As he adjusted his frilly pink dress, Jack mentally reviewed his briefings. "Morgan Romaro, age sixteen, heir to the family fortune, with a propensity for manipulation," he'd been told. Despite her youth, she was said to be incredibly intelligent and fiercely protective of her family. The agency had stressed that gaining her trust would be crucial in infiltrating the inner circle of the Romaro crime syndicate.
His heart raced as he heard soft footsteps approaching. Jack turned just in time to see Morgan descending the staircase—her long, dark hair cascading like a waterfall of silk, and her designer clothes screaming superiority. Her icy blue eyes scanned him with an intensity that made Jack’s stomach churn.
“Faith, what are you doing just standing there? Did you forget you have a dance lesson?” Morgan’s tone dripped with condescension.
“Um, sorry, I lost track of time…” Jack struggled with the high-pitched voice that had become second nature in these past few days.
Morgan raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical but intrigued. “You always lose track of time, don’t you? Come on, I’ll help you brush up on your pirouettes. You know how Mother gets when you mess up at the charity gala next week.”
Glaring at the bottom of the staircase, Jack clenched his small fists. He had no idea that the charity gala was so soon. He would need to find a way to blend in and not attract any suspicious glances, but being a preteen novice at dance felt like a new hurdle in his already precarious situation.
As Morgan guided him into a lavishly decorated dance studio that overlooked the sprawling gardens, Jack anticipated the challenge ahead. The large mirrors on the walls reflected the two girls back at him—one an awkward clone, and the other a picture of elegance and ambition.
The piano began to play, and Jack forced himself to concentrate. Morgan demonstrated the steps, her long limbs moving with an effortless grace that Jack could only dream of matching. “Like this, Faith,” Morgan instructed, her voice unwavering. “You have to channel your inner swan, not a clumsy duck.”
Jack struggled but followed her lead, trying to drown out the increasing pressure he felt. Each twirl brought him closer to the prospect of discovery, and the sharp realization that if he didn’t succeed, the agency's mission—and his very life—could be at stake.
After what felt like an eternity, Morgan finally stopped and crossed her arms, her expression becoming more critical. “Ugh, you’re so…mortal. You really should work on your posture. Who’s going to take you seriously as a ballerina if you keep slouching?”
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