Maine. Washington. No big difference, and no real loss. Wherever she was, she was never home, so as long as she was bound to this system, she would go where she was told, all while grinning and bearing it. The SEA would go through soon, and then—well, then she could do as she pleased. Ideally. It wasn’t like she had a criminal record to contend with, after all.
The transport van pulled into the Washington compound late in the afternoon. She was looking forward to getting out and stretching her legs—the drive had been way too long—and she prayed that the meet and greet introductions would be brief, if not non-existent. Imagining several more hours listening to some suit drone on and on about the rules and regulations of the Washington barracks sounded like an abysmal way to end an already long and tedious day.
Finally, the van backed up in the transport bay. The door was opened for her, and when Jade stepped out, she came face-to-face with Lucas Frost.
A shudder ran down her spine and her hands instinctively balled into fists. This fucking guy. And his stupid, forced, guilty grin.
Jade barely even heard the words that came out of his mouth. It was white noise, drowned out by the siren blaring in her head. “You’re my Handler?” She finally managed, her tone deadpan. “I guess the universe does have a sense of humour.”