Page 19 of Hunted

My friends exchanged a loaded look, then shared a wince with me before exiting. Fleur squeezed my hand on the way past. Eth patted my shoulder, grimacing when I flinched, because of course he’d forgotten and patted the recently stabbed one.

The door snicked shut behind them, leaving me alone again with a man who had seen far too much of me for one day.

“Please, sit.” He gestured to the desk closest to his own.

I approached slowly, but opted to lean against the table instead of sitting. I was already a good foot shorter than the man. I wasn’t about to give him another inch of space to look down at me from.

He just nodded as if he’d expected that response and mirrored the action, leaning back against his desk again. Little more than a metre separated us, but my nerves were alight like he was right beside me.

“You know this was intended to be an unaccomplishable assessment, right?” he asked, quirking that damned left brow. This close, I could see a small scar passing through the tail end of it—a detail I’d never noticed before, having never been this close to any of my instructors, let alone all three in a single twelve-hour period.

“Was it?” I answered, levelling him with my best Elle Woods, what, like it’s hard expression.

He snorted, breaking eye contact, and stupidly, that felt like a small win. “It was. That video was never meant to see the light of day, let alone by one of my students.”

His laugh was like honey—smooth, warm, and sweet—even if it was reiterating our relationship status like a flashing neon reminder of thoughts Adelaide should not be having about her instructors at a slaughter-school.

I almost snorted at the trajectory my thoughts had taken. Clearing my throat, I backtracked. “I’ve never been skydiving. It was nice to see the world through that lens.” I didn’t know why I said that or why it mattered, only that I felt like I needed to offer him some small sliver of honesty in recompense for having stumbled into such a personal detail of his life—the man beyond the instructor. Or maybe the man before the instructor.

His laughter ceased abruptly as a series of microexpressions flew across his youthful face. Twitching brows, parted lips, the obvious decision not to say whatever thought passed through his head when they immediately snapped shut. The muscles of his jaw fluttered as he wrestled with his own mind—and likely propriety considering where we’d both been standing two hours ago.

“What’s the password?” he murmured. “To complete the assessment.”

Blackw1ng immediately flashed through my mind, but my instincts screamed at me to halt. To think about it a second longer. That it was too easy.

I grinned when I realised what he’d really meant. The password wasn’t his flimsy answer to an even flimsier security screen—that was a trick, designed to entrap anyone who did make it this far.

“Bones,” I said finally, recalling the codename plastered across the side of his skydiving helmet.

Evander huffed another laugh. “I have a tendency to break them,” he said by way of explanation. “It kind of stuck.”

It was impossible not to chuckle in return—this man was dangerous in an entirely different way to Beckett. Pearce, too. He was someone you couldn’t help but feel drawn to, someone who disarmed you with kindness, with sweetness, only to find yourself tangled up like a fly in a spider’s web.

My expression hardened at the realisation.

His posture answered before his words did, and I watched the warmth drain from his face in an instant. “Good job, Sinclair. You have the potential to be a dangerous cyber asset—perhaps the best this Academy has ever seen.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I’m not gunning for a Rook assignment.”

His eyes dropped to my feet and all the way back up again, lingering at my hips like he knew exactly what weaponry lay beneath my clothes—because he did.

A hint of disgust wove through his tone as he said, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Swallow, then?”

Those honey-brown brows slid halfway up his forehead in question. My own slammed down into a scowl.

“No, Sir. Eagle,” I spat out, voice thick with every ounce of venom I could muster.

Evander Lockwood was absolutely shit at keeping his thoughts hidden behind his face. I deciphered each one as fast as he could think them. So, when his eyes widened a fraction, I knew I’d once again caught him off guard.

“May I go, Sir?”

He jerked upright, nodding.

Just as my fingers closed around the door handle, he piped up again. “Sinclair?”

I exhaled, willing all of my animosity to leave my body with the deep breath, then turned to face him again.

His eyes flitted between both of mine, indecision warring across his pretty features. Eventually he decided on precaution. He sighed and looked away. “Nothing.”