When her dad told her that she'd be learning how to be an assassin, Lucy wasn't sure what she expected, but the enclave of small houses in the middle of nowhere wasn't what she had in mind.

Her dad called it "The Farm. " She didn't think it was like a farm at all. The entire area was secluded; a dense forest blocked the clearing from all angles. A small area was set aside for growing food, but it wasn't much. No cows, no pigs. Not a farm animal in sight. She noticed an old, musty looking kennel that looked like it hadn't been used in a while.

It was kind of like school. Every morning a bell rang to start the day, they had lessons, and a lunch break before heading back to the shed that acted as their classroom. Dismissed in the afternoon, and the rest of the day was theirs. There were only five kids near her age, all of them being grouped to have their lessons together.

"They'll teach you how to be an assassin," her father had said over dinner. "I'll come pick you up as soon as I can."

That was over two weeks ago, and Lucy hadn't heard anything from her father since.

Her dad had left her alone before for a day or two, usually on the weekends when she didn't have school. That was normal. But this long? Do other assassins usually go away for weeks at a time? She stared out the window to her right. The leaves were just starting to turn an auburn color, signaling the end of summer. This time of year was her least favorite; she never really knew why. Lucy wondered if the leaves were changing where her dad was, too.

"Desmond!" Her head snapped to the front of the room, where the reprimanding voice caught her attention. Mr. Miles stood, his back ramrod straight, hand positioned halfway through writing a sentence on the board.

"Would you like to enlighten us on what you're looking at that's so special?"

"Uhh," Lucy turned her eyes to look at where the boy was sitting. He sat at his desk, a pencil lightly gripped in his hand, and a blank look on his face.

"If not, then kindly pay attention to the lesson," Mr. Miles scolded, before continuing to write on the board. Desmond winced a bit to the sound of muffled snickers. She peered at him from across the room. His hand cradled his cheek in a miffed silence, and as soon as his father turned his back to the board, he looked outside the window again.

For all of the time she spent around him, Lucy actually hadn't spoken much to the youngest member of the Miles family. Mrs. Miles was always nice enough to ask if she needed anything, and Mr. Miles spent all of his time training her with the rest of the children, or off doing other work. Lucy even talked a bit with the other kids in their lessons, they seemed alright. One of the girls, Pamela, was friendly with her, although a bit shy.

Desmond, though? Lucy knew he spent a lot of time outside; more often than not his room was empty whenever she passed by, looking for something to distract her from her father. Aside from that, she didn't know much about him.

The other kids got up and stretched their legs, interrupting her thoughts. Class was over, then. She picked up the small notebook and pencil off of her desk and followed them out of the shack. It wasn't even ten feet from the shed before she heard the same intimidating voice from earlier:

"Desmond, you need to pay attention more," Mr. Miles loomed over his son, arms crossed. Desmond had his gaze diverted off to the side. "You need to be focused. You can't just get distracted by any little thing that passes by the window."

"Are you going to say anything?" Desmond's hands twitched at his sides.

"Nothing? Nothing at all?" Lucy barely caught the minute shake of his head. Mr. Miles drew his mouth into a hard line.

"Five extra laps around the track." Lucy stared as his father turned with a wave of his hand and started to walk away. "And I better not hear you whine about it later; I gave you a chance to explain yourself."

Desmond stayed in place for a minute, still looking at the ground, before lifting his head and moving – in her direction. She flattened her back to the side of the shed. She could hear his footsteps dragging in the dirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She stammered a bit under his stare.

"Nothing!" Desmond gave her a flat look before slouching toward the start of the track.

"And she calls me weird?" He muttered to himself. Lucy stood still for a minute, just long enough for him to turn around the corner out of her sight, before hurrying after him.

She followed him to the track a little outside of the Farm, away from the houses. Desmond angrily tossed his notebook under a tree next to the track, before jogging to the line marking the starting point of the trail. Lucy set her own notebook to the ground, and resting her back against the large trunk.

He gave her an incredulous look, watching her from his position on the dirt track. Lucy made it a point to look directly at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. They held eye contact, neither wanting to give in to the other, before Desmond broke the connection with a shake of his head, and took off down the path at a light jog.

Lucy watched him with a curious eye. Every once in a while he would slow down to a walk, but she noticed that he kept trudging along at a steady pace. Once, he stopped just long enough to grab a water canteen lying off to the side. He puffed his way to where she sat, his face drenched from exertion. Multiple dark patches had formed on his shirt due to the sweat. Lucy tried not to flinch in disgust from the drops that fell off his face onto the soil next to her.

"You sweat a lot," she said. "That's kind of gross."

"You're gross," he scoffed. "Besides, I can't do anything about it." He twisted off the top of his bottle. "Why are you here, anyways?" She shrugged her shoulders.

"There's nothing else to do," she muttered.

"Can't you bother someone else?"

"I don't have anyone else to bother. It beats being stuck inside until dinner." A pout formed on her face, puffing out her cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess." He downed half of his water, tossed her the bottle, and moved back to the track. She set the container next to their things and shifted her legs to a more comfortable position.

Desmond didn't stop after 5 laps. He didn't stop after 10 laps. Honestly, Lucy was surprised how long he kept running. She started keeping a tally next to the doodles in her notebook every time he passed by. He made it to the 13th lap before coming to a halt, and even then, he continued looping around the track as a cool down, passing her twice before collapsing on the ground next to her.

"Do you do this every day?" she asked, trying to keep the incredulousness out of her voice.

"No," he answered between long swigs of water. She watched his chest heave as he rested his head on his arm and reigned his heartrate back to normal. "About once a week."

"Why?"

"Dad wants me to." He snorted, rolling his head up to look at the sky. Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it.

"Why?" she asked again. He gave her an annoyed look.

"Why do you need to know? And why are you spying on me?" He stood up, stretching the muscles in his legs especially. "You kept looking at me all funny during the lessons."

Her cheeks burned. "No I didn't!"

"Yeah, you did."

"So!"

"So what?" Lucy didn't really notice it until now, but when he wasn't slouching in his chair during class, or slumping on his way somewhere, Desmond was a couple inches taller than her. With his arms crossed and an annoyed look decorating his face, it was easy to see how he and his father were related. He scoffed.

"Fine. Whatever." He gathered his things and travelled ten steps away from the tree before he turned around again. "It's almost dinner time. Are you coming or not?"

Lucy rubbed her eyes, finally noticing the pink hue the sky had taken on. Had they really been outside that long? She stood, brushing the dirt off of her shorts and trotting to catch up to the boy walking ahead of her.