It is our little joke, my quickness. Because I’m fast—faster than any other Bellator. I return his smile, but barely. My thoughts lie elsewhere.

He takes a vial out of the glass cabinet, stabs the needle into the lid, and drains out the medicine. “So do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

I scratch at my arm, wanting to tell him, but knowing I won’t. “Nothing really. I just ran into a couple of vampires, but I managed to escape.” This is as far as I go with the story. Any more truth and my tongue will start to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to go out so close to night.” He flicks the needle, his fingers shaking with age. “If it wouldn’t have been an emergency, I wouldn’t have asked you to go.”

I glance over at Maci. “I know.”

“You didn’t tell anyone I sent you out so late, did  you?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I sure hope so,” he mutters. He wipes my upper arm with alcohol and points the needle at it. “You know, you can tell me if something else happened? You know that, right?” He says, but he’s scared I actually will.

“Nothing else happened,” I say. “I promise.”

Monarch nods, looking relieved.  “Good, I’m glad it went well. Sometimes I feel guilty for having to send you out.” He sinks the needle into my arm.

“You don’t need to feel guilty. It’s what I was chosen to do, right?” My blood burns, my head sings, and the tile floor starts to sparkle. I lie down until my head stops humming an unknown tune. “Did a Higher come in here today with Bernard?”

Monarch tenses, his heart rate quickening.  “You shouldn’t be asking those kinds of questions, Kayla.”

“I know,” I say, unsure of why I asked it. “Sorry, it was a momentarily slip up. I promise it won’t happen again.” Another lie. I know it; he knows it.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he replies tensely. “You need to be more careful.”

“Have I?” I flop my hand over my forehead and block out the light.  “So did something happen to Bernard? Was he punished?”

A shatter ripples the air. “I think you should go, Kayla.”

I sit up. Broken glass and pools of medicine sprinkle the floor. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Monarch stares at the fragments of glass and puddles of liquid. “Nothing. I just need to get this cleaned up.” He bends down and starts picking up the glass. His fingers, worn with age, are trembling. I bend down to help, but he shoos me away. “No. No. I can get this.”

“Let me help.” I reach for a piece of glass, but he flicks my hand away, panic shining in his grey eyes.