Sam sighed, resting his elbow on the limo car door as he watched well-dressed hussies, gangsters, high-end escorts, and kids in loaner suits file past the bouncer into the Songbird club.

“Anything yet?” he drummed his fingers on the white metal.

“Not yet.” Trevor mimicked his sigh from the plush leather seat. “Have some patience, Sam.”

“Are you sure this chick’s even going to show up?”

“The intel is good. They’ll be here.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Sam grumbled, tugging on his suit jacket. “She’s not bound to be anything special.”

“Look, we’re killing two birds with one stone, and—oh, wait.”

“Got something?” Sam glanced down at his best friend through the window.

“There.” Trevor flashed him a mental image of a young blonde girl in a simple black dress and gold heels. Her hair was free, waving around in the breeze like a pale beast with its own mind, and she clutched a silver wristlet to her chest as she shuffled in line next to a buxom brunette just as young with too much makeup in a dress showing too much skin who was happily chattering away.

Samuel blinked away the image and then refocused on the crowd, finding the girls on his own.

“See you inside.” He tapped on the car roof, shutting the door.

“Now remember your alias, this time, Sam,” Trevor shouted after him.

Sam scoffed. He was supposed to be Robert Smith, a classy, smooth talking businessman, bored out of his mind and looking for young chicks. Right. He made a mental note to give Ferris a wedgie for coming up with such a ridiculous cover when he got back. He checked his “Robert Smith” ID for the hundredth time before waltzing up to the bouncer and handing him a hundred. The bouncer glared at him in response, so Sam sniffed nonchalantly and flashed the VIP invite. The guy’s eyes got as round as saucers, and he let him through. Too easy.

Once inside, he had to flash his fake ID and invitation to the doorman, who slapped a silver bangle on his left wrist and let him in the club. He meandered through the pulsing crowd over to the bar. His favorite place for observation. He ordered a beer to start. The girls and Trevor would take a while to catch up. He canvased the central area, but with the exception of some fellow quantum members, he saw no discernable N.N.s to worry about.

He polished off his beer and ordered another. The flash of his bangle caught the eye of a redhead gold-digger, who slid up to start up a conversation about how fascinating his faux business was. He didn’t catch her name—Tina, or something, but as a human, she wasn’t even on his radar tonight. He tolerated her presence and attempted friendly conversation until he thought he would suffocate from her cheap perfume. A flash of wild blonde hair caught his attention on the left side of the room. He politely excused himself with a fresh beer and walked to that side of the bar, sitting back down in full view of the booth of kids the blonde girl in the black dress joined.

He frowned. All of them looked to be no older than high school. How could someone so young throw off Reach’s senses and be still be unaware of her gift?

“Late bloomer?” Trevor slid in behind him at the bar as the girl’s friend ordered them drinks.

“Maybe, but doubtful. She’s at least 18, right?” Sam set down his beer. Party time was over.

“Turned eighteen today, actually.” Trevor agreed with his light voice.

“We sure she’s the target?”

At Trevor’s silence, Sam turned to read his friend’s expression. It was the sort of brooding face that screamed trouble.

“What?” Sam growled.

“I thought I saw—No, never mind. I’ve done a few sweeps, but the loud music and alcoholic thoughts are hard to get a good reading through; I think you’ll have to lure her up to the room.”

“Set the bait in the trap.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not exactly ideal.”

“It’ll be quick.” Trevor shrugged. “Or do you prefer to stake out the bar all night watching drunk teens gyrate on each other?”

Sam groaned as the girls shuffled with confused glances to the dance floor.

“All right, all right. I’ll see you up there.” He moved his way through the crowd.

The girls suddenly stopped a few feet from him, and he couldn’t hear their conversation over the loud music, but it was evident they were lost. The brunette caught sight of him and froze, causing the blonde practically ran into him when her friend nudged her. The girl quickly regained her composure and stared up at him with bright eyes a pale shade somewhere in the blue-violet spectrum. It caught him off guard.

He nervously greeted them as he ran a hand through his hair. He’d never seen eyes that color. Were they contacts?

The brunette wasted no time asking him about the party, and he feigned ignorance, which seemed to delight her. The blond was more reluctant to get close, but the brunette practically threw herself at him to get to the party.

He gladly introduced himself as “Robert” and accepted the role of escort, offering his free arm to the blonde. She hesitated, those eyes searching his face as he prompted for her name.

Finally, she smiled. “Olivia.”

As she took his offered arm, he hid a smirk within a charming smile. Pleasure to meet you.”

She’d lied about her name. It was alright; he could always ask Trevor later… but it meant the thick charm he was laying out, while perfectly acceptable for Clara, her friend, wasn’t having the desired effect on the right girl. He led the girls, Clara happily chattering away, to the VIP area where another guard checked them into the right wing of the most expensive side of Songbird. Sam was struggling to remember which door he was supposed to go through, so he took the invitation out of his pocket, gaining a curious look from ‘Olivia.'

“What’s that?” she peered over his arm to see.

“The invitation.” His voice sounded like a freight train in the silence of the hall after the noise level outside. He tilted the card so she could read it.

She studied the text and then the ornate design of the card before sighing: “Beautiful.”

Sam felt his hair stand on end as the word caressed his hand. He quickly glanced over to Clara, trying to recover his character. “Not as beautiful as my dainty escort.”

He patted ‘Olivia’s’ hand as Clara giggled with a blush at his compliment. It wasn’t meant for the brunette, but he didn’t trust himself to say something so cheesy at the line’s target with a straight face.

‘Olivia’ pulled away as they got to the door, rapping her knuckles against the mahogany. The door swung open, and he offered to take her to Trevor, but she made an excuse of a dance and scooted away, dragging her friend along with her.

He shrugged and smiled, heading over to the bar where Trevor sat, smirking at him.

“Well, you got her in the room.”

“Barely,” Sam growled. “I think she's less of a fan of ‘Robert Smith’ than I am. I’m going to give Ferris a double wedgie swirly tonight.”

“You can’t place all the blame on the kid.” Trevor laughed, sliding him a glass of bourbon. “You’re the worst actor I’ve ever seen.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Sam grumbled, taking a sip from his glass.

“Then just be you.” Trevor laughed. “A fake ID doesn’t have to change everything. You’re not James Bond.”

“Well, it’d be easier if I could just MIB people like you do, but I have to fly under the radar on these things, and Ferris said staying in character would help.”

“You’re hopeless.” Trevor laughed.

Sam drank his bourbon, watching the girls dance. Clara was full of energy, like a kid who’d been given too much sugar. Her friend was more reserved, but a better dancer.

“What’s her name, the girl?” Sam glanced at Trevor.

“Elli Dasek.” Trevor smiled. He had probably already read the events at the club and knew the girl had given Sam a fake name.

Sam didn’t mind; it was quicker and more efficient for Trevor to collect data on these things if Sam let him in his think tank from time to time while on the job.

He could sense it, though, when Trevor went still.

‘There, Sam. Look.’

Sam glanced behind them. At first, he didn’t see what had Trevor nervous, then the familiar mop of brown hair came into view, and his heart clenched.

‘What the fuck is Theo doing here?’

‘It’s worse than we thought if he’s here-‘

Sam moved without thinking, not towards their enemy, but towards the girl. Chances were Theo wasn’t alone, and they’d be lucky if they could get her out before the place was surrounded. Trevor had been right on the money. The blue coats were after her, and they had led her right into a trap. Sam’s heart thudded in his chest. What could they possibly want with her? He’d need to find out what class she was, quickly, and get her out before—

Another figure caught Sam's attention; his hair was darker than Theo’s, white suit bathed lavender in the purple light of the ballroom.

“Shit!” he cursed under his breath. Things just got complicated. He shot the thought to Trevor as he made it to where Elli was sitting at the bar, polishing off something he sure had more sugar than alcohol in it. She was about to wave the bartender for another, laughing about something.

“That’s more like it.” He leaned in to get her attention. “You’re way cuter when you smile.”

It was possibly the worst pick up line ever, but it also happened to be true. She wheeled to face Sam, her eyes locking onto his, then she blinked as the bartender slid a new version of the same drink to her.

“It’s you.” She groaned.

“Afraid so.” He made sure he kept his back to the figure in white on the other side of the bar, blocking any sight of the girl.

He waved for another bourbon.