Unable to stop herself, her eyes met his in a flash of guilt. He was her partner. She should have been able to tell. "No sir," she said truthfully. She regretted it, but it was not reason to decline a promotion.
"The death of the unregistered throw?" he asked next, and she stiffened. "I am sorry about that. Unfortunately it happens," Walter said, not pleading but with a hard tone of fact. "That you avoided it for so long is a testament to your abilities, not your failings. That you were able to make that hard decision is the reason you're being offered a position in the elite now."
Her head turned to him, and anger pushed out the guilt. As much as she regretted what happened to Zach, his death was the result of her failing, not the cause. "I want this, sir," she said, trembling as she tried to explain. "I've wanted it ever since setting a foot on the cobbles of the Strand. I want it so bad that when I walk out of this office, I am going to hate myself for a long time. It isn't because I killed Zach, sir. It's why I killed him."
Walter leaned back in his chair, gesturing for her to continue.
Her gut twisted. Grace closed her eyes as she took a slow breath. "I found my breaking point, sir," she said softly as they opened.
"Ahhh." She stared straight ahead, but she could see him lean even farther back, his hands laced across his ample middle. He knew what she was talking about. It was her job to find the breaking point of possible recruits, to push them to the end of their moral resources, either by fear or anger, to see if they would use their abilities to kill someone who had not struck out at them first. Jason had found hers.
"It's Jason," she said, the lump in her throat somehow not coloring her words. "Zach tried to kill him, and I overreacted." She turned to him, meeting his eyes so he would understand her failure. "Jason didn't kill him, I did. I burned out his entire brain because I love Jason. I may have passed the elite's test, but I failed in doing so."
Walter cocked his head, seemingly unconvinced. "Jason . . ."
She nodded, swallowing hard as her life crashed down around her. "I should be on the Island being evaluated, not Boyd. Rewarding me with a promotion is a travesty. With proper monitoring, I feel I can continue in perhaps a teaching capacity, but I'd ask that I be removed from my current position of collector immediately."
It was more than she deserved, but she couldn't bear to leave the Strand. It had been peace when she had been in turmoil, sanctuary when she had been lost.
"And I can't change your mind?" Walter said, his tone empty of emotion.
"No sir." Her jaw was clenched. Hoc was lying on her feet, his eyes giving her distress away. Maybe they would still let her do the preschool runs. It was unlikely she'd be provoked by four-year-olds.
Walter exhaled loudly as he leaned forward. The sound of her papers crumpling up was loud, and she stared when they flashed into flame halfway to his trashcan. He was already pulling a new form out, handwriting her new assignment. Grace's shoulders bowed in her grief as she abandoned her dream of doing anything important, of making something unique of her talent, of making a difference in the world.
"Very well then," the man said as he scratched and scrawled, using his left hand. "They say the practitioner knows his or her limits. There will be a lot of people sorry to see you go."
"Thank you, sir," she said, her heart breaking. She'd wanted to work in the elite ever since walking through the arches and into the peace of the Strand, had envied Jason when he reached the elite's halls before her, and for one brief moment, had felt the joy of having a chance to do what she wanted. She'd still be a part of what the Strand stood for. She could teach and not be a threat to those around her. It wasn't what she wanted, but it would be something. Her grandmother would be pleased-she'd be free now to start a family.
Grace's gut clenched as she wondered if that was what she wanted. It didn't feel like it.
The sound of the paper sliding across the desk brought her eyes down, and Grace took it automatically as Walter stood. "You have three days until you are required to take on your new duties. Is that enough to get your and Hoc's affairs in order?"
"Yes, sir. And thank you, sir," she said, not looking at it, ashamed for her demotion even as she had asked for it.
And still, he did not release her. "Did you know that you are the oldest recruit the Strand has ever allowed to remain unburned?" he said, turning to the window with his tiny thimble of coffee. "You entire career has been scrutinized, your actions weighed more carefully than anyone else's. You were very nearly burned out twice, once when we found you, once in the middle of your training. But wiser heads held off because with all the anger, all the fear you have worked through, you never tried to hurt anyone."
"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. But perhaps I should have been."
Walter turned, not a hint of a smile on him. "The elite kill, Grace. Jason kills. I killed." His expression hardened. "We are soldiers. Soldiers kill."
"You don't kill innocents," she whispered.
"Was Zach innocent?" he barked, and she jumped, making Hoc cower. "I say no. Don't confuse youth with innocence. You have balance. You have control. You will not be allowed to quit."
"Sir?"
"Look at your orders. Look at it!"
Nervous, Grace looked, her clenched jaw loosening. It still held the elite's stamp.
"Bright and early, Grace." Walter came forward from around the desk, his mood shifting completely. "Testing of the Strand's own never ends. Ever," he said as he put a hand on her shoulder. "And bring that dog with you. I still want to know how far you and he can go together."
"But I failed!" she exclaimed, not understanding.
He was smiling as he handed her that same tiny cup. "I don't see it that way. You know why you broke. You have determined that it should never happen again, taken steps to prevent it. That is a sign of maturity, not wanton disregard of life."
The paper in her hand drooped. "This is entry into the elite's fighting force. I'm a risk."
Walter took the paper before it fell, folding it in thirds. "We all are, Grace. The Strand is an illusion of fences and security so that those who can't throw may feel safe. We do the best we can by removing the ability from those who would clearly use it for ill gain. We shift the fate of those we reach with early education. But we are people, and people make choices. Make mistakes. Besides . . ." He handed the folded paper to her, and she took it. "Jason's team isn't the only one on the cobbles. If you curtail your relationship to one entirely outside of work, I don't know why your control should be suspect. As I recall, your balance was never compromised during the entire acquisition."