A brisk knock at the door stops my pacing in its tracks. I find myself standing at attention as familiar blue eyes greet my own, "Agent Townsend, or should I call you Uncle Edward?"

He grimaces, "Agent Townsend will be fine."

"Whatever you say Uncle Eddie," I tease.

"Miss Morgan." He warns as he drops a heavy file on the metal table.

I throw my hands up in mock surrender and plop myself down into the chair across from him, "Where's Zach?"

"In a debriefing of his own." Agent Townsend replies disinterestedly as he flips through the file placed before him. This simple gesture sends me back to a room not unlike this one, the same eyes staring me down as I attempted to defend my favorite teacher.

I shake my head to clear the reverie, "When can I see him?" I pester.

"When we're finished chatting." He answers through clenched teeth.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, "What do you want to know?"

"This file is a catalogue of threats against you, Miss Morgan."

I feel my mouth open slightly at this revelation, "Really?" I ask earnestly, "That's a bit thick for your average intelligence officer?" I gesture at the file that sits between us.

"Right, but you, Miss Morgan, are not the average intelligence officer."

"Average is overrated, right?" I attempt some light humor.

"Not in this case, its reached the point where there have been talks of pulling you from the field, permanently."

"Excuse me?" I push back from the table abruptly. "I've trained my whole life, literally, for this job! You can't just take it away because people want to kill me. That's not my fault!" I defend.

"We recognize that. But we have to consider the safety of you and other agents." Townsend explains, in an eerily calm voice.

I shake my head in disbelief.

"There is another alternative,"

"What!?" I demand as I launch all my hopes on this illusive alternative solution.

Townsend starts, "It involves a fishing metaphor, which I loathe, but,"

I cut him off, "just tell me!"

"In short, you'll be used as bait. We'll place you in an unsecure location and get the word out as surreptitiously as possible. Then we'll wait for the threats to come to you."

I fall back against the back of my chair as I absorb this alternative which sounds marginally better than final exams week at the Gallagher Academy, "I'll do it."

Townsend nods with a knowing smile as he slaps my file shut, somehow standing up from the table without his chair making a sound on the concrete.

"Is that it?" I call to his retreating figure.

He turns around with a sigh, "That will be all for now, but Miss Morgan do heed the advice of your security detail until we put this operation in motion. Whether you are willing to accept it or not, you are very much in danger."

The door clicks behind him as I grip the table with white knuckles, wishing for some reprieve from this life of secrets and danger but recognizing that in the end I would always choose it over everything else.

I emerge from the interrogation room and grab my coat from an outstretched hand, not taking the time to register the face as I search the room for Zach.

My search is interrupted by a familiar voice, "Really Chameleon, not even a hello from your old mate?"

I whirl around, "Bex!"

"Hey, Cammie!" She greets as she wraps me in a typical too tight hug that threatens to crush my ribs.
"When did you get here?" I ask as we break apart.

"About 20 minutes ago, I left as soon as Grant called, we were supposed to meet at the airport."

"Ah, sorry about that. Have you already seen him?" I ask with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, a bit of my old high-school-self breaking through.

"Yes, we've already connected." Bex confirms with an uncharacteristic blush.

Remembering my initial concern, "Have you seen Zach?"

"No, Grant said it shouldn't be much longer though."

I nod and wrap my hands tightly around my coat, anxious feelings rising up again, "They want to set me up as bait."

Bex's face fills with concern, "Do you really think that's the best idea?"

"It feels like the best option, I don't want to work a desk the rest of my life. I'm only 25, it's too soon to be considering retirement or teaching." I explain with a shrug of my shoulders.

Bex nods stoically and wraps an arm around my shoulders as she leads me deeper into the belly of the substation, "Come on, I know where they keep the good coffee."