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opened a drawer and grabbed the old photograph on top. Shoving it into her pocket with a mixture of both contempt and reverence, she left the studio, ran down the stairs and out to the noisy streets below.
    The air was thick with exhaust and humidity. She glanced at the sky. Heavy grey clouds hugged the coastal mountain range flanking this part of the city, normal for Northern California. Strong winds whipped up from the ocean and burned her cheeks. She pulled the long trench coat closer to her, desperate to block out the draft. Strolling away from the water, she kept her head down and fought against the relentless current of air as it rushed through the valley she temporarily called home.
    What am I doing?
    She’d thought of little else over the past weeks, analyzing her decision to continue the Order’s work. Yes, she needed them. They gave her comfort in the beginning, completed her training. They were her family.
    Things changed with the continued missions, the doctor’s death. More and more she questioned the Order’s purpose. Not to mention their lack of support for the one thing she still desperately clung to—revenge. The Architect needed the vengeance to release her from her doubt, the mistrust and guilt. Until she had some release, these unexpected emotions continued to cloud her judgment.
    She fingered the smooth picture hidden in her pocket and focused. The photograph was the one thing she’d kept after the “episode” that closed the lab, her only token of a forgotten childhood.
    The Creator had destroyed the other memories from her past: her mother’s locket and her father’s favorite book. Nothing that held meaning was spared.
    He didn’t know about the photo claimed from a frame he’d discarded. With luck, he never would. The Architect had buried every thought of the picture, her friends, her life. The secret had remained hidden for the past ten years. It needed to stay secure for a lifetime more.
    The wind tousled the leaves at her feet and they rose up around her.
    Out for a stroll? the Creator asked.
    Not a real question of course; an accusation. The air stiffened. Silence screamed the Architect’s frustration as she emptied each thought, imagining a metal shield between herself and the mental invasion. What do you want? she asked. Each word dripped with anger.
    Remember your mission, soldier . His voice boomed through her mind. You will follow your orders .
    The threat lingered too long before the Architect replied. Yes, sir . She swallowed hard. The Order must be protected. Regardless of the cost she’d pay.
    Good. It’s time for your next target.
    Yes, sir . The Architect unwillingly pictured her friends from the tattered old photo.
    We must eliminate the group.
    She shivered involuntarily. Why now?
    Blame the girl.
    Confusion riddled the Architect’s mind. Sir?
    She’s the threat. Protect the Order .
    Yes , she said before she could resist. I will kill her .
    No, not yet. Stop her. Hurt her by killing her friends. Then bring her to me.
    As the silent monsters in her head warred, urging her to ignore her orders, the Creator left her thoughts. Compliance wasn’t optional. She would do what was expected as always. Turning back toward the studio, she caught a glimpse of the distant sun as it began to set beyond the ocean, its golden rays of light reflected off the buildings and the pavement. The beauty of the scene caught her by surprise and she gasped. A lifetime ago she would’ve stopped walking, gazed into the sky and appreciated the landscape around her; she would’ve laughed and sang.
    She would’ve held out hope.
    Not anymore. Now, there was only death.
    The Architect took another deep breath. Salt lingered in the air, biting at her skin. A strange combination of exhaust and ocean filled her senses. The scent made her dizzy as she strode back to the warehouse-like building, climbed the narrow stairs and entered the boarding house.
    Long, dark shadows covered the hardwood floor as