"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 8: Bait

I half-listened to their plans even though my ears should have been honed in on every single syllable. Their words, argumentative or not, all bounced off my head as I mentally meandered elsewhere.

From how their tones came across, I managed to connect the dots. Something about needing to go to Las Almas first before Mirabad, and then they could try... something else. Honestly, the countries' names went through one ear and out the other.

Feeling eyes on me, I peered up sleepily at Gaz who listened to Soap discuss how important his argument was to Price, whose eyes were not drilling holes into anyone else but Soap. The nap on the jet hadn't cured my sleep deprivation, and I chalked up the sense of uneasiness to just needing to knock the fuck out for a few more hours.

With both hands, I rubbed my face, giving great care to closed eyelids, in an attempt to manipulate myself into thinking that I didn't need to rest.

Sniper lasers beamed into my skin, and I couldn't shake the delusion of being scrutinized by invisible eyes. Targeted, my heart skipped a beat having not sensed this kind of predatory observation in so long.

Like I was prey.

Hunted and sought out for.

But the three other men weren't paying me any mind as I lost mine, caught in the middle of a semi-heated discussion of a change in plans.

"No, Alejandro already knows we're meeting him there. We'd be inconveniencing him if we changed it last minute like this," Gaz's voice infiltrated my thoughts.

"It's only a few cities further than we originally agreed on," Soap shrugged.

Their debate faded out again as my attention tuned in to my physical demands for hunger and sleep. Would I be utilizing the same bed as last time, or had that been taken up, the spot forever a recyclable position? What time was it, anyway? Did I have enough energy to grab a bite of breakfast before collapsing somewhere? I'd take one of the couches in the mess hall if I had to, I was that desperate.

There was also no telling how much time it would take before my frustration evaporated over my uneaten stew. If Price hadn't shown up, I imagined myself still in bed with a full tummy. Well, with the time difference, maybe not. I'd most likely be a much more well-rested version of this rugged state, at peace and not consumed by a letter written by a dead hand.

'Always one step ahead of us,' Price's statement repeated in my distracted musings.

But that wasn't how shadows worked, was it? They only became a guide when the sun radiated from behind, taunting when provoked and untouchable. One step ahead until something changed whether that was the subject or light.

This was how they were going to redirect the sun: me. We just had to figure out timing and trajectory. Simple math that I didn't quite have the willpower to compute. But if the subject in which the light cast from behind stood fixed like a statue, then the only way to rotate the shadow, manipulate it, was to switch it up.

The realization poured out of my armpits, and I wiped it away on my pants, off my sticky palms.

Were they just seasoning and fattening me up with niceties and flattery? The chivalrous acts and welcoming grins didn't seem all that genuine now.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Or maybe I had misconstrued why I'd been brought back here.

Or maybe I'd read into it correctly.

It'd probably behoove me to start paying attention, honestly, but with the paranoia making me itch and over-tiredness making the bags under my eyes seem as if they were stuffed with lead, I could only focus on Price's half-day-old words:

'Always one step ahead of us.'

I was simply a cowardly ex-Shadow who knew how to expertly mingle with my late namesake and use it to my advantage. My hands had a dangerous reputation, and my eyes had witnessed worse.

And, of course, that was what they wanted out of me. Not because they enjoyed my company or that I made delicious bakery goods. Not because they missed me.

'Duh, you dumb bitch.'

Soap's argumentative inflection forced my attention back to the room. "And then there's the doubt that we're even going in the right direction."

"There have been multiple sightings either in Las Almas or across the border within the week," Price answered, "We go as planned, and that's final."

The Scot threw his hands up in surrender, a silent defeat. Frustration was evident on his face probably from the fact that they'd spent so long trying to find Graves, but they just couldn't catch his shadow.

Only darkness had the ability to handle similar shades of evasion.

I took a deep breath before weaseling my way in when the conversation had a large enough gap.

"You can use me as bait," I offered.

Eyes uncomfortably shifted to other pairs, not meeting mine. Soap looked at Price, Price stared at Gaz, and I was left to study the map projected before me. Just for something to attract my focus rather than the awkwardness fogging up the room.

I continued, "Graves at least wouldn't expect it, but I assume he thinks I'm still alive. If we think he's still in Las Almas or at least within the vicinity, then I can potentially draw out Shadows or if we're lucky, him?"

"And if he catches you?" Soap asked, leaning against the table with hands flat.

"Then wire me up. Put a locator on me."

From behind Price's towering figure, another British-embellished voice uttered two words. A voice I only had the pleasure of hearing in an unconscious state. One that I didn't think I'd ever hear again while alive.

"Absolutely not."