Soul did eventually manage to find his way to the mess hall just in time to grab dinner and wolf it down before all recruits had to retreat to their rooms for the night. In truth, the limited time frame was a blessing, because the food on the tray given to him was pretty much unidentifiable, and eating quickly without stopping to examine what he was putting in his mouth was really the only way to get any of it down.

Finding his room wasn't nearly as much of a trial, as the whole group was shepherded to the residence halls. Nameplates screwed into the wall beside each door announced who would be residing there. Soul shared a room with a quiet recruit named Harvar, who didn't seem inclined to talking at all as they both prepared for bed. In a way, Soul was grateful for the quiet, because he wasn't feeling up to maintaining any kind of conversation. The day had been incredibly long, and if Spirit was to be believed, it would only get harder from then on. Part of Soul embraced the challenge, but another wondered quietly if this would be worth it in the end. He had enrolled to find answers about his brother, after all. Who was to say he would even get them by the time this was all over?

His chest tightened as he thought it, but he quickly banished the doubt away. Even if no one here wanted to give him answers, Soul was perfectly capable of finding them himself. After all, here he was in the belly of the metaphorical beast - there was nothing to stop him from doing a little snooping.

Well, the instructors could, but he didn't exactly deserve to be here if he couldn't evade them, right?

So Soul fell asleep clinging to his new resolve… which proved much harder to hold onto when someone began pounding on their door at some ungodly hour the next morning.

"Everyone up, dressed, and in the hall in five minutes," an unfamiliar voice bellowed, fading slightly as its owner moved on to the next door. Slowly, the hall came to life as its occupants left the relative comfort of their beds and prepared for the day at varying speeds. It hadn't been specified, but Soul assumed they were to don the clothes that had been found neatly folded at the foot of their beds the previous night, as it appeared to be a uniform of sorts. Soul and Harvar both donned the brown cargo pants and dark long-sleeved shirts and filed out into the hall, when Soul was thankful to see that everyone else had done the same. He was less thankful to find that most of the recruits did not look nearly as tired as he felt. As they followed their instructor for the day through the facility, Soul did his best to rub the gritty sleep from his eyes and shake his limbs out to remove any lingering drowsiness. He was only partially successful.

Their class was led outside to the forest bordering the back of the building, and though it was still dark out, Soul could make out the trailhead they gathered around and the faint running trail that snaked through the trees.

A morning run. Of course.

Their instructor, a burly black man with braids, turned to face the group and crossed his arms. "You'll start every morning with a trail run in order to build your endurance. While you won't be timed per se, it will be expected that you improve during your stay here." From the stern gaze he gave them, it was clear that the instructors would know if they didn't. "After you've finished, you're to come to the gym for your introduction on hand-to-hand combat."

Some nodded, but most just kept staring at the instructor. After a few moments of silence, he raised an eyebrow. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

With that, everyone surged forward, some darting through the pack to try and start their run in the front. Soul rolled his eyes. It wasn't a race, so what did it matter if you finished first?

Still, no one wanted to be last, and Soul himself put a little extra speed on so he wasn't the last one onto the trail. If it was to be called that - sometimes the path was so obscure Soul was left to wonder whether he was even going the right way at all. At the very least, he took comfort that if he was going the wrong way, everyone else was too.

Now, Soul wasn't a huge fan of running, but he had to admit that if this was to be a part of their training, it was nicer to do a trail run than simply do laps on a track. It made what Soul had always considered a monotonous activity a bit more interesting. Although, sometimes it was hard to think that when he was cursing out a tree root after nearly rolling an ankle.

A huff of laughter drifted his way as he regained his footing, and he looked to see the blue-haired recruit from the bus drifting back towards him, running backwards and looking entirely too at ease with himself. "Having trouble?" he asked, grinning widely.

"Showboat," Soul mumbled, but with the physical exertion, the insult came out more like a wheeze than anything else. Infuriatingly, the other recruit took it all in stride and turned around in one smooth motion, looking more graceful than he had any right to be.

"Won't get anywhere with that pace," the recruit said. He winked before taking off.

Soul muttered a few more choice words, but maintained his speed. If they were truly learning combat after this, the last thing Soul wanted to do was burn himself out.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as they emerged from the forest, collecting in a little cleared nestled next to the opposite side of the building from where they started. Soul wasn't sure how far they'd run, but seeing as they would have to make the same journey each and every day, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

His chest heaved as he gulped down air, and to his mixed satisfaction and chagrin, there were those present in the class who did the same, and those who looked completely unruffled, as though the several miles they'd run had been a mere warm-up. Which he supposed they had, considering day was just technically breaking.

Nygus met them by a side door and without a word led them inside and down another confusing series of halls. Soul did his best to keep track of the layout. Finally they reached a large, open room enclosed by clear glass walls. Inside was a gym, complete with mats covering the entire floor, several rows of punching bags, and even a small boxing ring tucked into a corner. Soul saw Kilik light up a little as he took in the room, and knew of at least one recruit that would excel in that morning's sessions. Some others also looked confident, while a few like Soul eyed the equipment warily.

The bulky instructor from that morning stood near the front of the room, arms crossed as he waited for everyone to fill the open space in front of him. To his right stood another instructor, burly and ruddy-faced, with pale hair and bushy eyebrows that made him look perpetually grumpy. Or that could have been just his face.

As they settled down, the instructor on the right spoke up. "Welcome to your first combat session. My name is Sid; this is Barton." He gestured to the angry man beside him. "We'll be supervising you throughout your time here, though we won't be the only ones. Our job is to show you how to hold your own in a fight, should you encounter one, and more importantly, how to walk away from one."

"We're well aware some of you aren't as versed in the art of combat," Barton interjected, looking none-too-pleased about it. "And so we'll be starting off with the basics."

One recruit near the back scoffed. "What if we already know what we're doing?"

Sid answered in a mild tone. "You're free to sit off to the side for the introduction if you'd like." It was clear that this was not really a viable option. The recruit who spoke up seemed to get the message and merely nodded meekly.

"As we were saying," Barton continued, "we'll go over the basics and then put you in pairs to practice sparring. Throughout our sessions we'll be switching up partners and assessing how your skills improve over time. So I suggest you listen to what we have to say, even if you think you know what you're doing."

Some recruits had the gall to look a little insulted, but some, like Kilik, only nodded in understanding. Soul, who didn't exactly have a background in any kind of fighting, was only too happy to take whatever critique they would decide to give them.

Sid directed them to the rows of punching bags, where they wrapped their wrists before taking their places behind them. The instructors then walked them through the basics of how to throw a punch correctly, how to distribute their weight, and introduced combinations of blows using their hands, elbows, and occasionally their knees and feet. He hadn't been expecting it, but Soul found the rhythm of punching against the canvas bag almost soothing, the heavy impact against his knuckles cathartic in a bizarre fashion. However, it was also tiring work, and at the end of the introductory session, Soul was covered in sweat and aching from the tips of this fingers all the way down his back.

"Jesus Christ, how did you do this for a living?" Soul threw himself to the ground next to one of several benches set along the glass walls, taking a provided water bottle and sucking down the contents.

Kilik, who had followed him, only grinned. "Isn't it awesome?"

"I'm dying," was Soul's only response.

A rowdy group of recruits made their way across the gym, and Soul caught their conversation as they passed them. "You know they're only doing this stupid intro because they got a little too eager with their recruitment," one of them was saying loudly, eyeing Soul as he did so. He wouldn't have looked out of place in an army recruitment office, what with the muscled build and buzzed haircut, with the exception of the unpleasant set to his features. "Inviting all these analysts and computer programmers in - what do they expect? They're supposed to stay behind a desk anyway; I won't be surprised to see them all gone before the week's over." He met Soul's gaze directly as he said it, but Soul didn't react beyond raising an eyebrow. The recruit rolled his eyes and continued on, his crowd of listeners following close behind.

"Please tell me we're doing something that is not physical activity this afternoon," Soul said after they'd left.

"Yeah, but I don't know what it is," Kilik answered.

"I'll take anything." He tried not to, but he did end up watching the group who'd passed by them again as they left. It didn't bother him, not really, but at the same time he desperately wanted show them up, to shove it in their faces and say, "See, there are plenty of things other people are better at than you," just so he would know what it felt like.

Careful, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. Remember what you're here for.

Still, he couldn't help the small surge of glee when the classroom they walked into after lunch turned out to be a computer lab. He barely resisted the urge to crack his knuckles.

Stein stood at the front of the room, his eyes hidden behind the glare sparking off the lenses of his glasses. "You've been introduced to hand-to-hand combat this morning," he said, and though his tone was quiet, he instantly had the ear of the entire room. "However, physical confrontation will often be the very last resort during a mission. The true goal of any intelligence agent is just that: intelligence. Usually, the target has to remain alive and conscious to provide you with it." He said this last in a dry tone, leaving most to wonder if he was trying to make a joke. No one laughed. "Spies live and breathe on intelligence - who has it, who doesn't, who's willing to give it up, who isn't. Finding out what you need is a crucial skill any successful agent has."

He took a few steps forward and laid a hand across the top of a computer in the first row. "How you obtain that information can vary, but one useful method is by computer. Now, all of you have experience using these, but some have much more skill than others. If this is the case for you, I recommend practice."

Stein turned around and pulled a remote from his pocket. He clicked a button and the screen at the front of the room blinked to life. On it was a picture of a woman with black hair wearing sunglasses. A short, bulleted list of information followed it.

"You've received intelligence that this woman is planning to sell weapons to a militant group whose goal is to attack a major urban city. Your goal is to find the woman." He gestured to the screens in front of them. "Wake up your computers."

Soul tapped his spacebar. The revolving Shibusen symbol that had served as a screensaver vanished to reveal an unfamiliar database. "This is an agency database used to store information we receive. You'll use it to identify and locate this woman. The database will do most of the work for you - your goal is to identify patterns and piece together what is relevant to your search, and what is not."

Stein paused, then leveled the group with a hard stare. Soul couldn't help but feel that the following would be addressed to him. "To be clear, this database had been carefully constructed to fit the parameters of this assignment. So if you're tempted to try and research something unrelated to the exercise, don't. You won't find anything."

The plan Soul had been forming in the back of his mind quickly died. Well, it had been worth a thought.

A recruit near the front of the room raised his hand. "Sir? I thought the CIA had analysts who do this sort of thing."

Stein nodded. "We do. But say you've been tasked with infiltrating the home of a suspect and need to pull very specific information off their computer. Are you going to ring up an analyst and ask them to do it for you?"

"Point taken, sir."

Stein nodded. "Finding the one good piece of information in a pile of meaningless data may seem trivial, but can often mean the difference between acting in time and missing a threat entirely. You'll have an hour to go through the database and determine the location of your target. At the end, you'll each give your answers, and we'll see which of you have managed to sort the valid from the fictional. So," - he rubbed his hands together - "let's see what you can do."

The room filled with the chaos of typing. Soul pounced on the keys, opening the database and poring through just to get an idea of what he had to work with. Data skimming wasn't hard. It took him a few minutes to whip up a rudimentary algorithm and soon he had it combing through the database to find what he needed based on the list Stein had provided. Every so often, it would pull a piece of information that Soul set aside to be analyzed once the program was finished.

He tapped his fingers in a staccato against the desk, every so often sneaking a glance at those around them to judge his progress. He was confident that he would be among those who found the right location.

The thought made him pause. The exercise wasn't about speed, but precision. At the end of the session, it was likely that more than one would be right. In this assignment, there would be no first place.

...But what if there was? What if he managed to be the only one to successfully complete the exercise? That would make him stand out a little more, and considering the physical aspect of training, Soul wasn't confident in his ability to excel there. So if there was a way to boost his standing while he could, shouldn't he take it?

Soul dove back into his algorithm and made a few key tweaks - every time it pulled information related to the parameters he'd set, it would adjust the corresponding entry in the database. Whoever accessed the information would find something slightly different than Soul had, subsequently altering their answers. Small changes, but that was all it took when connecting patterns like this.

As his program ran, Soul began working with the information he already had, adding in whatever bits and pieces popped up along the way. It was challenging, like working with a jigsaw puzzle where you didn't entirely know what the big picture was at the end. Some information contradicted others, and though the work was frustrating and difficult, a picture did begin to emerge.

Soul was just scrambling to double check that his conclusion lined up with all the entries he'd pulled when Stein cleared his throat. "That would be time," he said, and though a few recruits looked rather unhappy that it was, no one dared voice any sound of frustration. "Let's see what you have."

One by one they began presenting their answers, and it was with no small sense of satisfaction that Soul listened to incorrect guess after incorrect guess. When Soul's turn came, he said, "She's at the Grand Plaza hotel in Tripoli, sir." Stein nodded, but said nothing as he had before.

When the room had finished, Stein regarded them for a long moment. "Interesting," he said finally. He went to an empty computer on the first row, typed a few things on the keyboard, and read the text that appeared onscreen. He nodded to himself, then straightened. "Normally, many more people succeed in this task than have done so today. Mr. Evans," he said. Soul straightened up at the tone. "You were the only one to correctly identify the target's location. Would you like to explain how you did so to the class?"

Something in his tone didn't sit right with Soul, but it wasn't like he could avoid answering. "Well, sir, I designed an algorithm based on the information you provided, and from the entries it pulled, I-"

Stein interrupted him. "Let me rephrase. Would you explain to the class how you kept them from coming to the correct answer?"

The class stirred, some sending him dirty looks while others whispered to each other. Soul refused to be cowed, and met Stein's critical gaze head-on. "Sir, isn't it true that sometimes other parties will also be looking for the information you are? It's important to get it right, yeah, but shouldn't you also take measures to prevent those other parties from obtaining the information as well? And," he added, "you never said we couldn't use all of the skills at our disposal."

The angry buzz in the room picked up a notch. Stein regarded him for a long moment. "That is technically correct," he said. "On both counts. So, Mr. Evans, you are the sole owner of the information on the woman the CIA is seeking. But," - he formed a gun with his fingers and leveled it at Soul - "say you're killed trying to leave with that information." He pressed his thumb down to mime the pulling of the trigger. "Now you've burned down the only access the agency had to that information."

Soul's cheeks flushed a deep pink. He'd been so determined to prove himself and his skills, he hadn't considered alternate implications to his actions.

"That," Stein continued, "and you've likely successfully alienated any potential allies you might have formed here."

Sure enough, no one else in the room looked particularly happy with Soul. Even Kilik looked mildly disgruntled, and Soul had to admit, were he in another's shoes, he'd absolutely agree that what he'd done was a dick move. He hadn't planned on making any bosom friends while he was here, but now that he'd burned those bridges to the ground, he began to wonder if the decision had really been a good one.

"So, Mr. Evans, you have your information. I wonder, then, if it was worth it?"


Soul's stunt in the computer lab certainly didn't endear him to anybody. Throughout the next week, no one went out of their way to talk to him, and though Kilik wasn't entirely unfriendly, he didn't make any further overtures of friendship. Soul was tempted to say this was likely how training went anyway, with everyone keeping a wary distance, and while it was certainly true that no particularly close bonds were formed, there were groups of recruits that were on friendly terms.

Soul, it went without saying, did not belong to those groups.

He never let it bother him, because that had never been his goal here - do well, and find your answers. That was what Stein had promised him.

It was easier said than done.

Sure, computer lab was laughably easy, and he was practiced enough at reading people and lying. The real difficulty was, predictably, the physical tests.

Specifically, combat.

It was all well and good to beat a punching bag all day, and Soul was reasonably confident that should he encounter a heavy bag of sand in a dark alley, he could take it in a fight. The issue was translating the techniques to a sparring match.

The first week they'd all drilled on punch combinations until Soul could do them by instinct, his body moving without needing his mind to direct it. He'd even felt pretty good about it… at least, until he'd bothered to take a step back and watch some of those around him.

His confidence quickly deflated as he took in the other recruits, most having trained in combat before they'd even arrived. It had sunk in then, how unnecessary that first week had been. And Soul was still that far behind.

His confidence certainly didn't build any when Sid announced at the beginning of the second week that since they all knew the basics now, they'd be transitioning into sparring matches. Soul's stomach dropped to the vicinity of his feet, and he did his best to hide behind a larger recruit, as though that would keep him from having to participate. He edged from foot to foot as Barton read off the pairings, hoping against hope that he might be partnered with someone like Kilik - because though Soul knew he wasn't Kilik's favorite person, he'd at least be fair when sparring.

One name in particular caught his attention. "Albarn, Maka with Barrett, Blake."

The blue-haired recruit pumped his fist. "Fuckin' sweet," he crowed. He bounced on the balls of his feet with such unrestrained energy that Soul grew tired just watching him.

"Wonderful," Maka said in a deadpan. She looked to Sid. "You did this on purpose, didn't you."

Sid focused relentlessly on the clipboard in his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but something told Soul that wasn't even remotely true.

"Of course you don't." Maka gave Blake an exasperated look, but couldn't hide the challenging gleam in her eye. "You look awfully excited to have your ass handed to you this early in the morning."

Blake only laughed. "Just looking forward to showing the plebs how it's done." They made their way over to one of the mats, and for a moment, Soul was tempted to ask if he could skip the sparring thing and just watch them duke it out, because there was no way in hell the match could ever be described as boring.

Barton's voice provided a sharp yank back to reality. "Evans, Soul with Cole, Peter."

Soul didn't know Cole well, but what he'd discerned throughout the previous week wasn't giving him any kind of hope. He did well in combat, performing every training exercise with a sneer that suggested exactly what he thought about having to dip back into introductory lessons. Arms corded with muscle crossed over a beefy chest, and he sneered Soul's way. "The fuck kind of a name is Soul?"

Ah, yes. What a refreshing insult. Certainly something he'd never heard before in his life. Ever.

The day got even better as Soul made his way over to his new partner. "Oh, fuckin' A," Cole groaned. "I get the twig."

Privately, Soul wondered if he shouldn't perhaps be celebrating that he'd ended up with one of the weaker recruits, but of course didn't say it aloud.

"Yeah, because I'm thrilled to get stuck with G.I. Joe," Soul shot back with a scowl.

They might have remained standing there for the rest of the morning, trading barbs back in forth, were it not for Sid clearing his throat. "If you'd find your way to a mat…"

Cole turned and walked off, not waiting to see if Soul would follow. When they reached one of the few open mats left, Cole sank into a fighting stance, looking so comfortable that Soul wondered if it would be worth petitioning for a reassignment. "Let's get one thing straight," he growled. "I'm not letting you off easy just 'cause you don't know shit."

"Color me shocked," Soul said dryly, bending his knees as he tried - and probably failed - to emulate Cole's positioning. "I always took you for a bitch slap kind of guy-"

Something solid collided with the left side of Soul's face, snapping his head around, his torso following after. The next thing he registered was his cheek on the floor and a sideways view of the room. His ear rang loudly, almost drowning out the wet thud of his heartbeat.

"Well done," someone said, their voice faint and muted. Soul peeled his face off the floor with effort and saw Barton standing above him, looking pleased. "It's good to strike when your opponent isn't paying attention." He leveled a withering stare at Soul, which he took to mean as Hey fuckhead, pay attention.

Soul didn't think it would be wise to mention that he had been. Cole had just moved faster than he'd been able to track, Which didn't bode well for the rest of their two-hour training session.

With great effort, Barton added, "Watch for a shifting of weight - that'll indicate where a blow might originate from." He turned and left before Soul could acknowledge the critique.

Cole watched him without sympathy. "Are you gonna get up, or spend the whole morning down there?"

Soul made a face, winced at the movement, then pushed himself back to standing. Looking back, he probably should have just answered "yes" to the question, because the floor was indeed where he spent the majority of the morning. By the time Sid blew the whistle to signal the end of training, Soul was very sure his body was composed of more bruises than not.

He walked tenderly towards the provided water cooler, each step sending jolts of pain through his limbs. Soul imagined this is what tenderized meat had to feel like.

"Whoa, you don't look so good." Blake bounded up to him, and thought he was soaked in sweat, his energy hadn't diminished in the slightest. e sported a bright pink cheek that would certainly bruise tomorrow, but Soul had a feeling it wouldn't look nearly as vivid.

Irritation boiled up suddenly and spilled over. "Speak for yourself," he snapped, snatching up a water bottle and silently cursing himself for the jerky movement.

Blake was unfazed. "Look, man, if you're having trouble or whatever-"

"I don't need your help; I can do just fine on my own." But Soul couldn't look him in the eye.

Blake was uncharacteristically quiet (at least, as best as Soul could tell), then snorted. "Okay, dude, whatever." He slung a towel over his shoulder and joined the recruits making their way to the showers, calling out for someone as he went.

Soul's chest tightened in discomfort as he watched Blake jog away, but he brushed it aside quickly. He'd only been assigned a bad partner, he told himself. Some extra dedication and a new partnership and he'd get the hang of it. He would.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

...Either that, or Cole had done more damage than originally thought.


Despite Soul's resolution, doubt invaded the back of his mind and cast a pall over his thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. Though none of the instructors ever let slip any kind of indication of their standing, Soul wasn't an idiot. He knew he wasn't doing well, and despite what he'd told Blake that morning, he was beginning to question whether he'd ever be able to make up the gap on his own. His chest tightened at the thought. Soul had come here for one clear reason, and it was starting to look like he wouldn't be able to remain to see it through.

Stein never really promised you answers, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. Just the opportunity to find them.

A quiet hope sparked to life. Who said he had to rely on Stein? He'd gotten himself here, hadn't he? To a facility with direct access to CIA databases, no less. The information within might not have been made publicly available to recruits, but that had never stopped him before.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Why should he wait on the whims of an instructor who might never feel obliged to reveal what he knew, especially when Soul had all the skills he needed to find the information himself?

Resolve strengthened, he let the day pass in an impatient blur, anxious for curfew to arrive. He waited a good hour or so after lights were out and the clatter of getting ready for bed ceased before easing out of bed and silently pressing bare feet to the cold floor. After double checking to make sure Harvar was sound asleep, he crept outside, slipping his shoes on only once he was in the hall.

The hallways were blessedly empty, and Soul only took one wrong turn on his way to the computer lab. The door was locked, but he'd anticipated that. He pulled a plastic case from his pocket and selected two thin metal tools. He slipped them in the lock and began fiddling with them, thanking both that one weekend he'd procrastinated studying for a final by teaching himself lockpicking off Youtube, and that the classroom where they stored the various gadgetry they might use as agents also carried a lockpicking kit.

Of course, Soul was no expert on the subject, so it took several minutes and a few mumbled curses before the lock clicked and the door could open. Soul gave a satisfied little smile as he tucked the case back into his pocket.

The lab was dark, lit only by the rows of slumbering computers. He decided to keep the overhead lights off to avoid alerting anyone passing by with the glow underneath the door. The light from the screens would be enough. Soul picked one at random, sliding into the seat and tapping the spacebar to awaken the machine.

The screensaver cleared, revealing a plain desktop. Soul didn't bother trying to access the database from last week's session, and it only held what it had been designed to. Instead, Soul pulled out a scratched-up red USB drive from his other pocket and plugged it in. He opened it, revealing a list of programs he'd created and compiled in the years he'd spent searching for his brother. He clicked on one titled "Rootkit" and launched it.

The program was designed to give him admin level access to the system, along with all the advantages with it, and no one would be any the wiser.

It wasn't too long before Soul was staring at the cursor blinking the in the search field of the CIA database, waiting for him to input the keywords that might fill that hole he'd carried with him for years.

It could tell you he's dead. Just because he joined doesn't mean he's still out there somewhere.

But he would know. Even if the news was terrible, even if reality was completely indifferent to what he found here, it would be worlds better than the uncertainty he had.

So Soul typed in his brother's name and hit enter.

If he'd hoped for a simple task, he was to be disappointed. It was as if the agency decided to scramble up everything they even put in their encoded database, because Soul still had to piece together cryptic entries, some of which looked entirely irrelevant. Sometimes entire pieces would be missing from the search results, leaving him to go digging through folder after folder to find it.

He grit his teeth in frustration, but bore it, if only because he was that much more closer. Every time he saw his brother's name, or his initials, new information about his brother came with it. Tidbits from his recruitment file, transcripts from a polygraph - a picture of his brother was emerging, and Soul barely even recognized it.

The Wes he'd known had been polished, charming, and self-effacing despite their parents' attention. He'd only shot a gun when their mother had dragged him skeet shooting, and he'd have rather played on his Stradivarius than interrogate someone.

At least, Soul had thought so.

The profile he'd begun to build sucked him in completely, rendering him entirely unobservant to his surroundings. As a result, he missed the soft footsteps of someone entering the lab and approaching him from behind.

"Try 'Recruitment Records'" came a soft voice from behind him.

Soul started so hard it was a miracle he didn't lose his seat. He whipped his head around to find Maka watching him innocently. "Jesus fucking Christ," he hissed, clutching his chest as though he could will his heartbeat down to a resting pace. "What are you doing here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? I'm not the one that snuck into the computer lab after curfew."

"Well, I mean, you are too now. Technically."

A corner of her mouth turned up.

His heartbeat began to drop to normal, and the first thing she'd said to him finally registered. "Recruitment Records, huh?" He clicked on the folder and scanned its contents. Recruiting classes were listed by year, along with every recruit in the class. "How'd you know that?"

Maka shrugged. "If you're looking for someone, it's probably easier to start with the beginning."

Soul might have taken her answer at face value, but something in her voice seemed off. He watched her a little more closely, picking up tiny details: she wouldn't look him in the eye, her fingers played with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt, and a little crease had appeared between her brows. She was hiding something.

"You sound awfully sure about it."

Her tone grew sharp. "It's just a suggestion. You don't have to take it."

The realization hit him quickly, and though he wasn't entirely sure his hunch was correct, he went with it anyway. "You've done this before."

Her shoulders dropped from her ears. "I might have gone digging for someone's records before."

"Your dad's? I'd be more than a little interested to see what might be in the head instructor's file."

If she was surprised that Soul had pieced together her and Spirit's relationship, she didn't show it. "Yep, that was it. Wanted to find the skeletons in his closet."

Her answer came far too quickly for that to be the truth. "Okay, now I know that's not it." He ignored her irritated huff and turned back to the computer, quickly typing in Maka's surname into the search bar. He excluded her own files, as well as her files. Surprisingly, the list of results remained substantial. Soul found a recruitment file dated around the same time as Spirit's and opened it.

A page of text filled the screen, but Soul's attention was on the color photograph in the corner. An angular face met his stare with green eyes the exact shade of Maka's. Thin brown hair tumbled past her shoulders. There was no mistaking her relation.

He looked back at Maka, but found her lost in the photograph. Her breath had caught, and for a moment, Soul felt a little guilty for dredging up something that was obviously a sore spot for her.

"You were looking for her, weren't you?" he asked softly.

Maka only nodded, gaze still locked on her mother's image.

The next few moments played out clearly in his head. He could apologize, clear out of the database, and they could leave the encounter behind like nothing more than a bad dream. Or…

Soul minimized the file and brought up one that was strikingly similar, save for the picture. "Join the club," he said softly.

She might have had an inkling from watching over her shoulder before, but she clearly hadn't been expecting him to confirm it so baldly. She looked between him and the picture a couple of times, then said, "I can see the resemblance."

"Ditto."

She pulled out the chair next to him and took a seat. "What happened?"

Soul related what little he knew, from his brother's sudden absences and excuses to the accident that didn't add up and concluding with Stein's visit and offer. She frowned as he mentioned the redacted page he'd pieced together from the USB drive. "If he's a NOC," she said, "you won't be able to find anything on him very easily. They wipe most of your records out once you're assigned a non-official cover. At least, until your assignment is over."

Soul sucked on a tooth. "I was worried about that. Is that what happened with your mom?"

Maka tensed, but he could see her force herself to relax and answer. "I'm not sure. All my father told me was that she went MIA about ten years ago. Since then she's been presumed dead. I wondered if maybe she was a NOC back then, but he won't tell me."

"Is that why he didn't want you to come here?"

She shot him a sideways look. "Nosy, aren't we?"

Soul shrugged. "Am I not supposed to listen in on one of my instructors having an argument at spy school?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you must know, that's a part of it, yes."

"But you're here now."

"Clearly."

"To try and find her?"

Her glare was icy, but Soul didn't back down. It softened just a little as she said, "Looks like I'm not alone in my motivation."

Soul didn't answer, but he didn't really have to. As he went back to combing through the database, with Maka now looking over his shoulder, he considered this new information. Here he'd been, barreling through training with his blinders on, so determined to fulfill his one goal. The last thing he'd expected was to encounter someone here for the same reasons. He'd known Maka was determined, had seen that fiery spark in her eyes from the beginning. He wondered if someone might notice the same in his own, and doubted it.

Maybe he could learn from her, if she let him. Maybe they'd both find the answers they were looking for.