Author's Note: This story is going to be quite different with another girl as the main character. It's going to move very quickly and takes place a year or so before the boys meet Sang. I'm not sure if I want to make this short or long so we'll see how it goes. I hope you guys enjoy. P.S. The sentence I used in the summary was from ~A~ Book Four: Forgiveness & Permission. I read it and thought "Hm. I wonder what that girl was like." :)

Every now and then, the Academy required some of its members to go through training. Whether it was Lock Picking, Gun Range, or Efficient Driving 101, they hand picked certain members to learn certain skills so we could be well rounded individuals who could complete the task given. It was my rookie year on an all bird team, so it wasn't much of a surprise when the Academy automatically enrolled me in a class. They wanted their birds and dogs the best there was out there, at the top of their game but for some reason, I got stuck with 'Introduction to Knife Throwing'.

Seriously, who threw knives anymore? Who threw knives to begin with?

It didn't matter what I thought though. It was required by the Academy. And on the first day, I was in class.

"I am David Weston," the teacher introduced himself. "You may call me Mr. Weston, or just Weston. Whatever suits you."

He handed out a syllabus to a class of twelve. Pretty average for one of the specialty courses. When he set mine on the desk, I fingered through the first two pages and decided I didn't care much about his syllabus or this class. I had a natural aim with the gun, and I knew knives wouldn't be much different. I just wanted to get to work with my team.

There were four of us: CT, Marna, Vivian, and myself. Together we made the perfect team. CT, she was a tech wizard. The girl was tough as nails and could hack into the white house if she put her mind to it. She's the one who recruited me to begin with. Then there was Marna, the sweetie southern belle with a killer walk and the highest heels in high school. She made eighteen look like twenty-four. She also ran all of our official business with the Academy as our active team lead. And Vivian, the historical guru. Viv was the quiet one. She went knew how to walk through a crowded room and go unnoticed in plain sight, perfect for gathering intel. And then there was me. I had a quick aim, and I was fast on my feet and decision making. A year ago when they adopted me, I went through a crap ton of training with them and discovered my natural talent in combat. CT said I had an incredible right hook. I told her I had a lot of practice, mostly defending myself.

I started doodling on the top corner of the syllabus page, writing my name in graffiti and drawing little angry men with snarky comments. I was always drawing on something. It got me through things I didn't want to deal with and righted the wrongs of boredom, like this class.

"This is a thirteen week course which will consist of both class and range," Wesson explained. He was a stout man with shiny black hair. The dark blue suit he wore made him look like he belonged to the mafia. Maybe he used to. I wouldn't be surprised.

"You will be ranked on knowledge, precision and control," he went on. "These are key for accurately throwing knives, or dealing with any weapon. I will push you to the edge of success and beyond. This class requires an A to pass. Anything else is unsatisfactory by Academy standards."

A few groans went around the room. What did that mean if we failed? Would the Academy kick us out? Probation? I decided it might be better if I looked through the syllabus again. Maybe this class wouldn't be as easy as I thought.

Weston leaned against his desk and lifted a clipboard from it. "Let's start with roll. Lauren Ashton?"

"Here."

"Oliver Carson?"

"Here."

"Bria Grant?"

"Here," I said, without looking up.

"Jocelyn Kent?"

"Present."

Smart ass.There's always someone who has to be different.

"North Tayl-,"

"I am here."

He stood in the doorway, tall and present in a black tshirt, jeans and loosely laced combat boots. His bookbag hung lazily from his shoulders, kept in place by his thumb looped around the bottom of the strap. He had a hard face: dark serious eyes, chiseled features, and a strong jaw that all gave the impression that he wasn't a guy to mess around with. Irritated that he had been interrupted, Weston checked his name from attendance sheet as I, along with everyone else in the class stared at North like some specimen on display.

This guy was the real deal, not the kind that walked around pretending to be tough and macho, but rather the tough guy who didn't care whether you knew believed him or not. I didn't have to be part of the Academy to tell that. It was in his posture. He was confident and uncaring at the same time, like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. His presence alone dared you to challenge him.

"Yes, you are here and late. Take a seat," Wesson said firmly. "Late again and your team will owe a favor. And that goes for anyone else who decides to show up late in the future."

North casually sauntered into the classroom and made his way down my row. I wondered what his story was. Everyone had a story, otherwise, we wouldn't be part of the Academy. I wondered if he had a shitbag for a father like me or something worse. I watched him. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He was handsome, sure, but that wasn't it. It was his… I don't know what it was.

Just as he was passing by, he cut his eyes down and we exchanged a glance. It felt like a quick bolt of electricity, and just as quickly gone. I heard him slide into the desk behind me, his bookbag hitting the floor with a thud as Weston went on with the role. I felt North's eyes on me, but I didn't dare turn around. Instead I focused on Weston at the front of the room. Halfway through his lecture on the beginning of prehistoric knives, a text came in on my phone.

CT: How is it?

I tucked the phone under my desk to type back.

Bria: Boring. So far, I've learned to cut an animal with a flint.

CT: Great. I've got this squirrel in the backyard you can gut.

"Bria Grant," Weston called out. I shut my eyes and let out a groan. Caught red-handed. He said, "You know I can see under the desk, right? I suppose your team is looking for favors to take on?"

I tucked my phone back in my pocket, and gave him a grin. "No, sir. We are not."

"If I see it again, you will surely owe one. Now… as I was saying…"

North snickered behind me. I cut him a hard glance over my shoulder and said curtly, "Ha-ha. Mind your business."

I turned back around with a roll of my eyes, but I felt him lean forward. His voice was deep, but crisp, just beside my ear. "Tough girl. I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the hot seat with Weston."

I ignored him, well tried to and made a serious effort to pay attention to the rest of Weston's lecture, even writing down a few notes on the back of my syllabus. I could tell this guy North was going to be a distraction, and if I wanted an A, I was going to have to stay as far away from him as possible.

After one hour and thirty minutes of flint talk and the introduction of copper, Weston made his final remarks. Tomorrow, we would meet on the range, where we would test out our knife skills for the first time. Once class was dismissed I shoved my syllabus and pencils in my bookbag.

"Try not to be late tomorrow," I jipped as North was getting up.

He loomed over me, easily six - three, maybe taller. He didn't laugh or shoot back a snarky remark or anything. He just walked off, and then he was gone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this short intro to the story. Update 10/29: Just read book 7! I can't take it. Part 2 coming soon.