Esmeralda gulped down water from one of the many bottles she kept around, letting the water from the shower beat down on her back at the same time. Multi-tasking, in her opinion, was a form of art, and she was a master. She'd returned from a session with Mr. Solomon minutes ago, with the sun just beginning to set. There had been no mission today, only strict physical training that had stretched her lean muscles and tested her endurance.
She was, much to her and Mr. Solomon's satisfaction, quite physically fit. If there was one thing Esmeralda understood completely, it was discipline. Nowhere was this more evident than when it came to her own body maintenance. She exercised and worked out religiously, though not so much that it became a pattern-patterns and predictability went hand in hand, after all-and made a point of eating right and keeping her mind stimulated. All that, added to a natural metabolism, made for an ideal body for an agent who was constantly on the move.
Tossing the empty water bottle out of the shower, she stretched that body beneath the beating spray, the searing hot water steaming up the tiny bathroom. Any fatigue drained away with the water, and she tilted her head back, letting the water hit her face, washing away dirt and sweat and grime. She was due back in Mr. Solomon's office in an hour for a briefing of a new extra credit assignment. But that was in an hour, and right now she was content to linger beneath the spray, her skin warm and wonderfully clean. Not something she took for granted, seeing as she'd spent many a day and night with her skin dotted with anything from dust and dirt to sewer water and blood.
When she finally reluctantly stepped out of the shower, she made quick work of drying her hair, pinning it back as she dressed. Seeing as she was going out on a mission tonight-for Mr. Solomon had already assured her it would be tonight-she wore not her uniform, but her street clothes. Bleached blue jeans almost white at the stress points were pulled on, along with reliable, off brand sneakers and a faded pine green tee shirt. Her hair tied back, she dumped her dirty clothes in the hamper, stretching her arms above her head in the middle of her room.
Yawning once, she turned towards the door, and then stopped when she spotted the glint of metal on her desk. Frowning, she strode over, picked up a Spanish gold coin, and that frown deepened. This was from her chamber beneath the school. Had she picked it up, as she did from time to time, and accidentally taken it with her? Annoyed that she'd apparently slipped up again-this wasn't like her-she pocketed the coin, deciding to put it back in its rightful place before going to see Mr. Solomon.
Sighing, she went about the not-so-complicated task of moving unnoticed through the halls, once again slipping through the secret passageway without alerting anyone. Her warm skin chilled a bit in the cool tunnel, had her slipping her hands in her pockets as she strolled through the pitch black, relying on memory. As she pulled open the heavy door to the chamber, she slipped the Spanish coin into her hand, shaking her head as she flipped on the single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
But even as she shut the door behind her, she knew it was wrong. It was all wrong. But her hand had just started to wrap around the handle of the blade she always carried at her side when she felt another blade at her own throat, the cool metal heating against her flesh as a single drop of blood ran down the side of her neck.
And as she stared into the face from her dreams, from her nightmares, she almost laughed. So, she wasn't paranoid after all. That was the last thought she had before something smashed hard into the side of her head. The last thing she saw before everything went black again was the glint of the light off of three silver hoop earrings, and a smug, triumphant grin.