The last few days of the semester seemed to fly by. Spring melted into summer, giving way to warmer temperatures and greener grass. Though it still seemed to rain every few days, the ones in between exhibited clear blue skies and warm weather. It was an indication of the changing of the seasons.

And the ending of an era.

In just a few days, I would be leaving Oaks, never to return again. I would be released into the world, a dangerous operative ready to embark on anything that life was going to throw my way. At least, that's what I was telling myself. While I knew that I'd been given all the training that I could possibly have wished for, nothing prepared for you for the real life like being thrust into the field head first.

Of course, no matter where I ended up, I'd probably ride the desk for a while. That was standard. For the first six months, you'd be lucky to even hold a gun, much less have an opportunity to fire one. Most of my time would probably be spent speaking with useless agency assets, people who exchanged secrets for money and security. I could only hope that I wouldn't be stuck there for long.

A few days had passed since our field exam. The West Wing had been closed off since the attack and the hole in the wall had been covered with a simple blue tarp that flapped angrily whenever there was even the slightest of breezes. It wasn't a good fix but, given that summer holidays were nearly upon us, the Trustees of the school were willing to wait until the students had left for the summer before attempting repairs.

The attackers had gotten away cleanly. Whoever had set the bomb had done so discreetly, so as not to draw attention to themselves. As a result, there were few people to interrogate. The only one worth while, it seemed, was the guy that Max and I had knocked out, and he wasn't willing to talk in the slightest, or so we'd been told. None of us had nearly enough clearance to been in even remote proximity to the events being conducted by MI6, but thanks to Tasha and Henri, we'd been able to garner enough information from their hacking skills to not be completely left in the dark.

But, that man and the school situation was currently the least of my worries. I had a more pressing matter weighing down on my mind.

Max.

It hadn't surprised me when he'd been a little withdrawn the day after the bombing. Hadn't surprised me when he'd all but shut the rest of us out and refused to talk. We'd all learned how to take lives relatively early on. It was simply a part of the job. We killed to protect others. But, it didn't make the task any easier. Especially for someone like Max who was just a fundamentally good person. Sure, he was probably the most skilled male operative in our year. Yes, he was the only person to hit ten bulls-eyes right in a row without a care. Of course, he knew the difference between good guys and bad guys, and knew it well enough to know that he was a good guy.

And it was because he was a good guy that his first kill caused such a spark to go out within him. No doubt he was replaying that instant on a constant loop in his brain—like a never ending video stream that haunted his waking, and non-waking, hours.

Since I knew all of this, it didn't really surprise me when Lia flitted to my side after our final examination—advanced chemistry, which was pretty much code for "learn how to make bombs with the most random things you can find"—and gave me a pleading look.

"Please," she said.

I looked down at her heart-shaped face. My best friend normally wore a mask. She wasn't one to let her emotions show to the world, instead choosing to emit them only to those she really trusted and cared about. That, of course, was how I knew it was serious. When it came to Max, she was as easy to read as a book.

I stopped walking, causing a pair of thirteen-year-olds to hastily side-step me. They shot me hostile looks over there shoulders which I readily ignored. "How is he?"

"Not good. He's hardly speaking to me. Or to anyone, for that matter. Henri said that he only got about three words from him last night and they room together. He's not usually this quiet, Mel."

"And you want me to talk to him." It wasn't really a question.

Lia shrugged and her light brown hair tossed over her shoulder. It was a look of nonchalance but I was able to see through her façade. "You guys have that weird sibling-bond thing. He'll listen to you. He always does."

"I don't know," I told her honestly. "It's not really a situation that's easy to get over."

Her doe-blue eyes bored into mine, strong and unyielding and yet incredibly gentle, all at the same time. "You did. He will, too. I know it. I just...I think he needs a little help. And since you're the only one with expertise in this field—"

She didn't really need to say anything else.

I took a deep steadying breath. "You know where he is?"

"Tasha hacked into the security cameras and saw him heading into the secret alcove behind the bust of the Queen."

"Okay. Um, why don't you go round up Tasha and Henri while I talk to Max? We could do one last picnic by the lake before the end of the year," I suggested.

Lia nodded and gave me a quick hug. "Thanks, Mel. We'll meet you and Max by the water."

"Sounds good."

We headed opposite directions. She went off towards the dorms while I doubled back towards the library where the bust of the Queen of England stood. It only took me a few minutes to get there and even less to press on the little indented button on the underside of the stand that the bust rested on.

Quickly and silently, the wall pushed back about a foot-and-a-half, revealing a narrow tunnel which I easily snuck into. The moment I crossed the threshold, the door slid shut behind me. The passage went on for about a hundred feet or so before it widened and opened up to a small alcove that overlooked the front lawn of the school. It was all green now, no traces of the winter muckiness remaining.

When Lia and I had first discovered this alcove, halfway through my first year, it had been completely empty and covered in cobwebs. Overtime, we'd cleaned it out and managed to drag in two beanbag chairs (which had been no easy feat, let me tell you). Max was currently sitting in one of the beanbag chairs, staring out the window with disinterest. He didn't even look at me as I walked in and sat beside him in the second chair.

We sat side by side in silence for a few moments. Then, he said, "Lia sent you. Didn't she?"

"She's worried about you."

"She shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"Max." It was just his name, nothing more, blunt and forceful.

At my voice, he closed his eyes and raked his hand through his sand-coloured hair. "Every time I close my eyes all I can see is that man falling backwards with a bullet hole in his forehead. But I don't remember pulling the trigger. Shouldn't I remember that? I killed someone, Mel, and I...I don't remember doing it."

His mouth turned downwards into a hard grimace. His fingers clamped into a fist and he looked anywhere but at me.

"It's oka—"

"Do you remember?" he cut me off, tone insistent. He opened his deep blue eyes and stared at me intently.

"What?"

"That woman you killed in Spain. Do you remember doing it?"

Hesitantly, I nodded. "Yeah. I do. I remember every second of it. I remember pulling the trigger and watching her eyes go wide and seeing her fall to the ground. Sometimes, I still have nightmares about it happening. And I feel bad. Ashamed. Guilty. But then I remember that I didn't have a choice. You didn't have a choice, Max."

He grunted noncommittally.

"Look," I said. "It's okay to feel bad about what you did. You killed someone. But it was bound to happen eventually. Especially in the career field that we're entering into. And, to be completely honest, it'll probably happen again."

"Great pep talk," he muttered.

"I'm not finished," I snapped at him, but there was a soft smile growing on the edge of my lips to soften the blow. "I was going to say that if you have to kill someone, make sure it's for a good reason. Make sure that it means something. That it's not done in vain."

Max looked at me. Really looked at me. His gaze was searching. "You never told us what everything that happened with that woman. That MI6 liaison wouldn't let you, right?" I nodded once. "But was it for a good reason, Melanie? Just tell me that."

"Yes," I murmured. "It was."

He nodded, looking much better than when I'd first found him. There was a bit more colour in his cheeks and he didn't look as gaunt. "So. Now what do I do?"

"Well," I said. "This is the hard part."

Max raised an eyebrow.

"Now you have to let it go. Move on. Always remember who it was and why it happened. But don't let it control your life, Max."

"And how do I move on?"

I smiled at him and stood up. I offered my hand to help him up. "I might have an idea."

I led Max out of the alcove and back into the main corridor, which we were able to access by pressing down a small little lever which opened the door back up. We sealed the secret passageway and started walking towards the front entrance to the school. The two of us made our way outside and around to the side of the school where, about a two-hundred or so paces ahead of us, I could see Lia, Tasha, and Henri walking.

"Hey!" I yelled out to them. They all turned. Tasha waved and then continued down towards the water's edge, a ratty old blanket tucked under her arm, while Lia and Henri lingered, waiting for Max and I to catch up to them. As soon as we reached them, Lia reached for Max's hand. He took hers without hesitation.

The pair started walking, talking quietly as they did so with their fingers clasped. As I watched, Max leaned down to whisper something into Lia's ear. She paused and then threw her head back, laughing with glee. As she went to turn back to him, she shot me a grateful look. I winked back, understanding completely.

Henri and I trailed behind them, giving them their space.

"Patrick called the other day," Henri said to me as we walked. "Wanted me to tell you 'hi.' I meant to tell you earlier but it's been a bit of a crazy few days."

I snorted. "Of course he did. How's he liking the agency?"

Patrick Callaghan was another friend of ours. He'd graduated a year before the rest of us had, a result of advanced training from the first school he went to in Russia before transferring to Oaks, and now he worked for the GCCO—the Global Centre for Covert Operatives. It was the largest international agency in the world, one which dealt with operatives from all over the globe who corresponded on the worst acts of terrorism in a variety of different countries. When he'd first come to Oaks, the two of us had grown particularly close, which wasn't surprising since he'd become Max and Henri's roommate and since I was with them all the time it was only natural that he would tag along. We'd dated on and off for two years but when he graduated, I broke it off. The distance wasn't the only reason for the split, but it was the excuse I used.

"Said he's being sent out this week. Couldn't say where, he told me it was completely classified, but mentioned that he shouldn't be gone very long. A few weeks at most."

"Solo?"

"Nah. He's going out with two other agents."

I nodded and then jerked my head quickly to the side as Lia let out a screech which quickly turned into a peal of laughter. Max had scooped her up and was swinging her around in his arms. He looked a lot more like himself than he had in days.

Henri shook his head. "Love birds."

"Has Max told you what he's doing after graduation? I know Lia's joining MI6 but I haven't really had the chance to ask him what his plans are."

"He's torn between following her or heading off to Interpol."

"He'd be good at both," I remarked.

Henri said, "Yeah. But I think he'll end up at MI6." He turned his head to the side, regarding me. "What about you? Have you accepted an offer yet?"

"No."

"A lot of places want you," he said and I cocked an eyebrow at him. Our offers had been completely classified and I hadn't divulged that information with anyone, not even Lia or Tasha. He shrugged and grinned. "I hacked into the school server to see where everyone had gotten offers from before they officially came out. Your name had quite the list after it."

I pursed my lips, holding back a slight smile. It was such a Henri thing to do. The subject, though was a slightly touchy one because I had no idea where I wanted to end up. Like Lia and Max, I'd been offered a place at MI6 and Interpol, but the CIA, FBI and Secret Service had also offered me placements. I'd received others as well; ones I already knew that I wouldn't accept.

The most logical choice for me would be to take a spot with MI6. I'd be able to stay here in England, where I absolutely loved living, when I wasn't out on a mission and I'd be close to Tasha, Max, Lia, and her family who had practically adopted me since I'd come to Oaks.

On the other hand, the idea of heading back to the United States to work at the CIA or FBI was another gripping choice. The US would always be home to me and I felt that decision almost calling to me in a way, more so than the others. Of course, the main thing I knew calling me back home was the one thing I would never be able to contact.

My family.

When I'd chosen my place at Oaks, I'd given up everything that I had there. My family hadn't been allowed to know the path I'd picked and as far as they knew, I'd disappeared on my way home from school one day and just never come home. It was a cruel ploy, I recognized that, but it had been something I'd felt the need to do. As soon as Lia's father had enlightened me on what Oaks really was, I'd known where I would end up. Even if that meant that they didn't know I was alive. Even if that meant that Wes, my brother, would grow up without his older sister. Even if that meant leaving behind Daniel, the most amazing friend that I'd ever had, and that was including the ones I had now.

And I didn't regret my choice. But I did wonder if being back on home turf would make me ache to see them more so than I had these past three years.

I looked over at Henri. "Where are you headed?"

"Military Intelligence in France," he said with a clear, derisive nod. "I accepted my offer a few days ago."

"Wow. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Eventually, the four of us settled down out near the pond with Tasha. We talked and laughed, enjoying our last real day together at Oaks. Tomorrow, Lia and I would be leaving to join her parents in Essex from which we would depart to Rome. Tasha would be heading home to her father but vehemently told us that she would try and meet up with us in a few weeks. Max and Henri would be going their separate ways as well, what with Henri heading home to Paris and Max going to London, though he, too, swore that he would be visiting us quite soon.

Just as the sun was beginning to set and we were getting ready to head back inside, Professor Cunningham, one of our deep-cover covert operations teachers, appeared, seemingly out of the blue, in front of us. It had only been a day since I'd last seen her, at one of my exams, but it appeared as if she'd aged ten years in that short time. Her normally rigid brown-grey hair was coming loose from it's tight bun, and there were wrinkles around her eyes that I would have sworn weren't there yesterday. Even her posture seemed to sag.

I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice the change in our teacher. Lia, looking concerned, lurched to her feet. "Professor? Is everything all right?"

Professor Cunningham turned towards me, face shallow and eyes gaunt. "Miss Clarke, I need you to accompany me to the headmistress's office."

Now, normally when one of your teachers at a top-secret spy school gives you an order, you do as they ask without question. But the look on her face shocked me into apprehension and I found myself hesitating.

"Professor?"

"Come now, Melanie."

That's when I knew that things were bad. It was a rare occurrence when I was called Melanie by the teaching staff. Mainly, it was Miss Clarke, or just Clarke if they were feeling particularly lazy.

It was never Melanie.

I swallowed roughly and nodded. I fell into step behind my teacher, feeling the weight of four pairs of eyes on my back. Professor Cunningham led me into the school and up to the third floor where the headmistress's office lay. I'd been in there only twice before, once on my first day when I'd gotten my room assignment and class schedule, and then again only a month ago when our offers had come in from the agencies that wanted us to join them.

It was a clean office, neat and meticulous. There was an old mahogany desk with a large black chair on one side and a simpler wooden chair facing it. The walls were a pale gold colour with landscape canvases hung up around the room.

Professor McCarthy, our headmistress, was sitting in that grand chair. Her hair was a soft blonde, beginning to turn white in some areas, and hanging down around her narrow face. Her green eyes were laced with sorrow. When I entered, she motioned to the chair across from her.

"Please," she said and her voice was soft, as if she were speaking to a young child instead of a trained operative who, in less than twenty-four hours, would be walking through these halls for the very last time. "Sit."

I did. "What's going on, Professor? Is everything okay?"

She swallowed thickly. "I have just received some unfortunate news from an old colleague at the CIA. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but..." she trailed off, looking uncomfortable and as if she wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

"Professor? What's going on? What is this about?"

Her apologetic gaze met my confused stare. "It's about your mother, Melanie. It pains me to tell you that she has passed away."

I stared at her in shock, the words not quite sinking in. I couldn't understand what she meant. My head had gone from clear and precise to a confused cloud. Everything seemed hazy, as if I was looking in suddenly from the outside. "W-what?"

"Your mother was involved in a car crash three days ago. She was hit on the driver's side of her car and rolled three times into a ditch on the side of the road. By the time the medics got to the scene, she had already passed on."

I stared at the floor for a minute, feeling tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back, doing my best not to get emotional. There would be time for that later when all of this had really sunk in.

"Did they, um, did they get the person who hit her? Do they know who it is?" My voice was lower than it normally was, rough with the emotion I was desperately trying to suppress.

Professor McCarthy shook her head. "I'm afraid not. The other driver didn't stop."

"Of course not," I scoffed. It turned into a half-broken sob. "Oh, god."

"I am so very sorry for your loss, Melanie."

I nodded, not trusting my voice anymore. She gave me a moment, allowing me to regain my composure and gather my thoughts. It didn't seem real. It had to be a trick, a ploy, a cruel joke. My family was safe at home in Oregon. Everything was fine. But it wasn't. I could see that in her eyes.

"When is the funeral