You’ve memorized every groan the wooden floors make, every sigh of the radiator as it exhales warmth into the dark. There’s laughter somewhere distant, probably coming from the rec room. Someone’s watching a movie. Somewhere, students are living like they’ve found a home. Your hands shake as you close the door softly behind.

Inside your room lit only by the amber glow of your desk lamp. A sweater hangs limply from the back of your chair. The window’s slightly open, letting in autumn air that smells like wet leaves and pine needles. You sit on your bed, cross-legged, phone in your hand, thumb hovering over one number.

Sebastian Shaw.

The man whose voice is always calm. Who always says your name like it means something. The man who told you: “If you want a future, you must earn it.”

He’s the reason you’re here.

Professor Xavier thinks you’re just another quiet mutant girl with a gift she’s scared of—a mutation you still barely understand. You’ve lied so well even you’re beginning to believe the mask. You play the part: shy, grateful, careful not to stand out too much. Powers still half-formed, unstable and make you look fragile.

But that’s what Shaw wanted.

A spy who could vanish into a crowd of misfits.

You remember what he told you the night before you came here:

“We need to know if Cerebro’s algorithm is still tracking sleeper mutations. That list is more valuable than you know. You get it for me and I’ll make sure the X-Men keep believing you belong.”

That’s the price. One file. One secret. But the closer you get to these people… the harder it becomes.

You glance at the board beside your desk. It’s cluttered now—movie tickets from a group outing last week, a folded paper star someone gave you after class, a photo of you and Jubilee grinning with ice cream smeared on your cheeks.

They trust you. And that trust sits like a brick in your stomach. Fear sharpens everything inside. Guilt makes it flare. You clutch the blanket, eyes stinging. You weren’t supposed to feel this much.

Shaw had made it sound easy: infiltrate, observe, report. Take what he needed and disappear into the folds of the Xavier School. But now? You’re sitting in a place that feels more like home than anywhere you’ve ever known. Teachers helped you train last week—told your gift wasn’t a curse. Nightcrawler told you you had a good heart.

Good hearts don’t lie like this.

Your phone buzzes. One new message:

"Update. Now."