Stepping out of the elevator the following evening, I was relieved Carter looked refreshed and relaxed at his desk. I'd slept for ten hours myself by the time I'd gotten home at daybreak. I'd been running on below empty when I'd finally stumbled through my front door. The medical was as horrendous as I'd been expecting. Multiple blood samples, ultrasounds, x-rays, an internal exam, even a spinal tap that left me with a thumping headache and feeling like an overused and under loved pin cushion. I didn't understand why I'd been singled out, but I'd be taking it up with the director.

"You look like you could use some R and R," Carter commented as I sank into my chair. "You're paler than usual."

"Geez, don't start. You've been back, what, five minutes and already you're nagging."

"No seriously, Raven. I'm not kidding. You look like shit. What happened while I was away?"

"I look like shit—thanks for that by the way—because the director has implemented a new policy for unassigned paranormals. We're to undergo medical testing every three months."

"Testing? As in?"

"Nasty, invasive, painful."

"Well, shit."

"Exactly. They took a shit ton of blood yesterday, not to mention spinal fluid, which has left me feeling—and looking—like crap."

"I'm going to talk to the director. That's bullshit."

"Cool it, wolf boy. I can fight my own battles and I'll be speaking with her myself. This doesn't concern you."

"It concerns me if it's about you."

"No. We can't go there, Carter. The nightclub shouldn't have happened. Now can we please just focus on this case?"

I could feel his gaze boring into me, but I refused to look up from my screen. I really didn't have the energy to argue with him, again, today. Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Carter gave in.

"I see you got your hands on Crimson Mist footage," he said, changing the subject.

"I did. They were very helpful." Ethan had given me the footage I needed and I'd uploaded it to our case file on the SIA server.

"So we've got all four victims at the nightclub."

"Yes. But they weren't taken from the club. We just know that they were all there prior to their abduction. Now that you're back, I'm thinking a search of the nightclub could be beneficial."

"Exactly what I was thinking. I'll draw up the warrant. Pretty sure Ridgeway will authorize it."

Cradling my second coffee, I let the caffeine work its magic, clearing the fog from my mind. I listened to Carter typing up the warrant, my mind drifting to yesterday and the medical procedures I'd endured. The more I thought about them, the angrier I got. I had to take action on this. Now.

Riding the elevator to the director’s floor, I imagined different scenarios as to why she had ordered the barrage of tests, and why they had to be an ongoing thing. What had changed? No one had cared that I was an unclassified paranormal. Why all the fuss now?

The director’s assistant came rushing after me as I strode past her desk without pausing.

"You can't see the director without an appointment, Agent." Her voice rose several octaves as she tried to block me from entering the director’s office.

"It'll only take a minute." I cupped her shoulders and firmly moved her to the side, opening the door and stepping inside. The director’s office was the epitome of modern luxury. Glass table, fur rug on the floor, leather sofa off to one side with a glass coffee table that matched her desk. The director sighed when she saw me.

"Black. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Her red lips twisted in a mockery of a smile, her short red bob swinging as she tilted her head. She was an attractive woman, but cold...as cold as ice.

"I want to know why you ordered the medical assessment on me."

"Not just you, Black. All unclassified paranormals."

"And we both know I'm the only unclassified paranormal here, so cut the bullshit."

"Direct as ever." She rose, smoothing the crisp white shirt she wore over her hips. Director Kelli Ridgeway was always impeccably dressed and today was no different. Smart black slacks, white silk shirt, red stilettoes, perfectly made-up face.

"There are murmurings from the Council that they are considering changing the entry requirements into the SIA, that only classifieds will be permitted. I'm trying to get ahead of the game and have you classified so it becomes a moot point for us."

"The Council are behind this? Why are they even bothered with what we're doing, so long as we're getting rogues off the streets?"

She shrugged, walking around to the front of her desk and leaning against it.

"Who knows? And it's not official. Yet. And if they end up dropping it, fine, but it can't hurt to find out what you are in the meantime."

"News flash. It hurts. It hurts me. Are an internal examination and a spinal tap necessary? What do my vagina and cervix have to do with anything?"

"I admit that sounds extreme. I'll have the medical team desist from such invasive procedures in the future. Now that we have those results they will have to find other methods to identify you." She focused her gaze somewhere beyond my left shoulder.

"We?" I pounced.

"What?" Her gaze bounced back to me, frowning.

"You said 'we' have those results. What did you mean?"

A flush of red crept up the director’s neck and bloomed across her cheeks. Her eyes flashed. She was angry. I wondered why. Because I was questioning her? Or calling her out on her bullshit. I wasn’t convinced the Council was behind this, but then who was?

"We as in the SIA. Now, you'll have to excuse me, Black. If you want that warrant for Crimson Mist authorized I suggest you leave my office. Now." Her voice was cold hard steel. Oh yeah, she was pissed at me.