Father nodded, slow and ponderous, like he was conceding nothing.
"The job is done," I said. "All three targets have gotten what they deserved."
"And the tail?"
"No longer relevant. Valmont's assets are frozen—no money to pay his watchdogs. We both know he has much bigger issues to deal with… Like trying to salvage his political career. Unfortunately, assault isn't a small matter. I expect a number of victims will step forward. He'll be drowning in legal battles for years."
"Interesting," Father said.
"I don't see how."
"We don't use names, Operative Seven."
I paused for a moment, attempting to grasp his meaning, then realized I had referred to Valmont by his last name instead of simply labeling him as a target. "About that…" I forced myself to speak louder. "I want out."
Father let the silence swell until it was a living thing between us. "It's not easy to leave the Bureau, Operative Seven. You know this."
"I don't care."
Another nod. Then, "Is it the girl?"
That caught me. Not the fact that he knew—I'd always assumed he knew everything—but that he'd say it out loud.
"It's not."
"So your little impromptu investigation into her mother's case has nothing to do with that fact that she asked you to handle the problem?"
Of course, nothing could remain off the books with him.
"An innocent woman being scammed and attacked by the target just so he could exercise his power over others…" I chuckled bitterly. "If you think we should just leave it alone because the client's mother didn't pay us, it'd disappointing."
"No one asked you to dig into the insurance fraud and to chase down the other driver, Operative Seven."
"I volunteered."
"It is the girl," Father concluded.
"It's not about the girl," I insisted, even though it partially—well, mostly—was. "I'm a person, a human being. I know there's more to this existence. Haven't I done enough for you? Isn't this why you took me away from the group home? To make me your little soldier."
He didn't produce a response.
"I don't want to be an instrument. I want to do things other people do."
He didn't flinch. "You were always more than an instrument. I gave you skills to protect yourself."
"From what?"
He was quiet again.
"From what, Father?" I asked, louder this time. "From figuring out who I really am?"
"You are proof the system works."
I laughed. "You call this working?" I gestured at the bare walls of the room.
"You are alive, aren't you? Alive and fed and have a purpose."
"Not really," I said.
