He told himself it was normal to compare the two, on some level. She’d caught his eye with her stance, so much like Allison’s, and that deadly thirst to prove herself. He thought that’d be ok, that if he could control what she does, then the same desire that killed Allison might just keep her alive.

Of course there were differences. She was so much like her, like the memory of her, that he used those small oddities to make sure he remembered who she was. Which one she was.

Her hair was so bright. Allison had red hair - longer - but her shade was more like blood. Where her hair was bright and violent, like the woman who owned it, Allison was more subdued, more the quiet fury that owned her actions so often and so completely.

This new woman was reactionary. You don’t get to being where she is without a bit of ambition, but in everything she did it was obvious it was a reaction to something external.  Often it was reaction to orders, reaction to success, to disappointment. She reacted like an animal, instinctively and without pause, but she also reminded him of the fundamental difference between animals and humans, because as instant as her reactions were, they were also deliberate. They were planned with a human mind, trained to keep up with her instinct, trained by the threat of death to adapt until she could make sure she got out alive, every time.

Her eyes. Allison always had this glint to her eyes, somewhere between mockery and cruelty. All this woman had behind them was determination. Allison always knew she was the best at what she did. This woman wanted everyone else to know it, too.

She stood at attention in front of him, this woman, every muscle and bone in her body reminding him of one very particular, very unforgettable girl. She stood at attention and awaiting his approval, and for the first time since the woman had walked in he knew what the defining difference between the two women was.

He knew that this woman would be an integral part of Project Freelancer.

For all the ways she reminded him of Allison, this, here, this desire for his word, his say-so, his assertion that she’s good enough, that’s what set them apart. That’s what made this woman invaluable. That’s what made her his, in a way that, he had to admit, Allison never was.

“Carolina,” he said.

“Sir?” the woman said, staring straight ahead, at attention, so much like a memory, and yet so much more than that.

“That’s your name. Agent Carolina.”

“Yes sir,” she said firmly, and the Director of Project Freelancer couldn’t help but smile.