four
Idiot. Moron. Half-wit.
Alec shook his head in disgust as he drove home. He’d spent the past few hours on his favorite local rooftop, watching the sun set as he struggled to regain his normal sense of calm. He was still struggling. The last thing he’d wanted today was to call attention to himself. Then he’d mangled a locker—something no average teenager would ever be capable of. What had come over him?
He knew the answer, of course. It was because of Claire.
Alec pulled his ’69 Mustang into his parking space and crossed the small concrete lot. He’d felt a brief connection with Claire just before they found their lockers. In that moment, he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t completely dislike him after all. Then he’d ruined everything with that ridiculous, clumsy move. Not that it mattered. She was obviously more interested in the Choir Boy.
When it came down to it, Alec had no business pursuing his interest in her, anyway. It was dangerous, not to mention forbidden. In the few similar cases he’d heard of, the punishment exacted had been instantaneous and unforgiving.
But he didn’t care. He’d left his old life for good—which meant the old rules no longer applied. For more than a century, he hadn’t been allowed to indulge in anything remotely pleasurable. There were so many human experiences that had been denied to him—high school among them. Even though human beings often spoke of high school as if it was hell on earth, Alec had always strangely longed to try it for himself. Despite his youthful appearance, he’d never infiltrated a school before—his elite training had prepared him for more complex assignments.
If the plan was going to work, however, he was going to have to try harder to fit in.
You need to smile more and stare less, he reminded himself. And your reaction time in conversation was too slow. These things had never mattered before, but they did now.
Setting these concerns aside for the moment, Alec entered his first-floor studio apartment and closed the front door behind him, all senses on hyperalert. He flipped the three locks in quick succession, set down his backpack, and withdrew a black metal knife from his boot, whirling to search for any sign of intruders. Without opening the blackout curtains, he carefully cased the dark, starkly furnished space. Nothing behind the couch. No one in the shower. Kitchen: empty. Weapons cabinet: undisturbed.
With a relieved sigh, Alec glanced at the light switch. It blinked on.
He sank down on the couch, resheathed his knife, and removed his boots. Unable to relax, he unzipped his backpack and dumped everything out onto the coffee table. One by one, he began scanning the contents of each textbook, curious to see what juniors in high school would be learning this year, to understand what he was—and wasn’t—supposed to know.
The academics would be easy to handle. Other than socialization, he had only one real worry. He’d spent decades planning his escape and had taken every precaution to cover his tracks—but even so, there was still a chance he could be found. He wondered who they’d assigned to search for him.
He would never—could never—go back. He was committed to making this work, no matter what. Not that they’d take him back even if they did find him. If he was lucky, he’d be tried and imprisoned for life at a mountaintop monastery in Tibet.
If he was unlucky?
The penalty was death.