Chapter #7mission starts by: ro34   The crisp evening air was tinged with both excitement and dread as Jack, now Faith, stood at the towering gates of the Romaro estate. The elaborate wrought-iron gates were flanked by manicured hedges that loomed like sentinels guarding a fortress. Jack took a deep breath, the small, barely-there lungs of an eight-year-old filling with air barely enough to steady the swarm of thoughts darting through his mind.
"Stay focused," a voice whispered in his earpiece, a constant reminder from Agent Michaels, his handler who remained at the agency’s control center. She was his lifeline, an anchor to reality amidst the surreal transformation he had undergone. “Remember your training; you know the family background and how to behave. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.”
Jack glanced down at his small, delicate hands, barely large enough to grip the ornate handle of the second-hand backpack he had slung over one shoulder. Despite the facade of innocence, he felt the weight of the mission pressing heavily on him. Inside this little girl’s body lay the mind of a seasoned agent, trained to adapt, overcome, and conquer.
As he approached the mansion, a pair of guards, clad in dark suits, screened him with sharp eyes. Their expressions didn’t waver as he flashed an innocent smile, channeling the charm of a typical eight-year-old, the Romaro family’s 2nd daughter, who had supposedly gone to a school abroad. With a slight nod, they stepped aside and allowed him to pass into the lavish foyer.
The interior of the mansion was a stark contrast to the danger that lurked outside. Chandeliers hung like glittering jewels from the high ceiling, and the polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of the intricate artwork adorning the walls. Everything screamed wealth and power, a fitting testament to Romaro's empire.
Jack squared his small shoulders, adjusting the pink dress that clung to him almost uncomfortably. The clothing was a stark reminder of his new identity; it was an anchor but also a shackle. He had to immerse himself in this role, to blend in without raising suspicion. As he made his way through the ornate hallway, he recalled the intel he had memorized — Faith Romaro’s penchant for theater, Faith’s favorite toys stashed in the playroom, and the disarming charm of her older 16 year old sister.
“Keep it light, keep it loose,” Michaels urged, her voice echoing in his ear. “You’re not just a spy; you’re a daughter. Get close to the family.”
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