Caged (Talented Saga) Read Online Free

version of mine. He couldn’t read minds like I could, but he had an influence over people, much like my compulsion. His suggestive nature had nearly worked on me in my weakened condition, but my desire to cling to the truth won out.
    “Has Danbury told you which Instructors you’ll be paired with?” Gretchen continued, a cloud of displeasure darkening her normally bright eyes.
    “Um, not yet. He said that he’d have the list sent to my communicator,” I said absently, returning to my eggs now that the topic of Dr. Wythe was closed.
    Gretchen grew quiet, scrutinizing my table manners. The slight grimace contorting her beautiful features was the only outward indication that she disapproved.
    “Danbury is out for a run right now, but he wanted me to be sure that you are ready to go at 6:30,” she said, her features reverting back to an easy smile. “I packed a bag of things for you to take to the dorms with you, but call if I forgot anything and I will send it over.”
    The only response that I could manage was a small nod since my mouth was full of egg and toast. Gretchen scowled again at my lack of social graces. I swallowed. “This might be the last good meal that I get for a while. You know that the School food is barely edible.”
    When I was a student, I’d tried to eat in the cafeteria as infrequently as possible, instead sneaking up to have dinner at Gretchen’s table. It was just another reason that the other students disliked me.
    Gretchen made some small throaty noise that sounded a little like a snort. “The Instructor’s cafeteria fare is much better than the students’,” she promised.
    I spared her a skeptical glance. I’d believe it when I tasted the truth of her words for myself. I quickly scarfed down the rest of my breakfast, gulping my first cup of coffee before pouring a second cup, and sat at my vanity to get ready.
    I dried my hair with a blow dryer, then used a big round brush to straighten out all the chestnut strands. When I was satisfied that it was thoroughly dry, I used a flatiron to ensure that no hint of wave remained. Before the last nine months, I’d always worn my hair curly, but lately, I’d been straightening my locks for lack of something better to do. I’d decided that I liked the straight look – sometimes, change was a good thing.
    Next, I pulled my hair into a ponytail at the back of my head. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for several minutes before deciding in favor of makeup. My skin was smooth but uncharacteristically pale for me thanks to spending the majority of my time indoors. The dark circles under my eyes were a bluish purple, like I’d been on the losing end of a fistfight.
    Rising from the vanity, I retreated to my bedroom, where Gretchen had made my bed while I was in the shower. On the end of the burgundy comforter, in two neatly folded piles, sat several pairs of black stretch pants, white soft cotton t-shirts, and a thin gray sweatshirt. Anticipating my lack of appropriate clothing, Gretchen must’ve ordered me new outfits. Man, I didn’t even have to ask; she always delivered.
    My first class of the day was a basic skills combat class, so I grabbed a pair of cotton underwear and pulled them on, followed by the comfy-looking stretch pants. As I put on a matching bra, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. My back was to the mirror, and over my shoulder, I could see angry red scars, peeking out just above my stretchy pants. Unconsciously, I reached behind me and felt the raised flesh of the scar. My fingers felt the hole where the bullet had pierced my skin, and the places where the Medics stitched me up. I flinched as I touched the flesh even though no sensation came; the Agency doctors said that I may never regain feeling.
    They had offered to remove the scar as was customary, but I was still a little fuzzy on how I’d actually received it. I didn’t want to erase the only evidence that it had happened at all.