“Shhhh,” I said, glancing around, but no one was looking in our direction. “You can’t be serious?” I said. My own brain had been gnawing on that letter like a dog with a bone ever since that afternoon at the Academy.

Regan snorted a laugh. “I know, unbelievable. But then that schedule dissolved, and it all came crashing back to me. As cool as this place is, and as excited as I am for a fresh start, it really isn’t one, is it? I mean, if something terrible wasn’t going to happen, we would never have found that letter in the first place.”

“Right,” I said, and for the first time I didn’t have the desire to point out that being stuck with her as a partner felt like a terrible thing to me. Sam was right; pouting over my lot in life wasn’t going to change anything. “Or,” I said, “maybe we are here to prevent something terrible from happening. Maybe you and I become an awesome team and in five years we save some important event in history from a pack of Mayhem members.”

“Maybe,” Regan said, sounding unconvinced. “But the letter seemed more urgent than that. I mean, we’ve already hit two of the bullet points in the letter. It doesn’t make sense that the other ones wouldn’t matter for five years.”

“The next one is the one about a window,” I said, thinking out loud. “When the window breaks, grab me.”

Regan wrinkled her forehead, and together we looked around the cavernous atrium of the mountain, where not one window was in sight.

“Well,” I finally said, “I guess we just have to wait.”

“I hate waiting,” Regan said.

“Finally,” I said, “something we can agree on.”

Regan smirked, glancing back down at the book in her lap. “Do you think our simulation this afternoon is going to be on this?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Nothing is what I think it should be. I decided it’s probably better if I keep my expectations low.”

“Yeah, probably,” she mumbled around a mouthful of salad as she turned her attention back to the open page in front of her. I watched her chew for a second, her eyes focused on the book, when something occurred to me.

“Is reading hard for you? Or do you just not like it?” I asked.

She glanced back up at me, her expression guarded.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” I said, pulling the book away from her. “Our study session was a disaster I don’t want to repeat.” She hesitated and I held up my hands. “No judgments. Promise. We’re on the same team now.”

She sighed. “Hard. Always has been hard. Always will be hard.”

“Explain,” I said.