t mean tonight, but during that tragic incident at your house over a decade ago,” he specified with a sliver of impatience or annoyance, I couldn’t tell which.
I gaped at him in shock. “How—?”
“We investigate every candidate that applies before sending out the invitation,” Director Thomson said, interrupting me again.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling suddenly unnerved. “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I never came in direct contact with him anymore than I have here.”
“Ms. Connors, do you realize that Zain acts as your champion?” he asked cautiously.
I recoiled. “What? No,” I said, disbelievingly. “What would make you think that?”
“Back then, he saved you from your boyfriend’s attempt to murder you by killing him instead, just like he freed you tonight from the Beast’s hypnotic gaze by killing it as well,” Thomson explained. “Had you been outside, you would have stood there, immobile, while it devoured you.”
I shuddered and rubbed my upper arms in a comforting gesture. I still wasn’t sure the word champion applied to Zain. However, thinking back, I could now see the pattern in his behavior, charging the threat to me, no questions asked, and siphoning the life out of them until nothing remained but ashes and a desiccated corpse.
“Do you know how