Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

Sincere thank you to by wonderful Beta's Kim and Krystle. And also to Alby and Annette for being the pre-reading geniuses that they are.

Prologue

"I'm not going to play good guy with you forever, Isabella," he said leaning over the metal table, his fists clenched.

My back was aching from sitting in the metal chair, and my legs had long since lost feeling from being seated for so long.

I heard him exhale loudly in frustration, pinching the skin between his brows as I stared blankly at the wall behind him.

For five hours he had interrogated me, question after question, all of them unanswered as I sat in the tiny room. Even as my own unanswered questions and half truths flew through my mind, I wouldn't answer him. I was trained for this shit. He could question me for days, torture me even, but I wouldn't break.

"Fine. I've tried the easy way, really I have. I didn't want to have to resort to this, but you aren't leaving me any other option."

He signaled to someone, and the door into the tiny room opened, bringing a rush of cool air. I tried not to show the relief that flooded my body as the breeze hit me; fresh and clean, momentarily cleansing me of the weight of the cloying, stale air that hung around me in the tiny room.

A manila folder was placed on the table and after the door shut again, he slid it over to rest in front of me.

"Open it."

I continued to ignore him, but I felt saliva pool in my mouth as fear swelled inside of me. Nothing good came in yellow folders like that, especially when coming from someone like him, in a place like this.

My fingers itched to reach out and open it, but I stayed still, my jaw clenching with the force it took to keep myself seated. I could feel my breathing start to quicken, my unaffected facade wavering as I glanced briefly at the folder before averting my eyes again.

As I continued to stare ahead, he reached over the table and flipped the front cover open, a set of glossy photographs spilling out on to the table top.

The urge to look was overwhelming, it crept into my veins and pulsed through my blood. Just one look, my brain whispered. Bile rose in my throat and my stomach clenched as my eyes dropped to the photos.

For the first time in hours, I moved, dropping my head into my hands as a loud cry shuddered through my chest. Shock and fear flooded my body, and goosebumps erupted on my arms as the panic set in, settling like a lead weight in my chest. I gripped my hair in my fingers as I looked at the photos, each one revealing more lies, more shame, confirming my very worst fears.

"Tell me what you know, Isabella," he said again. "You are the only one who can save them."

I could feel every bit of resolve break away piece by piece as I sat shaking with fear. I had to ignore every nerve ending in my brain that screamed 'No!', I had to go against everything I had been taught my entire life.

I had to tell him.

For five years I had worked for a company known only as The Agency.

The Agency was an organization so secretive that no one knew it existed. Its sole purpose was the training and conditioning of professional killers. We took no sides, yet we had ties to every government agency in the world. We were used by those people to carry out missions their own operatives were not equipped to handle, we were effective, efficient, and we were deadly.

Selected at birth most of us were rejects, orphans, all of us unwanted and disposable. I was an exception, the only exception; chosen simply for my skills.

It was in my blood.

We were trained in combat, weaponry, linguistics and covert operations - experts in the art of espionage. We were the government's deadliest weapons, programmed for one purpose: to kill.

And I am one of those killers; the very best.

My name is Isabella Swan, and this is my story.