Hours later, in the dead of night, Esmeralda made her way to her room. She had no roommates to worry about, no friends who would've come knocking and noticed her missing. In this case, she was highly grateful for that, as this meant there would be none to witness the after effects of the weeping spell she'd indulged in. At the moment, her eyes were rimmed with red, her head throbbing. She despised crying. It had always seemed so weak and pointless to her. Just as the memories she carried of a man who was now dead were equally pointless. They were nothing but a burden, a weakness.
Because they were, as she lay in bed, she stared up at the dark ceiling, mentally sifting all her memories of her father-for those of her mother had been gone for some time-into one giant file. And then she pictured stuffing that file into a giant paper shredder. As the 'file' in her head was destroyed, she felt the familiar ache in her heart that always came with ripping a part of herself out, filling the hole it left with facts and lessons that would be useful to future missions. That was why she had her pictures. Memories could be easily disposed of, repressed until they were practically nonexistent. But should information pertaining to such a memory be necessary, all she had to do was look at a picture, and every memory, every bit of information on that particular subject would come flooding back. And if it hurt, just a bit, to lock it all away again afterwards, well…it was the path she'd chosen.
When she was satisfied that no memories of her father would come back to her without warning, she rolled onto her stomach, her favored sleeping position. Upon entering the room, she'd changed into her favored sleepwear, a tank top and a small pair of faded shorts. In private, she was all about comfort, and in her world, that was it. With her mind cleared, it took no effort to drop into sleep. She slept as silently as she moved, not moving a muscle or making a sound. If not for the slight rise and fall of her breathing, one might assume she was dead. Even in sleep, it seemed, she remained the Ghost.
But tonight, despite her efforts, she did not sleep peacefully. Images flashed in her head, not of her father, but of a strange, dangerous face dominated by piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right at her, right into her, seeing her in a way that no one had a right to. And when the stranger's lips curved into a smirk, his eyebrow quirking up a bit and his head tilting to the side, the three silver hoops in his left ear gleamed in the moonlight.
He reached out to her, running a finger boldly down her cheek, to the tip of her chin, where it lingered for a moment, tilting her face up. And all at once that touch became hard and hurtful, his hand gripping her chin painfully, hard enough to leave bruises. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in, his mouth next to her ear. And when he spoke, when he whispered in her ear, he said only 'Esmeralda.'
With a jolt, Esmeralda sprung up in bed, pushing herself up with her elbows since her face had been buried in the pillow. Her heart racing, she pulled in a quick, ragged breath, her gaze darting to every corner of the room. It had been real, so real. She could have sworn she'd felt the warmth of his breath in her ear, could swear her cheek still tingled where he'd touched it. Rubbing at her face, her gaze moved to the window, and she shivered a bit when she saw it open, the curtains fluttering a bit in the night breeze.
Cursing under her breath, she pushed out of bed, trudging over to the window and snapping it closed, drawing the curtains over it to block the moonlight that was making patterns on her floor. She often left it open during the day to keep the room from smelling musty. She'd obviously forgotten to close it after entering the room, that's all. It annoyed her that, even for an instant, she'd thought that the Creed recruiter might have tracked her down here. It was impossible. She was completely protected, her identity secure. There was no way some smug, earring-wearing bastard would ever be able to set foot inside the Academy, much less find his way in through a third story window.
Shaking her head, she flipped the lock on the window, running her hands through her long fall of thick, dark hair before she turned back to the bed. Perhaps if she'd noticed the fingerprint smudge on the other side of the window pane that night, she might not have gone back to sleep that night. But because she convinced herself she was simply paranoid and overtired, she wasn't quite as observant as she usually was.
But there was one person within the Academy who had never been more observant, more focused on their goal. After all, even one moment of a lapse in concentration could get you killed when you'd managed to sneak into one of the most guarded estates in the world. But it would be worth it, they knew. It would be so very, very worth it. And it would pay off very, very soon.