Page 7 of Donovan
“I’m fine,” I told him.
Kit’s glare could’ve burned through steel. “Like hell you are.”
Before I could answer, another commotion erupted on the other side of the house. Gunfire, the wet snick of blades hitting their mark, shouts of warning.
The rest of the team was finishing off the nest.
“Move,” Kit snapped, shoving me toward the sound of the fight.
The battle ended minutes later, bodies crumpled in the dirt, blood seeping into the frozen ground. The mission was a success.
The nest was wiped out.
And I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Beckett was waiting for me outside once we regrouped.
His expression was as unreadable as ever. However, the way he crossed his arms over his chest, the way his eyes flicked right to the claw marks on my shoulder, told me I was in for it.
“Walk with me,” he said, his voice flat.
I didn’t have a choice.
The others moved ahead, heading for the vehicles waiting on the dirt road, but I trailed behind with Beckett.
“What happened back there?” he asked after a long silence.
I shrugged, the motion pulling at my wounds. “I hesitated.”
“That’s not like you.”
I stayed quiet.
Beckett stopped walking, turning to face me. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t kind either.
“I don’t know where your head is at, but you’re a liability if you’re distracted on a hunt.” His gaze hardened. “And tonight, you almost got yourself and Kit killed.”
The words should’ve hit harder. Should’ve made my stomach churn with guilt.
But they didn’t.
Because I didn’t care.
Not about the hunt. Not about performance. Not about any of it anymore.
“I hear you,” I said, voice empty.
Beckett studied me for a long moment, like he was trying to see through me, to figure out what had changed.
“Fix it, Donovan,” Beckett said.
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there in the freezing night.
I pulled out my phone again, staring at the blank screen.
Still nothing.
I clenched my jaw, fingers tightening around the device.
