Little Fox

2: Grey Eyes

"You turn this car around right now, or I swear to God, I'll­–"

"Holden," Madison says softly.

Something like a growl comes from Holden's lips. "We don't have time for the detour. She's losing blood too fast."

"If they follow us–"

"I don't care," Holden says with finality. There's a mutter of a creative stream of curses, and the car is yanked around in a tight U-turn. I let my eyelids fall shut and I focus on the dancing fireflies.

"When they find us, that's on you, Holden."

"I know," he says softly, his voice much closer to me this time. A hand pushes the sweaty hair out of my eyes, but I can't find the strength to open them. "Stay with me," he whispers, and his warm breath wafts over my skin and tickles my hair.

I remember when we were younger, even before we were assigned as hunting partners, Holden and I used to take walks by the lake after training. We'd wait for it to get dark and for the fireflies to appear, their winking light reflecting off the smooth surface of the water, along with the stars.

They're the last thing I see before my mind drifts away.

☽

Grey eyes.

Piercing. Taunting. Beautiful.

Why couldn't I kill him?

With a frustrated growl, I lunge forward to slice another dummy's head off. Its burlap skin splits and spews straw, and the limp body falls to the floor. Its head swings like a pendulum on the rope, back and forth. Even beheaded, it stares at – no, through me with those accusing, grey eyes.

"You look scared, little fox."

Dropping my blade, I put an arrow through its forehead. More stuffing spills out the back, drifting slowly to the ground.

"Do I frighten you?"

I put a second arrow in another mannequin's torso, and the arrow lands with a satisfying thunk. The beam it hangs from creaks from the movement, and my next arrow slices through the rope.

"Don't lie to me."

The door to the training room swings open. I whirl around and aim my bow at the newcomer, ready to release, only to lower it as I recognize his face.

"I see you're feeling better," Holden says, cocking an eyebrow and gesturing around the room. "Is it safe to approach?"

I grin sheepishly. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. I see Jimmy here's not doing so good," he says, nudging one of the disemboweled dummies on the floor with his foot. "What'd he do?"

I shrug, and he chuckles again.

"Seriously, though, how are you doing? Miranda says Doc finally let you go this morning." Holden's eyes drop to my multiple bandages.

"Yeah, he said I'm good to go back to normal in a few days," I say, fiddling with the fletchings of my nocked arrow. My wounds were healing remarkably well, and my leg hardly hurts when I put weight on it. I didn't even need the splint for my foot anymore, Doc said the damage was mostly superficial.

Holden walks up to me and brushes a sweaty strand of hair from my face, his brow pinched with concern. His hand lingers on my cheek before falling away.

"Are you sure? Kat, there was so much blood–"

"I'm sure it looked worse than it really was."

He sighs and draws back. "If you say so."