“Are you ready?” Gordon asked.

Jaxton took a final cigarette while a few Colors alongside Carter prepared him to go undercover. They hid in the back room of a herb dispensary across the alleyway adjacent to the bar. The white room lit quite well despite only a single light bulb hung from above. The face of the wall had a steel door that led to the alleyway, but only Jaxton and Carter would leave through that one.

Of course, the colors were in their armor while Carter and Jaxton were in streetwear, Carter looking especially strange without his glasses on. They bore the brunt of the operation, while the Colors would stay here for backup.

Jaxton would either make or break the operation. It was Jaxton who had to put on an act, be somebody he wasn’t all for the sake of finding a solid lead to Corolla. But first, he had to confirm that their targeted drug dealer was actually a drug dealer in the first place, let alone if he worked for Corolla or not.

“As ready as I can be,” Jaxton said, finally answering Gordon’s question with a frown.

“You look troubled,” Carter noted. The agent general looked odd in casual clothes, a simple brown t-shirt and black shorts.

“Well, I’m going undercover for the first time, going to a bar I’ve never been inside before, presumably drinking alcohol for the first time, all to ask about a drug I have studied way too much and act as if I’m simply curious. All the while, I have to convince him that I’m a real person. So, yes, I am troubled, and I am still as ready as I physically can be.”

Gordon clasped his left shoulder, squeezing uncomfortably tight. “You speak like a soldier thinks, right before he goes into his first battle. You’ll be fine; just act normal—er—like a normal person.”

You say that like I’m not normal, Jaxton thought. He shrugged Gordon’s hand off of his shoulder, drawing a breath after disposing of his cigarette. He reached for his drink of water on the counter, drinking it slowly as his mouth started to dry. He worried, but Gordon assured him that he did well under pressure.

“Uncle,” a Color said near the back. Aeryn Spring, the king’s son. A prince in relation, but nowhere near the heir to Ranun’s crown. The strongest warrior after Ranun would be Symond, as far as Jaxton knew. “What if things go wrong? Are we going to arrest him?”

Gordon sighed, turning around to look for his nephew. “We should hope it doesn’t get to that. Exposing ourselves is not ideal, and we will only do so if the operation fails and Jaxton is in trouble.”

“How will we know?” Aeryn asked. He looked to Jaxton, almost with unsure blue eyes. He had much of his father’s look in him, beardless, no traces of hair at all on his smooth face. He looked as handsome as one would expect out of a prince, and Ranun’s son, but his qualities, according to Gordon, eclipsed one’s first understanding of the man.

Carter coughed, scratching through his hair, messing it up. When he received the attention of the room, he spoke clearly. “I will be the bridge between Jaxton and the Colors. If something goes wrong, I’ll retreat here and cue an arrest if necessary.”

The room filled with muttering. About five Colors were in the room, including Gordon and Aeryn.

“Expect the best to happen,” Carter eventually said in Gordon’s place. “More than likely, you’ll all just be waiting for our return with good news. But be prepared for the worst. You are all new to your role as Colors, and this mission will be your first lesson in preparedness. Isn’t that right, Gordon?”

Gordon nodded. It was like Carter himself was a Color. Jaxton initially thought the Colors were of a higher class than the agents, but Carter and Gordon treated each other as equals. They were of separate branches but served King Ranun united. They were both generals, but one led many while the other led very few.

There were many more Colors than there were agents. Jaxton wondered if newly inducted Colors were on the same social step as the agents who served Carter. Did agents even serve the same colors?

Jaxton checked his watch. Midnight. They were ready to go inside.

Carter nodded as he noted the time as well. “We’ll be back,” he said before pushing open the one-way door outside before holding it open for Jaxton. The Colors saluted simultaneously. Jaxton caught one last glimpse of Gordon, who nodded, reassuring him he’d be alright.

They stepped into the alleyway, and the door hissed as it sealed to a close. If Jaxton and Carter wanted back in, they needed to knock, no knob to let themselves in. Following Carter closely behind, he walked up to the street, stopping before revealing themselves to the public. Carter halted for a moment in the shadows, his face half-obscured by the darkness of night. The buildings around them blocked the moon, leaving them in an unnatural blackness Jaxton had seen only occasionally. The moonlight hit only the street, not bouncing back and forth on the alley walls, forming a screen right as the sidewalk began.

“Alright,” Carter said, tapping Jaxton on the back. “I’m going in first. I’ll stay nearby, seated at the bar. I’ll slip you a finger if everything is ready to go. But please, be safe in there. Don’t give yourself up too easily. Act skeptical; act like you are unsure about the whole process. Treat it like your first time seeking drugs out.”

Jaxton nodded. He had a bleak childhood, but never had he been near any drugs before.

Carter offered his hand, and naturally, Jaxton accepted it. “This is a precursor to your future success. If you do this right, you can do anything right. You have a bright future ahead, Jaxton.”

Jaxton nodded. Another high-profile name, commending him on merits Jaxton didn’t see in himself.

Carter departed, leaving Jaxton alone with his thoughts in the alley. He took his breaths while he could, drawing the chill of the breezy draft. He pushed his chest out and calmed himself. His worries drowned for a moment, suppressed and suffocated, trapped under the boot of his lungs. But as he let go, his fears ran wild, escaping out of the momentary cage he created inside.

Jaxton nearly fell to this sudden weakness, but he held firm, assisted by clawing the brick wall beside him with his fingertips to keep himself up.

He checked his watch and calmed himself by the long hand moving faster than he remembered. Time sprinted by, and the time had arrived sooner than he expected. Jaxton breathed a final inhale in the alleyway and drew up enough courage to go forward, out onto the street before he turned right to the bar door. Colorful lights above, he pulled open the door, and the voices came to him louder than his pounding heartbeat. Suddenly, his insecurities were on level with the bar itself, calming him down.

Jaxton looked around in the bar; nobody paid him any notice. When he walked forward, he noticed Carter at the bar like he promised, not even looking his way. Carter had his left hand on his glass, but his right hand to his side and a single finger extended.

Everything was good to go.

Opposite the bar counter, the wall had a string of booths, with the Gem Candy dealer occupying the corner. Hendricks was his name, as stated by the report. He sat next to a girl and a man across from him on the other side of the booth. As Jaxton approached, he noticed something intriguing.

They were playing Charge, one of Jaxton’s favorite board games.

“Excuse me,” Jaxton said, standing at the edge of the table.

Hendricks kept his eyes on the table. He had an upside-down v-formation on the board, singles at the front, doubles extending down, and triples between the v under the center singles. He had a winning formation while the man he played against didn’t have any shape structure to his units at all.

“He’ll be with you shortly,” the woman sitting near the wall by Hendricks said. She seemed embarrassed in her expression. Blond hair tied into a single bun above her left ear. She pointed him to sit down. “They aren’t usually this quiet; they’re usually the loudest two in the entire bar. But when they play games, they become desperate to win. They aren’t even listening to me. To them, we don’t even exist.”

Jaxton nodded. He had a similar issue with that, often ignoring people by his investment in games such as these.

“Are you here for—”

Jaxton nodded, cutting her off. The less he had to speak, the greater chance he could get out of here without revealing his intentions.

“He’ll snap back to reality soon,” she said. “My name is Dara.” Her hand extended over the board. Hendricks moved a piece carefully, reaching under her arm, moving one of his singles one up to the right.

“Jax,” Jaxton said, realizing that it wasn’t wise to reveal his full name to these people. They hardly looked like criminals, just a group of friends enjoying themselves. Were these even the right people?

The man next to Jaxton stacked his pieces at the front, leaving them exposed as Hendricks pushed his singles up the board on his turns, following up to make sure the doubles protected the singles.

On an eight-by-eight board, both players worked with twenty singles to start. The middle four squares on the bottom row were always clear, called the “tallyzone.” You won the game by first filling an opponent’s tallyzone with your pieces, or if no more pieces could reach the end, the one who had more squares filled occupied won. If tied, the stacked pieces are counted in the zone, meaning two triples would beat out a triple and a double, six-to-five.

The idea of the game is every piece had to go forward at least one space. Singles that move to a spot with another single formed a double. A double could either add to a single or vice versa to create a triple.

Singles could only go straight forward, doubles could go forward two spaces up or one up, and one either left or right. Triples had the most movement, moving a maximum of three spots forward or any distance less and a move left or right. Any piece you moved had to go up at least one spot.

When Hendricks broke through his opponent's front line, he managed to have his triple collect a piece on every single tile of his pathing, collecting a double and two singles in a single move. His opponent recaptured with a single, but the exchange put Hendricks up a piece and opened a valley in the center, clearing space to give a path to the tallyzone.

The game proceeded as expected, Hendricks continuing to move up with his v-formation, never hanging pieces on his way. His opponent suffocated under pressure. Due to the rules of Charge, he couldn’t stall a move, and he always had to move a piece forward. Any move he made hurt himself in this position as if he stacked a single on a double or a single, it made somewhere else on the board now vulnerable for Hendricks to breakthrough. If he continued down the sides of the board, the ends of the v-formation punished the moves. The doubles and triples were particularly good on the sides on defense for their ability to move sideways by either one or two.

Finally, after what looked like utter domination of the board, Hendricks conquered the middle and shot down the middle, filling the tallyzone and winning the game. He offered his hand, and his opponent shook his hand with a smile.

“Good game,” the opponent said.

“Good game, Jaren,” Hendricks echoed back. “You’re getting better.”

“Not nearly fast enough,” Jaren said, rubbing his scruffy brown hair, embarrassed. He looked to his right and looked surprised. “Oh! I didn’t notice you there.”

Jaxton lowered a brow. He wasn’t nearly as bad as these two when it came to being distracted when playing. Both he and Dara shook hands over their board, speaking while they greeted each other. Yet they only noticed him now?

“Hey,” Hendricks said, extending his hand. Jaxton accepted it. “I’m Hendricks. And you are…”

“Jax,” Jaxton nodded, shaking his hand before retreating it back to his side. Perhaps a little bit awkward, but being jittery was typical for new consumers, so he didn’t feel himself to be suspicious quite yet.

“Ahh, well, what’s your business, friend?”

“I’m looking for some fun,” Jaxton said. He eyed the board of Charge, then looked back up at Hendricks. He was young, perhaps as young as Jaxton. A luscious mustache on his upper lip, while he shaved around, his cheeks buzzed from a former beard. “And from the looks of it, it seems like you guys know how to have a good time.”

Hendricks smiled. “Hey, where did you learn about us?”

Is this a trick question? Jaxton thought. They can’t be skeptical already, can they?

No, don’t doubt yourself yet.

“Word of mouth,” Jaxton said. “I’m new to this city. I’ve never had a proper home before, always traveling. I get most of my news from randoms on the street. I’m searching for new experiences and somebody… I think a man with a little hair under his chin, white of skin, and brown eyes lead me to you… at least, I think that’s the man.”

All of his words came out like a string of information, all a fallacy he created in his head. He made himself seem unsure about who directed him here, keeping it up in the air. He had come up with a random facial attribute—the hair under the chin. The brown eyes and white skin were common enough to Soucrest, a vague description that could fit almost anybody.

“Oh, was his name Fendy? I think I remember that one…”

Jaxton almost spoke but stopped himself. A potential trap, possibly a random name to catch Jaxton off guard. “Sorry, but I can’t say. I’ve met so many on the streets that names just go in one ear and right out the other.”

Hendricks drank his drink, finishing it. “Ahh, understandable.”

Dara leaned into his ears, and Jaxton felt caught when he heard the whispers. But Hendricks nodded, and Dara slipped through him, rolling over his lap to step out of the booth. “You guys want a drink?”

“The same old,” Jaren said.

Dara didn’t ask Hendricks, but she likely already knew what he wanted.

“You want something?” Hendricks asked Jaxton, tapping the table in front of him with his fingers. He seemed shakey like he couldn’t stand still, not while he wasn’t analyzing a board of charge. “First drink is on me.”

“I’ll take a scotch,” Jaxton said, stating of the first drink that came to mind, one of Gordon’s favorites.

Dara nodded and retreated to the booth.

“Did the man tell you what I… provide?”

“He didn’t say much,” Jaxton said. “Only that you offered him an experience unlike anything else he has experienced before. He said he saw things that he couldn’t explain, something that I wouldn’t believe unless I tried it myself.”

Hendricks smiled, almost proud in expression. “That’s right. Normally, I provide a free sample, but I’m out of those, unfortunately.”

Jaxton frowned. That wasn’t good. If he received a sample, that was all the evidence they needed to arrest Hendricks on the spot. But he admitted to providing them at least—a small victory.

“Do you have any gold coins on you?” Hendricks asked.

“A little,” Jaxton said. “I have some silver, but only two gold. Is that too little?”

“Two gold is a good start,” Hendricks said. His head turned, and Dara returned with four drinks in hand. Small glasses that fit nicely into her petite hands.

Dara handed Jaxton what was apparently scotch. Taking it, Jaxton noticed it looked like dehydrated urine, orange like the armor of the Colors. Gordon would snap at Jaxton if he brought that comparison up again. For as odd as it looked, he sipped it, taking his first drink of alcohol in his life. It tasted tough but fruity. He stifled a cough but drank a little more, actually enjoying the beverage. He had wondered why Gordon drank a lot of it in his free time, but he could see why if all booze tasted this good.

He decided to hold off the rest of the glass, for now, knowing that intoxication could hinder his speech if he got drunk. He didn’t realize his tolerance yet; best not to test it out now.

Dara squeezed back into her spot near the wall.

“Listen, take this,” Hendricks pulled out a notecard, one student usually used to study off of, but Hendricks made it seem like a business card, sliding it across the table. Jaxton picked it up. “It has an address, date, and time. We’ll be meeting only once at this location, alright? Don’t be late, and don’t be early either. Be punctual, and don’t miss this opportunity, okay?”

Jaxton nodded.

This is it, Jaxton thought, looking at the card with instructions written in blue ink. Two nights from now, a little after midnight in the park near the bathrooms. He tucked it into his pocket, and a boulder dropped from his shoulders, not making a sound as he felt relief, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He did it, accomplished what he was set out to achieve.

“Now, do you wanna hang out with us?” Hendricks asked, catching Jaxton off guard. “We always enjoy the company of others.”

Jaxton checked his watch. “Sure, I have some time to kill,” he said. He didn’t know if he should have left immediately or not but felt as if he would come off as suspicious if he bounced right away. “But I have time for only one game.”

“Huh?” Hendricks lowered a brow.

Jaxton eyed the Charge board between them. “You look familiar to the game. I’ve hustled many on the streets playing this growing up. It’s how I kept myself fed.”

“Interesting,” Hendricks said. “I have a similar story. I grew up in Midhelm, on the streets of Novacia. I was homeless all my life. However, a friendly older man taught me how to play Charge. He explained the rules to me, taught me a strategy that would win me most games against amateurs. After he taught me, I shamelessly begged him for some food. I remember him smiling with delight. He gave me a sandwich and a single silver coin.

“The sandwich was to feed me right then, but the silver coin kept me fed until I was an adult. I bet that silver coin in the board game parks downtown, winning my first game, doubling my single coin into two. The old man told me to bet only a single coin at a time until I got ten silver coins, then I should start to bet two and so on, always keeping a reserve for when I needed to buy food. That silver coin soon turned into ten, then into a gold coin, then multiple gold coins. It was like I had a low-paying job, but I was only playing games.”

Jaxton nodded. “I was homeless too. All the food I ate came from wins I got in parks. We have a lot of similarities in how we grew up. Even I had a mentor too.”

Only he took me in as one of his own, Jaxton thought. From what Hendricks said, it seemed like the old man who helped him disappeared from his life, leaving him to fend for himself. Jaxton wanted to ask how he became a drug dealer but felt the question was inappropriate, so he held his teeth to his tongue.

They set up the board. Jaxton had the red pieces while Hendricks had the blue. Confident, Jaxton allowed Hendricks the first move. He again tried the v-formation—pushing a single up in the middle—the same structure he used to win before and likely won with throughout his entire childhood. It beat amateurs, demanding a proper formation to counter it. Otherwise, victory came naturally.

Instead of mirroring the v-formation, Jaxton started stacking, bringing a single in the middle up to form a double to oppose the pushed blue single. While Hendricks carved out his v, Jaxton created a cross shape, keeping the center two columns full in structure. The idea being the v couldn’t push up without at least making some trades. Doubles formed right the tip of the cross while two triples hid on each side of the board, ready to recapture any exchanges.

While the triple had more power than the double or single, it was also the most vulnerable piece on the board. A single could take a triple as easily as a triple could swallow a single. But if you could exchange a piece, it was ideal to bring your triple up to the front of the board since they carved the most space. Attacking with triples usually sacrificed the stack in exchange for better positioning.

The game continued, and Hendricks struggled to continue developing his v, as any move forward was a move into the cross forced an exchange and disrupt his formation.

However, at the end of the game, Jaxton failed to fill all four slots in the tallyzone but won by having two pieces inside while Hendricks could not fill a single space. Hendrick’s remaining pieces were singles unable to cross diagonally to reach any center squares.

“Good game,” Hendricks said, extending his hand again. He smiled, a good man in the face of his defeat.

“Good game,” Jaxton replied, accepting his hand. “And thanks for the game.”

“No, thank you! I haven’t had any good competition in a while, no offense Jaren,” Hendricks laughed, glancing over to the man beside Jaxton. He looked back to Jaxton. “You wanna go a second round?”

Jaxton shook his head. “I should be going, but I had a blast, really,” he flushed. He took his glass and finished the scotch inside, slapping it back down on the table. “And thank you for the drink.”

He slipped from the booth, nodding his head.

“See you there,” Hendricks lifted his glass to cheer Jaxton.

“See you there,” Jaxton said, nodding before turning, heading to the door.

Suddenly, the bar fell to a silence. The cheers lowered to what sounded like whispers in his ears as the adrenaline finally started to kick in, and his heart pounded louder than it had when he entered. As he stepped out the door and felt the cold air for the first time, he almost wanted to bellow out on the street in victory, give Steepcreek a roar as nobody had heard before.

He turned to the alley and saw Carter leaning against the wall. He had a grin on his face, then patted Jaxton on the shoulder. “Good work, kid,” he said. “You did well.”

They moved down the alley. Carter knocked on the door, and Aeryn let them inside the backroom of the dispensary.

“Well,” Gordon said, standing up from a stool he sat on. He looked tired, on the verge of passing out.

Jaxton pulled the card Hendricks gave him out from his pocket and handed it over to Gordon.

He took it, looking it over, and smiled. A genuine smile, something unlike anything Jaxton had seen from him before. “You son of a bitch,” he said, snatching Jaxton off guard with a tight embrace. His cold armor pressed against his chin as Gordon pulled Jaxton in hard. “You bastard, you did it.”

Gordon pulled away before saying the words Jaxton didn’t know he needed so desperately to hear. Five words shook his very core, giving him goosebumps and struck his heart like a drumstick.

“I’m proud of you, boy,” Gordon said, clasping Jaxton on the shoulders with his large, gloved hands.