Page 19 of Misted

Well, the traitors did take his side during that vote. Since we were young, Hawk has always been the big broody Zero whom everyone wanted to talk to but were pushed away by his silence. Most respect him for his efficiency, though.

Molly and I head out of the coffee shop. As soon as the afternoon’s fresh air hits my face, another uncomfortable sensation crawls down my spine.

Molly’s steps turn heavier as she whispers in a harsh tone, “We’re being watched.” She retrieves her phone and taps a few things inside as a deflation method. “Go east. I'll go north. Let’s catch the sucker.”

I grab her arm, preventing her from retreating. “Not safe. There are civilians here.”

When I catch whoever is watching me, I’ll do it alone. I have a strong instinct that all this has to do with the threat that’s been hovering over my head for years.

“But Misty!”

Something vibrates in my bag, and I flinch. Dammit. What am I? A newbie?

I retrieve my phone and my breathing turns shallow when I open the text.

What did I say about staying away? If you can’t do that, I’ll help.

I come to a screeching halt in the middle of the street, my heel catching on the pavement.

No. This can’t be happening.

My heart crushes and splinters to the dark pits of my stomach.

I draw in stuttering breaths, my lungs burning with exertion. A tremor draws down my arms and neck as I taste acid.

Hawk.

I sprint ahead, ignoring the heels and the inability to breathe properly. Molly shouts my name then curses as her running footsteps sound behind me. Streets and people blur in my peripheral vision and my legs scream in agony due to running in heels.

I mute it all. My senses focus on reaching my destination.

If something happens to him… then what have I been fighting for all this time?

What have I endured all this damn distance for?

I don’t know how I arrive at Le Salon or in what state. I kick my shoes away at the entrance and bolt barefoot. It isn’t opening hours yet so no one sees me running like a lunatic up the stairs and down the hallways.

I barge into my office, breathing heavily until my heart nearly pumps out of my chest.

The only person inside is Flame sleeping on the sofa. His arm serves as a pillow while his long legs stretch over the edge of the sofa.

“Misty, damn, woman!” Molly pants, bending over to catch her breath. “What’s gotten into ya?”

“Where is he?” I ask Flame in a small whisper.

His sleeping deflation method never fooled me. If there's anyone who knows where everyone is, it’s him.

He remains as unmovable as a board.

I barge inside and hop on top of him in a kneeling position. My knees dig in his chest with my feet on his hard stomach. I clutch him by the collar and lift his head from the sofa, my nails scratching his neck. “Tell me where is he!”

A sly smirk curves his lips as he cracks one pale blue eye open. “Kinky.”

“Flame,” I warn in a semi-hysterical tone.

“You didn’t specify who’s he.”

I contemplate punching the answer out of him and screw it if we kill each other.