Page 27 of Ravens
York’s attention shifts to us, but I let my eyes fall to the flames. Itwasluck. Sometimes it feels like good luck, other times bad. William stretches out his leg and crosses his arms, apparently not having any further questions.
The blond man steps in front of me and offers his hand. “Carter.”
I take it with a firm squeeze, and he nods at me. “Tripoli?”
“Right.”
“Well, I gather there is a story here.” Carter gestures to York and back to me, causing sweat to prick my back. At least William was quiet in his prodding. “The old man doesn’t seem keen to talk about it though.” He nods at York, who glowers at him and crouches on the other side of the fire.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” I answer, my eyes meeting York’s through the smoke.
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here anymore.” Carter sets the end of a damp log in the fire and glances back over his shoulder at me expectantly.
“I stand by what I said.”
Smiling, he rubs his chin against his shoulder before the look fades entirely, and he turns to the fire. Weareall acting . . .
York’s face is all disapproval, but I don’t care.
“Where did you attend school, Carter?” I prod when I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. The need to know, to learn about them itches my brain like a fucking parasite trying to burrow its way in.
“Well, well . . .” His voice trails off. “UCLA, chemistry with a minor in psych.” Crouching, he lowers his voice. “Don’t use those observation tricks on August, though. None of us need to deal with that shit tonight.”
“I’m susceptible to bouts of paranoia and hysteria, but that doesn’t mean I’m deaf,” August says quietly without meeting anyone’s gaze.
“Things went wrong in Afghanistan, right, August?” William asks him, and then turns his attention on me. “The kidgot stuck outside the wire after his patrol was ambushed and killed. Somehow the crazy fuck survived, lost in the desert long enough to be deemed Killed In Action, but he accidentally lit up a pot field, and the fire is how they finally found him. He’s been twitchy since.”
“I’m not twitchy.”
“What’s your origin story?” York asks me, and I narrow my eyes.
This isn’t something I want any of the crazies to know, but chances are . . . they probably know something of me already. York wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want them to know . . . or it’s some kind of test, but for who?
Rubbing my brow, I suck it up. “I was recruited out of college after doing some voluntary testing during an employment drive on campus.”
“Did you know what you signed up for?” William asks.
“Doyouknow what I signed up for?” I inquire with a raised brow.
No one fucking knows what I signed up for but me. York’s face is guarded through the smoke, but I turn away from him. I’m not going to squirm under the weight of their observation, and certainly not when the spotlight is of York’s making.
“I always know exactly what I’m doing.” I add.
“Bold choice,” Carter murmurs as he pokes the fire with his boot and slides a wire grate over top.
I’m not sure what he means. Bold choice for knowing what I was getting into . . . or for admitting it?
Everyone starts moving, shuffling around to get their bags. I look back at York briefly before getting up and walking through the site. As I move off aimlessly, my brain starts doing its thing: cataloging.William—tall, medium-length brown hair, brown eyes, likely a marksman, served in Iraq . . . Based on his age, sometime in the last eight years. Surgery on his right knee. Medical records will be available through Veterans Affairs to confirm dates. From there I could probably narrow down his state of residence.
Stopping, I pick up a twig and bend it gently before continuing forward.
August—approximately thirty years old, copper hair, blue eyes, around five feet ten inches, no discernible preference for weapons, served in Afghanistan, so competent with a rifle and sidearm. Survived a prolonged period outside the wire, so he’s resourceful. Also well-spoken, above-average intelligence likely, can also be traced through Veterans Affairsifhe was released for psych reasons. If so, psych issues are a potential problem.
Carter—
“Calm down,” York says behind me.
“I am calm.”
