“Very good, Cadet Fitz,” Treebaun said almost reluctantly, turning back to the screen. “This particular Butterfly was modeled after a real one caught by our commander in chief about eighteen years ago. He was one of the first members of Mayhem we ever caught.” Everyone leaned in a little, including me, to get a better look at the guy. We all knew about the group that called themselves by the name Mayhem. But their leader, location, and members were a mystery. Their organization was even older than the Academy, which made sense since their very existence made us so necessary. We were charged with protecting history at all costs, while they were happy to change history for the right price. There were still the sporadic attacks by misguided vigilantes, but for the most part every active Butterfly was part of Mayhem. Which meant that over the years, the attempts to alter history had become increasingly more organized and better planned, which made Butterflies that much harder to spot. The only thing we had going for us that they didn’t was that our technology and a lot of money was spent to stay one step ahead of them on that front. Unlike us, Mayhem used pieced-together equipment that often didn’t allow them to time travel with the precision that we did, and, of course, they didn’t have Chaos Cuffs. The thought of those cuffs made me smile, and I found my hand going instinctively to my hip, where a set had hung during my simulation. Superheroes had capes that marked them as the good guys. Glitchers? We had cuffs. The repercussion track for the Alamo kid started to play, and I stifled a yawn.

“Next up is Cadet Fitz,” said Treebaun, not needing to consult his tablet for my particular simulation since he’d watched it in person. The press of a button and the screen changed from the bloody battle of the Alamo to the serene inside of Ford’s Theatre.

“This was your third attempt at the Lincoln assassination, was it not?” said Treebaun.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head. He knew full well this wasn’t my third attempt. “No, sir,” I said, “my fifth.” A ripple of stifled laughter went around the room, but I kept my spine ramrod straight, my eyes dead ahead. I could almost hear my mom’s voice in my head coaching me. Confidence is a skill, Regan. The more you practice it, the better you get. Learn to maintain an air of total control despite the circumstances swirling around you.

“Right,” said Treebaun. “Let’s begin.”

The room darkened again and the screen shimmered, zooming in on an image of me sitting in my blue dress. The recap began.