Page 40 of Oathbreaker

“He’s really missed you, but I think we’ve become buddies now,” Hunter says as Kitty bounds into the room.

“Kitty!” I say, flinging my arms wide and sitting up more. He jumps onto the bed, tackling me. I hold him close, burying my face in his fur.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about my dog. It’s that if I thought about him and stuck with the thought that he was starving or harmed or anything terrible, I would have spiraled. I can’t break. I won’t break.

“There are a few people who want to see you. Ella, Veronica,” he says, trailing off. I don’t move my face from Kitty’s fur.

When I’m silent for too long, he says, “Do you want to see them?”

No.No, I don’t want to see anyone.

Instead, I say, “Do I have to?”

A sad look crosses his face. “No, you don’t.” He fidgets for several moments at the door before saying, “Are you okay with seeing me?” The level of vulnerability in his tone almost undoes me.

And I struggle to answer because he’s the only person I want to see.

But also, a large part of me is hesitant to be around anyone.

I’m a confused, confusing mess.

“I’m just tired right now,” I reply.

He nods. “I understand.”

He stares at me hard and is silent long enough for me to say, “What?”

His face takes on a cast that I’ve not seen him use before. He stands up taller, bracing his muscular legs apart. Domineering. Serious.

“What is it?” I say slowly, warily.

“I’m fitting you for a permanent tracker.”

I blink at him. “A what now?”

His face becomes even more severe, unwavering. “A permanent tracker. It will go under your skin, likely on your shoulder blade or hip. It’s no bigger than a grain of rice.”

My mouth hangs open.

“Is that—how is that even possible?” I ask.

“The tech is new. Top secret, actually, but—” My eyes drop to the hand at his side as he picks at the skin around the nail bed of his thumb with his index finger. “I know people,” he finishes.

“There you go, sounding like you’re in the mob again.”

His face remains resolute.

“H,” I say. I clear my throat. “I’m trying to be rational about this?—”

“Rational? There’s no rational or irrational in this situation. You’re getting the tracker.” We’re in a stare-off.

It’s not that I don’t understand that our lives are risky, and it’s obvious that it would have been optimal if I could have been located sooner. But the high-handed way he demands my acquiescence drains my already decimated well of patience.

“And if I say no? Will you force me, H?”

He jolts at the question, and we’re close enough that I notice when the muscle in his jaw ticks.

The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and I don’t know if it’s from a rush of anxiety or the heaviness of his stare.

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