A week ago, I’d told him flat-out that I didn’t want back in the rotation. I didn’t want real assignments. I was fine running interference on false alarms and cleaning up paperwork.
But Grayson never really listened, He had that disappointed father look that made it impossible to argue without feeling like a brat.
So, I’d done the job, hunting down a feral werewolf. I’d smiled through the debriefing, endured the congratulations. Then I’d let my team drag me here for a “celebratory drink.”
All I could think about was how much I wanted to leave. How much I wanted to be somewhere quiet, with Simon. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, letting the ice clink softly.
The sound helped drown out the noise of the bar.
“Come on, Kit,” Jaden said, nudging me with an elbow. “You’ve been staring into that drink for ten minutes. Relax, have a little fun.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll try.”
The table laughed, and I forced a chuckle too. I’d gotten good at that, pretending.
Pretending I cared, pretending I wasn’t counting the minutes until I could slip away and head toward the old Ashford property. Simon would be waiting.
“Another round?” Jaden asked, waving down the bartender.
I shook my head. “I’m good. I’ve got to keep my wits if Grayson decides to call in early tomorrow.”
“Right,” Jaden said with a grin, raising his glass in mock salute. “Always the responsible one.”
I was about to make some half-hearted joke in response when I caught a voice from a nearby table. It cut through the noise of the bar, sharp and familiar.
Marcus.
I froze, the laughter around me fading into white noise.
Marcus was leaning over his drink, talking animatedly to two hunters I vaguely recognized from another division. He looked exactly the same as I remembered.
Smug and confident, the kind of guy who thought hunting was a sport. I didn’t want to listen, but the name Ashford caught my attention.
“…told you, man,” Marcus was saying, voice pitched low but not low enough. “The fledgling’s holed up there. A scout said she saw movement around the property a few nights ago. Probably some weak thing that hasn’t learned to hide its tracks.”
My blood ran cold. Ashford. Simon’s house. I forced myself to breathe, fingers tightening around my glass until the condensation slicked my skin.
“Bet it won’t even last five minutes,” one of Marcus’s friends said, laughing. “Waste of ammo.”
Marcus grinned. “Then we won’t use any. Could be fun to do it old-school. Stakes only. Winner gets the round.”
My chair scraped against the floor before I even realized I was standing. My team glanced up, startled.
“Bathroom,” I muttered quickly.
Before anyone could say anything, I made my way toward Marcus’s table. He noticed me halfway there, his grin faltering into something wary.
“Well, if it isn’t Kit,” Marcus drawled. “So you’re still slumming it around here. Thought you were retired.”
“Hi, Marcus,” I said, keeping my voice casual. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear myself speak. “Heard you talking about a hunt.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You want in?”
I shrugged, forcing a smirk. “Maybe. Could use the practice.”
His two friends exchanged a look. One of them snorted. “Didn’t you screw up your last few jobs?”
I smiled, sharp and humorless. “Guess I’m due for a win.”
