Free Claim Me by Anna Zaires

the prospect of getting close to him.
    I can’t imagine sleeping with this man—or any man who’s not Lucas.
    Feeling increasingly sick, I push the papers away and take several deep breaths. The last time I felt a dread this strong was before my first assignment, when I feared a man’s touch in the wake of Kirill’s attack. It was a phobia I battled through in order to do my job, and I’m determined to overcome whatever it is I’m feeling now.
    For Misha , I tell myself, picking up his pictures again. I’m doing it for Misha. Except this time, the words ring hollow in my mind. My brother is no longer a child, no longer a helpless toddler abused in an orphanage. The face in the photo is that of a young man, not a boy. Because of my mistake, his life has already been disrupted. I don’t know what reason his adoptive parents gave him for changing their identities, but I have no doubt he’s stressed and upset. The carefree, stable life I wanted for him is no longer a possibility, and despite the black guilt gnawing at my chest, I’m aware of a sense of relief.
    What I feared has come to pass, and I can’t undo it.
    For the first time, I consider what would happen if I left UUR—if I simply walked away. Would they let me go, or would they kill me? If I disappeared, would Obenko’s sister and her husband continue treating my brother well? I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t; he’s been their adopted son for eleven years. Only monsters would throw him out at this point, and by all indications, Misha’s adoptive parents are decent people.
    They love Misha, and they wouldn’t harm him.
    I pick up the documents in the folder and study them. They look authentic—a passport, a driver’s license, a birth certificate, and a social security card. If I accept this assignment, I’ll start over as Mary Becker, an American grad student. I’ll live in Istanbul, attend classes, and eventually become Ahmet Demir’s girlfriend. My interlude with Lucas Kent will fade into the past, and I’ll move on.
    I’ll survive, like I always have.
    “Do you have any questions for me?” Obenko asks, and I look up to see him walk back into the kitchen. “Did you have a chance to look through the file?”
    “Yes.” My voice sounds hoarse, and I have to clear my throat before continuing. “I’ll need to brush up on a number of subjects before I go to Istanbul.”
    “Of course,” Obenko says. “You have a week before the start of the summer semester. I suggest you get busy.”
    He leaves the kitchen, and I pick up my half-full plate with unsteady hands. Carrying it over to the garbage, I dump the remnants of my breakfast, wash the plate, and walk to my room, a ghost of a plan forming in my mind.
    For the first time in my life, I may have a choice about my future, and I intend to seize the opportunity with both hands.
----
    O ver the next week , I learn the basics of Turkish language and culture. I don’t need to know a lot, just enough to pass for an American graduate student interested in the subject. I also memorize Mary Becker’s background and brush up on American college life. I prepare stories about my roommates and frat parties, read Economics textbooks, and come up with Mary’s interests and hobbies. Obenko and Mateyenko quiz me daily, and when they’re satisfied that I make a convincing Mary Becker, they buy me a plane ticket to Berlin.
    “You’ll travel as Elena Depeshkova to Berlin,” Obenko explains. “And as Claudia Schreider from Berlin to New York. Once you’re in the United States, your identity as Mary Becker will go into effect, and you’ll fly from there to Istanbul. This way, nobody will be able to connect you to Ukraine. Yulia Tzakova will disappear for good.”
    “Got it,” I say, slicking on a bright red lipstick in front of a mirror. I’ll be wearing a dark wig for Elena’s role, so I’ll need bolder makeup for that. “Elena, Claudia, then Mary.”
    Obenko nods and makes me repeat the names