Her free time is few and far between, but Adya would rather be busy than feel like she’s wasting away in her bedroom. Being active from dusk to dawn is a nice change of pace from the hours of therapy, diagnostics, and questionnaires she’s grown accustomed to. It’ll be a while until her cadet training is finished, but after only a few weeks, she already feels more like herself. She’s starting to feel a little more at home, both at Goddard and in her own body.

As the one month mark of her training nears, reporters are eager to check in. Admittedly, Adya is just as eager to give them her honest truth.  Nate has reminded her ad nauseam to not compromise her dignity for good press.

In the courtyard, she listens to the fountain’s quiet, flowing water; even with its constant movement, the sound is just as lovely now as when she first moved in. Through the glass windows of the first floor, she watches agents sprint down hallways and researchers in lab coats exchange tablets and folders. Everyone’s moving a lot faster than usual.

Nate’s a bit of an unfamiliar sight when he steps out of the sliding door. Instead of the usual black suit with its off-black padding, Nate’s uniform is accented with whites and reds. The padding of his left shoulder sports a bright red cross. He fastens the harness around his torso that holds his batons tight against his back.

“Ready to dive back into interviews?” he asks. 

“Yes, actually,” she says, “but I’m more worried about why everyone is running around. Am I missing something?”

“It’s always like this the day after an earthquake. Lots of medical and rescue teams and lots of back-and-forth with local hospitals. We got a call about an unstable building, but I wanted to stop by and wish you luck so I have an actual excuse for being late to the transport.”

Adya narrows her gaze. “There was an earthquake? I didn’t feel it. I tend to be a heavy sleeper now that my circadian rhythm is… nonexistent.”

Nate chuckles and reaches a hand out to his cadet. She grips onto his forearm and squeezes it. “Don’t compromise yourself,” he mentions. “You’ve been out of touch with the media for a month. These guys will be brutally honest, so you should be, too. But don’t badmouth me. A scandal is the last thing I need right now.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright. I won’t. Murphy’s probably waiting on you. Tell me about your heroics later.”

“I’ll save some for you once you graduate from cadet training, don’t worry!”

Adya laughs and watches him disappear among the sea of agents through the glass. What a showoff, she thinks.

“So, Adya,” the interviewer says, holding his phone beneath his chin, “You’ve officially settled in, your training is in full swing, you’re a long ways from home-- How is LA different from Kolkata? Aside from the obvious, of course. Has it been treating you well?”

He tilts the phone in her direction as the two of them wander through the quieter second floor of Goddard. “I think it’s pretty much all obvious,” she mentions with a smile. “But it’s been going well. I’d be lying if I said that the training was easy, but I enjoy the challenge. I’ve got no shortage of people to look up to here.”

“You’ve been through a hell of a lot in the last two years. Since the initial procedure, you’ve had to relearn, quite literally, everything. I can assume that it’s a nice change of pace to learn something for the first time instead.”

“It is.” She tries to brush off the way that all his questions have circled back to her past. Kolkata. Therapy. The procedure. The homesickness. “Sometimes my patience gets the better of me, but again, I enjoy the challenge. I’d be more than happy to get into the details of my training if you’d like.”

As expected, the recommendation flies completely over his head. She can’t blame herself for trying. “Let’s fast forward a couple of years. You’re an agent, LA has become your permanent home, you’re hero-ing all across town and people know you as such. Do you see yourself worrying about missing out on the standard, young adult experience?” asks the interviewer.

There it is. The response she’s been recycling almost spills out, but she’s not interested in giving him the luxury of a clean, polite answer. “Which is…?”

“College, a part-time job, house parties, making friends. The works.”

Adya furrows her brow. She’s almost glad he asked; Nate will be absolutely furious about this one. “I can’t miss what I’ve never felt. If I wanted to attend college or get a desk job, I very well could have. My supervisors gave me plenty of liberty with what I chose to do with my future, and I chose to become an agent. Also, I don’t like the implication that my career choice means I can’t make friends.”

The interviewer looks at his feet and trips over his words, but doesn’t quite reach an apology. “Well, the fact of the matter is that you’re a working woman now. Do you think that jumping over the college experience is making your life a bit easier, or is it something you worry about regretting down the road?”

“Do you think that becoming a spectacle overnight is easy?”

The words practically fall out of her mouth. It feels good not to shrink into herself and put on a smile when the questions start to sting.

“I just meant--”

“You meant that I’d attract even more eyes if I went to college. That’s not wrong. Whatever path I’m on is not the easy path-- some of that is my choice, some of it isn’t.”

Once they’ve circled back to the stairwell and down to the first floor, Adya and the interviewer emerge back out in the courtyard. While he stays on the sidewalk, she ambles across the dirt, looking forward to the end of this interview so she can collapse into the soft grass and listen to the landscape until Nate and his team come back from their mission. For now, she just sits politely in front of the fountain.

Considering how the questions usually follow a pattern, hours-long interviews feel like minutes when Adya puts herself on autopilot. At least an hour goes by without her giving the interview much thought, but the interviewer’s final questions have snapped her back to reality. She might as well let him have it.

“You're from the LA Times, right?” she clarifies.

He sits down on the bench across from her. “That's right.”

“I wish that the LA Times was more interested in my reality than what-ifs. I don’t think I’m making my life easier or harder by becoming an agent. All I know is that I’m making it my own. And I think everyone deserves that.” She flashes a bright smile at the interviewer as her hands travel along the grass. It doesn’t feel forced; she gave him nothing but the truth. However he paints her in this article is a problem to worry about later. “Did you have any more questions?”

“Just one, actually,” he says. “Self-identity is a beast we all conquer one day, and I’m sure you’re no stranger to it. Do you look in the mirror and see yourself?”

“I…” was not prepared for this.

Just when she thinks she’s answered every burning question at least once, a new one falls into her lap. Inquiries about her literal self-- how it was to learn to walk again, how her joints work, how she sleeps-- are in high supply. But her figurative self? That’s a new one.

One that’s gonna take many more months to answer.

Before she can even open her mouth, an extremely winded Tristan bursts through the sliding glass door. Sweat drenches his forehead and he hasn’t even bothered to put his helmet away in the armory. He may be a gentle giant, but he’s never looked so small. “Adya,” he says, “it’s Nate.”

She scrambles to her feet. “Is everything okay?”

Only when she gets closer does she notice the tear stains on his cheeks. “You’re gonna want to come and see this.”