Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(26)

That…is a terrible plan. I should really say som—

“Hang on,” I hiss, realization thwacking me in the face like a tree branch. “So I have to go off on my own with Brad?”

Aurora winces, which is confirmation enough.

“Who are you with?!”

“Raj,” she says. “Sorry!”

I fake-glare at her. She laughs. For the next five minutes, I completely ignore the impending doom staring me in the face. Then we all part ways, leaving Holly behind as a safety checkpoint, and I’m forced to approach Him.

The Utmost Pain in My Arse.

Stay zen, Celine. If we have to work together, we have to work together. I’m not a complete child. I take a nice soothing breath and rub my rain-damp palms over my thighs.

This is going to be fine.

I will make it fine.

Fine!





BRAD


Celine’s being weirder than usual.

“This is honestly ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath for the ten thousandth time as we trudge through the bracken. And no, her complaining is not the weird part; what’s weird is that she’s complaining to me.

Celine should be ordering everyone about like soldiers in her army, not meekly following Sophie’s instructions. I keep waiting for her to say something bossy and annoying. The lack is starting to creep me out.

“What are we even looking for?” she demands, addressing a nearby tree.

“I don’t know. A little plastic bag? A big flashing arrow?”

She whips around to face me, her eyes narrow and suspicious, like she has no idea why I’m answering her. Seriously? Come on, Celine. It’s literally you or the undergrowth. Work with me here. We’ve been walking alone for like twenty minutes and I am so completely deprived of company, I’m actually grateful when she speaks again. “The chances of us finding either in this rain are roughly equal.” She sniffs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black puffer jacket.

The rain isn’t heavy; it’s fine like mist, clinging to your eyelashes, obscuring everything more than a meter in front of your face. So I suppose by “?‘equal’?” she must mean “?‘zero.’?” Instead of commenting, though, I say, “Hands out of your pockets.”

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Suck a toe.”

“If you want to fracture your other wrist,” I say, “do it around someone else, because I’m not carrying you out of these woods.”

“If I fractured my other wrist,” she replies sweetly, “I wouldn’t need anyone to carry me because I don’t walk on my hands.”

Fine; let her trip over a shrub and break her neck. Like I care. I catch sight of my mud-stained trainers and huff.

We move in silence for another five minutes before I realize Celine’s done talking. If I want more noise, I need to wind her up again. “I don’t think splitting up was that bad an idea.”

Her eyes flash. She is wonderfully predictable. “Of course it’s a bad idea! We split our resources and waste time stumbling around in the dark? Hardly the plan of the century.”

Ooh, she’s pissed. This is more like it. “Do you mean the literal dark, or the metaphorical dark?” I ask innocently.

Her jaw tightens so hard you can almost hear it pop. “Obviously, I mean the metaphorical dark, Bradley.” Celine must really hate me because when other people annoy her, she gets bored and clocks out. When I annoy her, you can practically see the pulse pounding in her forehead.

“Well, if it was obvious,” I say, “I wouldn’t have asked.”

She scowls. “Stop taking the piss. Listen, as long as we’re in this together—”

“Did I hear that right? Did you just say together?”

“We need to keep an eye on these things,” she continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “I know you know how illogical this plan is. One of us should’ve been paying attention back there.”

She knows I know? I keep my expression blank and my voice steady as I say, “Why, so we could speak up and undermine the whole democracy vibe?” But inside I’m vibrating like a confused Chihuahua, freaked out because Celine thinks I’m…smart? No, that might be too generous. Sensible? Or something like that? Basically, I’m astonished she doesn’t think I’m an Allen-level idiot. I’m not, but she’s never been reasonable enough to acknowledge my frankly impressive intelligence, so—

“Screw democracy!” she announces.

Er. “Okay, Comrade Celine?”

“Everyone’s in a rush to win,” she continues. “That’s why they jumped on the first idea instead of talking over all the options.”

She’s not wrong, but then, she rarely is. It’s one of her most annoying qualities. “I think you’re being too harsh. The sector’s small; we could stumble across some booklets out of order. There’s a chance this’ll make things more time efficient, and the group chat means we don’t lose the teamwork element.”

“We’d work faster if we used the strengths of every team member simultaneously, and I don’t think a group chat is going to cut it. We’re trekking through the forest, for God’s sake; who’s checking their phone?”