Sonora curled her toes inside her pumps and wished she'd thought to wear more sensible shoes. Her feet were<em>killing</em>her, and she had barely started the day. She hadn't had enough time to go all the way home to change, but she always kept a fresh change of clothing in her car for just such an occasion. After a trip to the showers in the gym she felt much more human, and took a deep breath as she downed the last of her second coffee that morning, tossing the empty paper cup in the garbage as she approached the Director's office. Pausing outside the door to glance at her watch, she smiled to herself. Ten minutes early. Good. Not too early that she would seem overeager, and just early enough that her enthusiasm would be noted and, hopefully, approved of. After briefly stopping to smooth back her hair, which she had twisted into a thick braid down her back, and straighten her suit jacket, she rapped smartly on the door.<br/><br/>"Come in," came the slightly muffled reply, and Sonora pushed open the door to Director Mitch Reynolds's office. Not an overly-large space, the aged wood paneling and floor to ceiling bookcases that framed the massive oak desk like sentries and wrapped around either side of the room made it seem even smaller, and Sonora always felt slightly claustrophobic whenever she had to be in the room for any length of time. She preferred bright, wide open spaces, which was why she was paying a ridiculous amount every month to rent a loft apartment instead of a smaller, more average-sized apartment. Mitch Reynolds, however, seemed perfectly at home behind his massive oak desk. He was such a fixture there that it seemed strange to run into him anywhere but in his office behind his desk. If she had been more fanciful, she might have wondered if the man even had legs. But she knew very well that he did, and that he went home every night to his wife and family, whose pictures sat in places of pride on his desk. He was a broad-shouldered man, in his fifties, Sonora thought, with salt-and-pepper hair and a clean-shaven face. His eyes were still sharp and ice blue, and hard when they needed to be, although currently they were scanning her file. He was a very attracted man, Sonora thought idly, taking the seat he motioned to, his wife was a lucky woman.<br/><br/>"So, Agent Hunter," he began, "I hear you want to be assigned to the werewolf investigation task force." He leaned back in his large leather office chair and directed his cool, blue gaze directly at her; Sonora could hear the slight squeak of the springs as they bent under his weight.<br/><br/>"Yes, sir," she affirmed, giving her head a quick nod. Her palms were beginning to sweat and she clasped them together. Why were there no windows in this room? Why would the director of the FBI choose an office without at least<em>one</em>window? Her own office had an entire wall of them, and she wouldn't have it any other way.<br/><br/>"Hmm," the Director muttered, dropping his eyes back to her file. Sonora sat in silence while he continued to read, the only sound in the room the occasional rustle of paper as he turned over a page and the sound of Sonora's own breathing. She tried to think of something, anything, to keep her mind off the enclosed space she was sitting in. Her legs twitched, wanting to pace or jiggle restlessly, and she stiffened them. If she couldn't sit quietly for ten minutes, what would that show the Director? Finally, after what seemed an interminably long time, Director Reynolds shut her file with a decisive snap and folded his hands on top of it. Leaning forward slightly, he peered at her and asked, "Why?"<br/><br/>The simple question, after so many minutes of silence, made her blink for a moment or two before she collected herself. She had expected this question. "Because I am dedicated to my job, sir," she started. "I am hard-working, and my investigative skills are next to none, as proven by my record. I was top of my training class. I'm quick, I can think on my feet. But most of all..." she paused. Should she say it? It might work against her. "But most of all," Sonora continued, leaning forward earnestly in her seat, "I want to help them, sir. What has been done to them...it isn't right. It's slaughter. They deserve justice, and I want to be one of the ones who help them get it."<br/><br/>Sonora sat back, a little breathless. There, she'd said it. Director Reynolds was studying her intently from across his desk, and she did her best not to squirm under his regard. She could feel sweat starting to prickle against her skin, beneath her shirt. She needed to get out of this room. Fast. Finally, Director Reynolds gave a nod. "Alright, Hunter, you're in. Report to Agent Timmins to get yourself up to speed."<br/><br/>The words made Sonora's heart leap in her chest, and she fought to contain her excitement as she stood, unobtrusively wiping her slightly clammy hand on her pants before reaching over to shake the director's hand. "Right away, sir! Thank you!" She left his office and hurried down the hall, not feeling the aches in her feet or the itch of drying sweat between her shoulder blades. She made the unit! Giddy with excitement and adrenaline, she ducked into the nearest washroom and braced her hands against the countertop above one of the sinks, staring at her reflection in the mirror above it.<br/><br/>Her eyes were gleaming, her usual mossy green taking on a golden sheen, and her cheeks were flushed. Stray wisps of hair clung to her neck and cheeks before she brushed them away and let out a whoop of excitement before she could help herself. Clapping both hands over her mouth, she glanced behind her, relieved that she was alone. Finally, she would get to meet others like her. If she was careful, she would be able to learn more about herself through them without having to reveal herself. Doing so would ruin everything she had worked so hard to get, and she wasn't about to put that in jeopardy now. Being on a task force like this...well, it could make her entire career.