Page 67 of Green Ravens

Zorion walked into the training facility with a mix of dread and reluctance.

Though the warehouse-sized area was vast, he still felt caged.

Instead of allowing the frustration and anger to sink deeper, he allowed his mind to drift to last night.

The director glared down at him from his observation room, sleazy, swamp-brown eyes scrutinizing his every move. He vowed right then he’d claw them out one day, no matter how long it took.

To hide his rage, Zorion pulled his oversized hood even lower over his face.

“All right, this way, Zorion.”

Cipher put his hand on Zorion’s shoulder and tried to lead him into another room.

Zorion whipped his head around and glared at Cipher’s hand until he yanked it away.

“Sorry,” Cipher mumbled, then pointed. “Through those doors.”

Zorion walked behind a group of men, all dressed in green T-shirts and cargos.

The only one he recognized was Ren, their project manager.

“Zorion, this is your combat wardrobe design team.” Ren nodded at the five people working on various arrangements of pants, vests, hoods, and footwear. Most of the outfits had compartments and holsters that looked to hold everything from axes to firearms.

A hollow chill raced down Zorion’s spine as Valor stepped from behind a curtain dressed in a hunter-green suit that was a warfare marvel.

Ever silent and observant, Valor moved with measured grace, his gait smooth and quiet. Even in the gear, his shoulders rolled sexily and smoothly.

Zorion watched him, captivated, his pulse quickening.

Cipher stared back and forth between them.

“Okay, men, it’s time to pick your poison.” Cipher tapped at keys on the tablet that stayed attached to his hand like an electronic prosthetic. “We won’t choose for you. Each Raven surveys their options and chooses whatever weapon speaks to them.”

Zorion stood in front of the grotesque buffet of killing instruments.

The sight made his stomach knot. Choosing a weapon would mean acceptance of his role as the director’s assassin, his killing puppet.

He scanned the table as Cipher continued to whisper. “Let them speak to your inner being…don’t overthink or analyze. Let the weapon choose you.”

Shut the fuck up!

A surge of revulsion made him want to throw up. Every fiber of him screamed to rebel, but he couldn’t shatter the fragile plan Jo was hopefully formulating for their escape.

Zorion stared into Valor’s eyes, which were so bright, no barrier could conceal them.

In a shared moment of understanding and pain, Valor stepped forward and, without a word, selected a pair of knives.

Zorion remained still as Cipher continued to badger him to also choose.

For a brief moment, he considered choosing, but his gut twisted in protest.

These scientists had stripped so much from him but had failed to remove his conscience. He would not choose.

As if sensing his turmoil, Valor placed his hand on his shoulder, receiving the opposite reaction Cipher did.

The moment was short but effective.

Valor stepped back and faced Cipher, his voice grating and his tone holding a strong edge of finality.

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