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She watched the current crop of gymnasts tumble and twist on the practice floor, their movements earnest but lacking the inherent fluidity that she’d possessed naturally. They were strong, certainly, drilling the compulsory elements with brute force, but they lacked the art. They lacked the effortless grace born not just from disciplined practice, but from years spent molding her body into something beautiful and subtly lethal through ballet, cheerleading at the highest levels, and later, the precise, almost inhuman control required for military operations.

Sophia leaned against the cool cinder block wall, sipping water from a stainless-steel bottle, the chill a welcome contrast to the heat radiating off the floor. She was here ostensibly as a ‘consultant’ for the local club championships—a role she had accepted with the same casual air she used to accept a promotion at Langley—but in truth, she was observing, cataloging the deficiencies. It was always easier in the field when you could anticipate the training gaps of your obstacles or allies. Envy, she knew, was a powerful if predictable motivator, and seeing it bloom in the eyes of her peers back then, or even now among the junior analysts at the Agency, was just another data point.