A friend.

The waiter turned away again with the tray under his arm. I wondered whether he had heard him or not, as he was serving between me and Styles.

My best friend was smiling victoriously and I didn't know what to do or say. I wanted so badly for what he had just told me to be a joke, but deep down I knew it was true. I didn't know the cause, only that I had to be caught for something much more serious than robbery and conspiracy against the president.

"Tell me," he leaned over the table to pick up his cup, "what are you doing here?"

Hypatia touched her lips with her index finger, studying my friend up and down. With her other hand, and almost without thinking, she fiddled with the handle of her coffee. No one spoke until she did, for it was clear that she was our head and we all accepted her as such.

Lydia, sitting between Hypatia and Styles, watched my friend and me curiously, trying to figure out whether I trusted him completely or not.

I resented him. Yes. Very much so. That didn't change things, though. I'd had blind trust in Brian since we were very young, since we became friends the first time I ended up in that orphanage.

"The same as you do working for the president."

"You're going for the truth," he concluded. "Whatever it takes?"

We all nodded in agreement.

"Do you have nothing to lose? Families, friends?" He didn't turn to look at me. "I'm not asking you, Stella. You, of all people, should know how this goes."

"How do you know that, Brian?"

"Maybe because I work on the inside and have access to everything. The only thing I saw was the name of your biological parents, the same name the headmistress gave us, and your name on a list of "national dangers". Does that seem logical to you?"

"Now I think so," I crossed my arms. "Very logical, indeed."

"If we told you what this was all about?" Lydia pointed at all of us. "Would you betray us?"

"I swore eternal loyalty to Stella," he took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the way it burned down his throat. "If you are with Stella, my loyalty is also to you."

"A slave," Kevin laughed mischievously.

"Make no mistake, my friend. I am anything but a servant. I never break my oaths, but I don't stoop too low in keeping them."

"Loyalty means honesty to each other, faithfulness to our friendship. He can' t betray us no matter what happens. Be it bad, good or fair," I explained.

"What happens if he doesn't keep the oath?"

"If either of us don't keep the oath, the other will appear out of nowhere and..." I turned my head to Brian. "We didn't make that part of the deal."

"We can kill the other one. Since this is a more serious matter now," I nodded in agreement with what he had said.

"She's my sister," said Styles as he cut into the candy that had been brought to him, "and you're just my friend, pal. If you dare to even touch her..."

"You don't know what she has been through," Kevin interjected.

Brian chuckled, shaking his head slightly and rolling his eyes. I silenced him with a kick under the table. He bowed his head, took a breath and kept his mouth shut. I didn't want him to tell everything he knew had happened to me, humiliating Styles and Kevin along the way, and me on the rebound.

"Do you want to try some?" He held out his coffee, I nodded, exchanged the cup for mine and he took a couple of sips. "This isn't bad... Do you drink it very often?"

"Yep" the taste of what he was drinking was sweet and bitter at the same time, it tasted like three things that, to me, didn't go together at all. "I don't like this."

Hypatia's eyes seemed to glow like torches at that reaction to Styles and Kevin's threats. She had given my friend the go-ahead. All that was missing was Lydia, who was more focused on Kevin's sleight of hand with the knife in front of her than on the conversation we were having.

"What do you need me to do?" He turned to Hypatia. "You command and rule."

"Do you know anything more about the dangers against nations?"

His lips met in a thin line and he thought for a few seconds. After reviewing all the information in his head, he slowly shook his head in denial.

"Those files are too old. The only more or less recent ones are those of Stella's parents, no more. Neither the CIA, nor the FBI, nor the Secret Service have the information we're looking for. It disappeared about ten years ago and there was quite a scandal, as far as I've been able to glean from the most gossipy agents."

She looked down at her Irish coffee and pondered his words.

"What doesn't sit right with me is the way Stella's parents' case is closed," he took another sip of my tea. "This is great," he looked at me incredulously and returned to the subject. "Normally, when cases are closed," he began to whisper, and we all sidled up to him, "each agency seals the reports and all the evidence with a stamp of their own. Then they give copies to the other agencies in case there is something similar in their cases. Each agency has a stamp. Your parents' case had another seal, one that hadn't been seen for over a thousand years, around the time of the death of the last king. But that seal was also used by a secret society in their assassinations, so I'm not quite sure what could have happened."

"Let me get this straight, the CIA, the FBI and the Secret Service are each working separately, but in cahoots to maintain an order that benefits the current president. Am I right?" Styles nodded doubtfully. "I'll try again. There is a huge conspiracy of which we have no idea and of which these organisations are a part."

"You hit the nail on the head..."

"Hypatia."

"I like your name, is it Egyptian?"

Lydia's eyes widened. The same comment I had made had come from my best friend's lips. But in a different way. While I had said it with joy and admiration, he had said it thoughtfully and deep in other thoughts. He was worried about something.

His mobile started to vibrate. He looked at the screen, blocked it and got up from the table.

"I'll pay you my share later, when I see you again," he buttoned the buttons of his jacket, leaned towards me and whispered in my ear. "I'll pick you up for lunch afterwards, Stella."

He kissed my cheek and walked out the door.

"Your best friend?" Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. My best friend."

"I've never seen you so comfortable with anyone," Lydia said. "Never."

"He's my best friend."

"The one you haven't spoken to in six months," Hypatia smiled, biting her lips.

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms.

"Hypatia, you've been flirting with Kevin all morning and you never flirt with anyone."

"Because our beloved home is a drag. It's not worth flirting with anyone."

I didn't believe it, but I let it go.

"Tell us, Stella, what makes you so relaxed when he's around?"

"A lot has happened, Kevin, that you have no idea about," I drank what Brian had left of my tea. "Brian knows a lot more about my injuries than anyone else at this table. He may even know a lot of my dirty laundry," I was about to pull up my shirt sleeves, but I regretted it before I did. "Maybe because his presence is like a pillar to me."

"Two hours ago," Hypatia reminded me, "you wanted to slice him from side to side. What made you change your mind?"

I sighed and chewed my cheek.

"I don't think you understood."

Lydia snorted in amusement, followed by a laugh from my brother.

"Actually, I think better than anyone else here," she flipped her hair over her right shoulder.

"Hey, we're not all idiots," Kevin pointed to his temples.

"You, least of all, would understand, darling."

"Whatever you say, love, whatever you say," she stuck out her tongue and pressed her cheek against her fist. "We all know that I'm the real brain here, my dear, even if yours is almost on a par with mine."

"It's twelve o'clock, Hypatia," Lydia picked up the mobile phone on the table and got up, followed by Styles. "I recommend that you save your marital squabbles for another day."

"Yeah, yeah... I'm coming," Kevin and Hypatia also got up. "Bye bye, boys."

She gave Kevin two kisses and Styles another two and walked to the exit to the van. Lydia went with her after giving each of them a hug. They waved goodbye before leaving the restaurant. The boys sat back down.

"Friends of my friend... Come to think of it, he mentioned you in a couple of letters, but he didn't say your names," I crossed my legs under the table and pushed my best friend's coffee away from me.

"So you were that girl," I looked up quickly from my coffee cup to Styles' comment.

"Oh, you're interested!" Kevin pointed at me.

"Please!" I leaned back in my chair and placed both hands on my legs. "What do you think of Hypatia?"

"I forget that a lot of times you're a baseball bat," Kevin wiped his lips after finishing his Irish. "You hit them back a lot harder."

I shrugged my shoulders with a smile.

Kevin called the waiter to pay the bill and he used the money he had taken from the mobster's account to pay the bill. We chatted for a while longer until one o'clock struck on the antique wooden clock in the restaurant.

We left the restaurant slowly. We said goodbye on the way out, saying we would call each other later.

They disappeared from my sight as I turned the far corner of the restaurant.

"I thought you'd never come out," Brian emerged from behind one of the bushes.

"You're such a whiner," he held out his arm, I took it.

We walked for a while in silence, enjoying the cool breeze that blew through our hair. When we were far enough away from anyone else, he spoke again.

His voice was low, slow and calm. So different from the one he had shown the day before with the president. It was not that of a soldier, ready to carry out orders he received. No. This time it was that of my best friend. Funny, mischievous and sarcastic. The same one I had known for so many years of phone calls on birthdays.

"When were you planning to tell me about your late parents?"

"Ummm" I remember thinking that the ground at that moment became the most interesting thing in the world.

I'll take you somewhere quiet to eat," he took the hand I was holding on his arm and squeezed it lightly to make me forget what he had just asked. It's all right if you don't tell me.

"Thank you" I relaxed so much that I walked for several seconds with my eyes closed.

I noticed how he also relaxed when he heard me sigh, releasing all the tension.

"Tell me, have you been adopted again?"

I denied, leaning my head on his arm.

"No. I found my family. But you already knew that."

"I knew it, but I like to hear your voice."

Only his lips were smiling. His eyes were sad. That electric blue that I had always loved so much seemed to darken by the second. Something was bothering him, I knew right away. Something was gnawing at his insides and he wanted to hide it so I wouldn't worry. I knew those gestures. He kept me away from him without my knowing it, but at the same time he kept me close. Something was bothering him, it was very clear to me at that moment.

I didn't want to push, because if I pushed he would close up more and we would drift apart again. We would never again have anyone with the level of trust between us. I didn't want him buried alive between worksheets and thousands of hours of overtime to forget. For that not to happen, I had to change the subject.

"They killed my uncle during chemotherapy," I confessed, I hadn't told him that before that day.

"I knew that too. I'm so sorry," he put his other hand to his eyes. "I should have told you."

"No. You shouldn't."

When he pulled his hand away, his eyes were still the same dark, lifeless colour. He was truly tormented by whatever secret he had.

My hotel was quite close, so I asked him to be quiet and we went up to the room.

He sat on a chair in front of a glass table in the room. I watched as he rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. His shoulders were slumped and he was unable to lift his head. When he took his hands away from his face, I could see that it was reddened and his bloodshot gaze was lost somewhere on the carpet.

"I was there. I saw them kill him."

I sat on the floor in front of him. He shunned me every time I tried to get his attention. He turned his head away, unable to look me in the eye.

I realised that this playful façade he had had in front of the others was nothing more than that. A façade. They had forced him to do things that no one should force a child to do, they had threatened someone around him.

"We were twelve, Brian," I took one of his hands. "We were twelve. It's okay, it's okay. It wasn't your fault."

He closed his other hand tightly.

"I knew he was your uncle and I didn't do anything. I didn't stop the shooter, Stella. I didn't even try."

Him, not confronting people with his outsized ego? How could he not distract the shooter? Things only clicked for me when one word solved the puzzle. Threat.

"What did they threaten you with when they forced you to enter wherever you are?"

Brian looked at me with regret and embarrassment. I drew a deep breath.

"What do they want you for...? You don't need to answer me. I already know."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "It was...."

"I know. It doesn't matter."

I waited for him to calm down. He wasn't crying. His eyes flashed menacingly with it, but he wasn't going to cry. Not in front of me.

"I saw you at the funeral. I saw you prepare everything single-handedly and spend what little money your uncle had left you on a grave he deserved," his voice broke. "Stella, I saw you alone burying your uncle in the village cemetery. No one came to help you, no one wanted to hear from you."

My lips forced a bitter-sweet smile.

"At least you were talking to me. Have you ever thought what it would worry me if I didn't hear from you?" my lower lip began to tremble. "My uncle would have died sooner or later, he was in the last stages of his cancer. I told him about you. He said, 'He's a good boy. A bit of a cocky boy, but a good boy'. I never told him you were that, he never read your letters. You saw him, didn't you?"

"I am so sorry," he sobbed.

My throat ached from the lump that was forming. My heart was beating slowly and my eyes stung. I covered my mouth and parted my lips, to ease the pressure of the knot. I swallowed saliva and grabbed both his hands.

"Did he know he was going to die?"

"Yes. He told me he was grateful to have met you," he turned his head sharply, shying away from me, then he put his fist to his mouth and bit it. I tried to take his hand away from his mouth. "He told me he was happy that I was your friend. He said you showed him the only picture we had together. He said that..." tears started to slide down his cheeks. "He said he was happy that at least I was your friend. He said he was happy that you at least opened up to someone like me. He said," he hiccupped and hid his head in his hands, "he loved you like his own daughter. That he was so proud of you. He said he forgave me, that I had no choice and that he would have done the same if he had been in my situation. He said he was happy with the way I acted. He said he was satisfied with what I was going to do, proud that I had the guts to do it."

I knelt down and hugged him, crying too.

"I'm so terribly sorry," he repeated over and over again. "But I had to do it. The government knew who you were, whose daughter you were. It was him or you, not the prison or me. I'm so sorry."

I pulled him away from my shoulder and wiped away both his tears and my own.

"It's all right. I would have done the same for you," I admitted. Seeing that he still wasn't looking at me, I continued speaking. "This never happened. You didn't witness my uncle's murder, you didn't take part in it, as far as I'm concerned. So, get your filthy ass to the bathroom, wipe your baby face and take me somewhere nice to eat."

He laughed a little more cheerfully.

"Does the hot dog stand I saw near here look like a nice place to eat?" He said as he came out of the bathroom, looking absolutely spotless, with his sunglasses on.

He came close enough for me to take off his glasses and see that the colour of his eyes was still dark.

"No. What do you really want to do?" they shone brightly. "Go on, tell me."

"I feel like stealing a couple of little things to pay for our meal," I laughed, thinking I was bluffing. "Do you want to?"

"You're serious?"

"I have a criminal career behind me, why not add to it more crimes?"

It really worried me. I stopped smiling and grabbed his face with both hands, looking for some sign that he was lying to me. There was none. He was slowly sinking into a pit from which he couldn't climb out if he fell any further.

"Who did you kill? "

I got no response. He grabbed my hands and pulled them away from his face.

"Who did you kill?"

"Stella, I don't want to answer you."

"Brian, I don't care. Who did you kill?"

"I don't want to talk about it like you don't want to talk about the murder of your last adoptive parents," I broke away from him like he was acid. "Because it hurts, am I right?"

He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom door. I followed close behind. He grabbed the knob and made the door open.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"How many?"

"Twenty-five. You?"

"I am not sure. I have the feeling that four or five."

"They underestimated you. My bosses underestimated you. They underestimate your friends too. They know them and they know they will do well to develop their nation, like you."

"They don't kill."

"They know it."

"They want to recruit them?"

"No. They want to recruit you. They know what you are capable of. They've got you on tape. Every single time you've cut throats."

"And if I tell you I don't remember any of them."

"I'm telling you as a friend, don't let them know. They recruited me thinking they could get to you. If you please them, you've got your life sorted out. Besides, we can overthrow them whenever we want if we're on the inside."

"Have you come to recruit me? Have you been sent to recruit me?"

"My bosses, ever since you came into town, haven't wanted me to do anything else. But they don't know you've been to the White House, they have other concerns at the moment."

We left the room, leaving the conversation hidden within those four walls, still latent.

We left that place as if nothing had happened. Hiding deep inside us what had just happened, holding it in and mulling it over. Without thinking about it, I was hanging on his arm and we were walking together aimlessly through the streets of Washington D.C..

"Promise me one thing, Brian," he nodded, "that you won't steal unless absolutely necessary, and you won't kill unless you're following orders or in self-defence."

"Of course. That's what I've always done, I've never killed in cold blood. You?"

"I don't know. I don't know what happened with the lawyers or the two girls at the school, but I know something happened."

We were passing in front of the Smithsonian and stood looking at the Washington Monument. I studied the height of the building and cast several furtive glances at my friend that didn't go unnoticed, but he ignored them and continued to gaze in wonder at the obelisk. I turned my attention away from the monument and analysed Brian, not as quickly as the night before. There I took my time to do so.

His hair looked like the sun and, with the sun high in the sky, it shone like the sun. He wore it short and tousled. It looked so soft and silky to the eye that I had to restrain myself a couple of times from touching it. I wondered if it was the way it looked all those times. His eyes were electric blue again, no dark shades, just a breathtaking electric blue, where you could spend hours lost in them without noticing time passing by.

"Like what you see?"

"I was comparing the height of your self-centredness to the height of the obelisk," I pointed to the monument.

"What are your conclusions?"

"That maybe the Eiffel Tower will surpass it," and then I thought to myself out loud. "No, I don't think so. You're too vain"

"For the specimen that I am..." he joked.

"Yup, a specimen," I rolled my eyes and dropped my weight on his arm.

We bought food from a nearby street stall and ate it on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Now it was his time to watch me, while I was eating.

"You've changed," I made a sound with my mouth full, curious at his statement. "You have a few more freckles."

"Did you count my freckles when we were little?"

He shook his head, smiling sincerely.

"You've changed too, Brian."

"I'm not saying physically, you've changed a lot," he nodded with wide eyes, I smiled mischievously and he returned the gesture. "You've changed the way you are. That makes me wonder how far you've come?"

"For less than you, my friend."

"Have you already forgiven me?"

"Between you and me, you will never need to seek my forgiveness or my permission, only my opinion if you need it."

"Your opinion is my stela."

"Ha ha ha ha, look how I laugh," I stuck my tongue out at him and we continued eating.

He was sitting a couple of steps down and was propped up on his elbows, half lying down. I stared straight ahead while he continued to scrutinise me. From the time he spent doing this I came to believe that he was slowly memorising me. I didn't care.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the museums, especially the History Museum. We tried to see all the exhibits and even went to the souvenir shop. We bought two matching keyrings that would remain from now on as friendship keyrings. We would carry them everywhere in the future and I almost lost mine during one of the missions, but we would always wear them with pride and loyalty to what they represent.

Before the sun began to dip below the horizon, his mobile rang with a new mission or a message from the president. He decided it would be better to call it a day and walked me back to the hotel, promising to talk to me the next morning. I told him I would call him if he gave me his phone number. I didn't want something to happen with my friends and not go with them because of him. He was my best friend, yes, but they were like my sisters.

"Bye, you idiot," he kissed my cheek. "Dream of the angels," he winked at me.

"Good night, stupid," I smacked his arm and disappeared through the doors. "Sweet dreams," I whispered to myself as soon as I crossed the threshold.

I went upstairs and read the messages I had received that afternoon. There were two from Lydia and another five from Hypatia, all in the group the three of us had. In addition, there was another group with my stepbrother and Kevin.

They talked about banal things and wished each other a good night.

Hypatia wrote to me separately. She told me that tomorrow morning we would have to be at Lydia's house, to see what she was doing with my brother. It turned out that they had arranged to meet in the morning and she had found out because she had hacked into Lydia's mobile at lunch because he was bored.

I immediately wrote her not to worry about picking me up, that if she gave me the address I would walk. I didn't want to miss anything the two of them did together. I shipped them so much that I forgot that Styles had a girlfriend.

We spent two hours planning our little spy club for the next day and I ended up falling asleep with my mobile in my hands.

I had a dream that started out sweet and ended up frightening. It wasn't a dream, it was a memory. It made my blood run cold to have it so vividly. I was terrified at the end.

Brian waited patiently on the window ledge. He was sitting in front of me with his legs crossed. He was no more than seven years old. However, his boyish face and blue eyes made him look smaller. He was gawking at the scenery behind the window. There was a couple chatting amicably with the orphanage director. The man was of medium height, with dark hair and well-groomed. He was dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit and carried a brown leather briefcase that made him look important. The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a black blouse with a short white skirt and carried a large amount of papers in her arms.

"Those are your new parents, Stella," his voice showed the disappointment he carried, not that I was adopted more often than he was, but that I was taken away from him. "It's good that they've adopted you again."

He sighed and leaned his head against the glass.

"I've seen them in the pictures on the adoption form," I said. "Now I will wait to be called over the loudspeaker."

His eyes narrowed and his lips curved to give me security and confidence.

"I am very happy for you."

I swung my legs up onto the sill and grabbed them with my arms, hiding my face between my knees.

"I wish I wouldn't go. I'm scared, Brian, I don't want it to happen like in all the previous houses."

"I've looked up their criminal record. They don't have any. Besides, they are lawyers. And good ones. I bet you live great."

He was able to log on to a computer at a young age and take information from everywhere without breaking a drop of sweat.

"There was a missing persons poster with your name and baby photo in the headmistress's room," I looked at him curiously. "She called a lot of people and they turned up. I guess they were friends of your biological family. You could ask them about your parents."

Silence filled the place. The only thing that could be heard were shouts and laughter of the little ones going from one side to the other, but never crossing that corridor.

I decided to imitate my friend and watch what the lawyers were doing in the main courtyard with the director of the orphanage. They were chatting amicably and laughing like old friends. It gave me a very bad feeling, but I didn't tell anyone about it.

The headmistress didn't know them, of that I had no doubt. They knew her. I could tell by the way they addressed her, their postures... All to please her and make the process go faster. They had studied her before coming here. And they wanted me, that was clear. Why were they acting so strange? I didn't know until we got to their house.

"Are we still friends?" I asked.

"We have sworn eternal loyalty to each other. We have sworn eternal loyalty to each other. We'll be friends forever and ever," he smiled a shameless, comforting smile. "Because we always have been and always will be. No matter what happens."

We spat on each other's hands and shook them before my name echoed through the endless corridors of the building.

He helped me bring the bags down and promised to write me a letter every day as soon as he was home. I promised him the same.

I didn't want to leave and he didn't want me to leave.

They put me in the car and I didn't take my eyes off the window until my friend stopped running after the car and stopped at the corner of the street, disappearing as soon as he rounded the first bend.

"A little friend?" asked the father kindly, and I nodded.

It was a long and tiring drive.We had to catch a plane and drive again. My butt hurt when I got to his house, but as soon as I saw it, I was speechless. It was gigantic, not as big as the one I live in, but bigger than any I'd ever lived in. Brian would have loved it, I thought. He would have loved it.

They carried my bag and the mother had a hand on my shoulders, giving me little touches to gain my trust and inviting me to continue. Everything was wonderful before I entered the little house. Afterwards it was hell.

The lawyer, as soon as we crossed the main entrance, unceremoniously threw the bag into a far corner. He crouched so close to me that I could feel his breath on my face and looked at me with a madness I had never seen on his face before.

He grabbed my legs and his wife grabbed my arms, covering my mouth so that I wouldn't scream and the neighbours would hear.

No matter how much I kicked and kicked, twisted and moved in their arms, they wouldn't let go.

I couldn't see where we were going until they laid me down on a metal stretcher with leather handles.

I was trying to let go. I couldn't. They taped my mouth with duct tape. I started wetting it with my tongue to loosen the glue on my skin.

The lawyers left the room, which gave me time to think and try to get out of there. However, they appeared again with large jars of different colours and some small ones. They also brought needles and operating apparatus.

My blood ran cold for several seconds. Then I started to move frantically, trying to break free from the restraints and escape far away from there.

To calm me down, I was given a sedative. It was more than the amount needed for a child and I fell into a white sleep, without action, without despair. It was all white.

I don't know how much happened or what happened during that dream in that reality.

As soon as I came to, my wrists, abdomen and legs were no longer bound with unbreakable leather. All that remained were the marks of the struggle, red and incandescent to the touch.

A whisper invaded the room. At first, it was impossible to recognise what it was saying over and over again, in a loop. As the seconds passed and the dark cloud that dulled my brain disappeared, I understood it better. It didn't sound human, it didn't sound very strange either. It was sharp and dark, high and low; distorted and clear. It screamed: Murderer. It lost intensity like an echo each time it said it, until nothing could be heard and it shouted again: Murderer.

A flash of light illuminated the white wall to my right. I jumped in terror from the stretcher and stood behind it, staring at whatever was being projected there.

It was me, bound and unconscious on the stretcher. The lawyers were shoving things into my body until the strap holding my abdomen came loose with a whip in the air. My body bent backwards, as far as the other restraints would allow. They pulled away from me, hands in the air and a victorious smile on their faces, until the ropes began to aggressively release one by one and I was completely free. When that happened, I could see nothing but terror on their faces.

As if by magic, they disappeared into dust and the tape stopped playing. It was over and it kept spinning in that antique projector.

The mounds of dirt were still there when I looked out.

I ran as fast as my legs would let me. I ran and ran, tired and terrified for miles on end. I didn't care about the pain throbbing in my chest, I didn't care how heavy my legs were, I didn't care about anything but getting as far away as possible from that house and its disintegrated inhabitants.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer... Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick. I'm coming for you.

I woke up with my breath hitching, still with those words pumping in my ears and the metallic sound of the clown's nails screeching nearby.