Page 139 of Specter Bred

“All that talk about interrogation tactics and now you don’t even get to cut anything off.”

My eyes narrowed. “Keep talking and I’ll find someone else to practice on.”

Graves looked over his shoulder and shot us both a stare that said, “Shut the fuck up” far more effectively than the actual words ever could. When neither of us spoke again, he pinched the bridge of his nose like a man regretting every decision that had left him responsible for two unruly children, then turned back to Mathias.

"What did they want?"

"Same thing everyone wants." Mathias shrugged. "Guns. And a lot of them."

"Why?"

He frowned. "Why, what?"

"Why so many? Was that unusual?"

Mathias shrugged again. "A little. I caught something about Arca and the shifters. The said something about Command being focused on the North. Beyond that... the why wasn't my business, so I didn't exactly tune in."

Before anyone could react, Maeve stepped forward and grabbed Mathias by the ear, wrenching it so hard that he yelped.

"Ow! What the—"

She twisted harder.

"Your life depends on how closely you were listening," she said coldly. "So I suggest you think a little harder about everything you overheard."

"Ow! What the fuck!" Mathias cried, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. "Reel in this bitch!"

Grizzly chuckled.

"He just called you a bitch, Teacup."

Maeve didn't hesitate.

Her knee drove into Mathias's face with a sickening crack. The snap of his nose echoed through the forest as blood streamed down his lips, splattering onto the dirt below. Grizzly crouched beside him as Mathias doubled over, clutching his face.

“I wouldn’t call her names again,” he said conversationally. “I’m the only one who gets to call her names, so unless you want her next knee to land in your balls, I suggest you keep your nicknames to yourself.”

Mathias groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt. When he finally looked up, he shot Maeve a murderous glare before turning back to Grizzly.

"Where did you meet them?" Grizzly asked.

This time, Mathias didn’t hesitate. He rattled off a precise set of coordinates while Grizzly pulled a small notebook from his pocket and wrote them down. Once Mathias started talking, the rest came pouring out with remarkable clarity.

The man who, only minutes ago, could barely remember who he’d met with had apparently developed a photographic memory. Suddenly, he knew the date of the meeting, the number of vehicles present, the insignias on their uniforms, the color of each man’s boots, and every detail about the scheduled weapons delivery, plus the location of their next exchange.

“They spent most of the meeting talking to the guy in the picture,” Mathias said. “Kept asking him questions about troop strength, how many soldiers they stationed there, patrol schedules, response times…”

Grizzly’s pencil stilled against the page.

Mathias didn’t notice.

“Wanted to know when they changed shifts, how many men were usually on the perimeter, which roads Command used to move supplies in and out.” He kept talking, apparently unaware that the man standing over him had gone completely still. “Asked about checkpoints too. Which ones were manned overnight, how often patrols passed through, where the gaps were—”

The pencil in Grizzly’s hand snapped. Mathias finally stopped. His eyes dropped to the broken pieces before slowly lifting to Grizzly’s face. Whatever he saw there wiped the words from his mouth.

Grizzly looked down at the pencil as if he’d only just realized he’d broken it, then calmly tucked both halves into his pocket.

“Keep talking.”