The first opportunity to confront Mr. Solomon should have been at CovOps that morning, only he wasn't there. Instead, seated in front of us on the corner of the desk was just who I was looking for: Abby. My mouth gaped wide open when I walked through the door. Unfortunately, I was a little late to class that day, so there wasn't time to talk to her before class. All I could do was take my seat and watch with the rest of my class in confusion.

Abby cleared her throat a little and began, "Hey, girls. I'm not who you expected to see this morning, I know, but Mr. Solomon was feeling a little under the weather and asked me to fill in today."

A little under the weather? Since when was that an excuse for Mr. Solomon? And why was Abby even available to fill in for him? So many questions floated around in my head, and I knew nothing Abby said was the truth. Mr. Solomon was in no way sick, not after the perfectly normal condition I saw him in this morning. Abby wasn't a substitute teacher. And things were falling into place just a bit too perfectly for my liking.

"So, Mr. Solomon did plan a special treat for you girls today," she began with a cheery face and a mischievous grin. I didn't think we'd really like the treat all that much though. "Time for your final examinations."

The whole room started chirping. We'd all heard the rumors from past classes of seniors. One random day in CovOps, you'd have to take your final examinations whether you were ready or not. They consisted of practicals, lab work, written work, and oral examinations according to rumors, but no one really knew for sure. Without a passing performance, a spy diploma couldn't be given (though no one to date had failed, but there was always a first, right?) But not only did the scores matter for graduating, agencies also looked at the results to help select the top graduating agents. Basically, these were a huge deal to a Gallagher girl.

Mr. Smith walked into the room just after Abby's announcement. Normally, he would have buzzed with the opportunity to test our wit and skills in a test with huge stakes, but his face was tired and his eyes were dry. He'd been up all night, perhaps longer. His arms hung, no, drooped by his sides and swung without purposed as he moved. Mr. Smith was a tired, defeated man.

He whispered something in Abby's ear and pointed in my direction. Abby nodded and gulped before saying, "Cameron, you need to go with Mr. Smith now."

As I slowly left the room, my mind flew through the possibilities. It had to be huge or else I'd still be with my class preparing to take the essential final exams. The exams I needed to graduate and get a job. So something that would take me out of that must be huge. My first thought flickered to Mr. Solomon's absence. Did something happen to him? No, I'd seen him at breakfast; there couldn't possibly have been time for him to get wrapped up in anything big enough for me to miss my finals. I was, however, certain that wherever Mr. Smith was taking me, Mr. Solomon would be there.

We went all the way to the elevator at the end of the hall and went up to the atrium. He marched across the Hall of History with me leaping to keep up with his lanky gait. I knew exactly where we were headed. It was the place I'd been hundreds of times before, the place where I had so many memories, and the place I never wanted to step foot in again: my mother's office.

When we stepped inside, it wasn't anything like what I expected. There were files strewn across the floor and a crudely made hole in the wall. Mr. Solomon was sitting on the floor rummaging though the files- he was a man determined to find something.

It wasn't until Mr. Smith cleared his throat that Mr. Solomon looked up and said in the most cavalier manner, "Ah, there you are."

"Yep, why I am here?" I prodded. Nothing in the office seemed like a good enough reason for me not to be taking my exams now.

"Yes, of course. You're probably curious," he babbled. He had obviously been up all night as well. He rolled his neck and began, "Well, as you've realized, your aunt arrived last night with a rather urgent discovery. Before her capture, your mother had sent a message through to Abby's email. Only, the email was a dead drop your mother was supposed to give to a contact, and after the op went wrong, Abby saw no reason to check the email that never got delivered."

"And this relates to the hole in the wall how?" I interrupted.

He held up his hand and continued, "The email was coded. It's nothing we've ever seen before, and it might take some time to crack, but there was a line at the end that wasn't encrypted. It told us to look in her office. After searching all night through what was left in here, we noticed part of the wall was hallow. The wall easily busted open, and we pulled out all these files. We're hoping the code is in here somewhere."

"So why am I here?" I asked. This wasn't seeming like a reason to skip the final and most important tests I would ever take.

He tossed me a file and asked, "Notice anything?"

This was beginning to feel like a pop quiz from sophomore year, so I glanced over the page. I first noticed the typical CIA heading and seal, which was nothing abnormal, but I then noticed a clipping of a photograph which was of me. As I continued scanning, I realized the file was about me. "It's a CIA file about me?"

Mr. Solomon nodded and threw me another. It was the same but the heading read MI6. I looked back up, "Are these all about me too?"

He nodded and groaned as he stood up slowly. "They're all about you. It looks like your mother was keeping an eye on what agencies had on you. So why, then, would she point your aunt here?"

I shook my head. "Maybe she thought I'd know something? But I assure you I don't. She's never mentioned anything like this."

"Maybe not specifically, but you know here," he prodded. "What do you think this all means? What does this remind you of?"

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"I- I-" I shook my head. My mind reeled through memories at the speed of light. My entire life with my mom flashed before my eyes. I desperately reached out and tried to grab hold of a single memory, but I couldn't bring myself to stop on one- it was just too painful. "Nothing. I don't know."

He thrust a copy of the email at me. "Think, Cammie. Think."

I read it about fifty times. It was meaningless garbage. It didn't mean anything. "It's nothing. Maybe there's something else in these files..."

"No," Mr. Solomon said firmly. "They lead to you. What does this mean?"

"I-" I hesitated again. Nothing was adding up. Why would she leave such a vague message? How was I supposed to know what it meant? I must have read the gibberish of the email a thousand times before something hit me. The words on the page didn't matter. It was the shape. I'd see this shape before. I jerked my head up and looked at Mr. Solomon. "I know where the Circle is."