Lennard had to wonder if every rookie's first year was like this. Something told him the answer was a resounding 'no.'The Federation agent sat with his back against a wall. The air was musty, thick with the smell of mold despite the open window above his head. He shifted slightly, and the wooden boards beneath him creaked ominously. Throughout it, his eyes remained steady, locked onto the day's paper he'd laid out on the floor beside him.What was an eight‑letter word that ended in 'g' and meant 'so compelling you couldn't turn away'?Astonishing? No, it was too long. Shocking? Maybe, but that had been used yesterday, and he trusted they wouldn't repeat an answer. The only other hint he had was the empty fifth letter box. It was the last letter in a six‑letter word meaning 'to restrict.'He stuck with the eight-letter word, pressing his pencil's tip against the first letter box, hoping inspiration would guide his hand. The graphite snapped before it could, and his wrist slumped against the paper. It was a setback, and he would have abandoned the crossword puzzle if not for the stakes being too high.The ends of the broken pencil tapped faintly against the paper, his fingers rocking the writing instrument back and forth."Cease," a voice he'd grown accustomed to ordered, "or I will finish it for you. Again."The woman who threatened him sat on an upturned bucket, dark cloak spilling onto the attic's floor. Her shirt, once a pristine white, now had splotches of dirt, wood shavings, soot, and other stains he'd not care to speculate about."I was two times," he said under his breath while forcing his hand still.The day had started ordinarily enough. He woke up two hours before dawn, peddled newspapers during the morning rush, and then hopped back to his part of town. There, he knocked back a few beers while waiting on the noon editions to get off the presses. Once they were, he'd be ready to start the whole (...)