Page 114 of Hunted

I frowned, trying to recall. Unfortunately, I had been plagued by exhaustion and hadn’t even thought to check a clock upon arrival. “I don’t know.”

“According to the Academy’s carpark security footage, you and your handlers returned at 11.47pm.”

“Why did you ask if you already knew?”

Her brows twitched, showcasing the first sliver of emotion since I walked in two minutes ago. “Because it’s my job to determine your physical and mental state following your first assignment.” She pivoted, and I got the vague feeling like I was being led in circles. “Were you injured?”

“Somewhat.”

“Where?”

“My head.” I gestured to my black eye and slightly swollen nose. “As you can see.”

“Is that why Instructor Beckett had to carry you up to your shared living space?”

Ah. There it is.

I raised a brow. “Yes. I believe I was sliding in and out of consciousness at the time, hence, not being able to remember the time we arrived.”

She typed away for several seconds before running me down a fresh line of questions.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?”

Fuck. How many hours did I sleep last night, after… well, after all of that?

“I’d say about seven,” I said, adding two to the real number.

“Describe your emotional state after the kill.”

I jerked back, unprepared for such a subjective question, so out of sync with her previous one.

After some consideration, I finally decided on honesty. “Given the fact that my kill-plan didn’t go to plan, and I was suffering from some very unwanted side effects of Killer Crimson 010, I was feeling fifty percent panic and fifty percent acceptance of demise.”

She remained impassive, but spent a few extra seconds making notes on that one. “Would you consider last night a success?”

“Yes.” More than you know.

“Why?”

“Because the mark was successfully taken out, ma’am.”

Dr. Calper’s nose twitched in agitation, and I decided right then and there that if she was going to get invasive with me, I was going to make her just as uncomfortable in return.

“I see. And did you feel detached from your body at any point during the mission?”

“No, but I did have to pretend to be somebody else to get through it, Your Honour.”

Tap, tap, tap went her fingers on her keyboard. “Whose voice do you hear when under distress?”

Beck. I frowned, shaking the knee-jerk thought loose. “My own, of course, Your Grace.”

Tap, tap, tap. Notably louder this time.

“How often do you question your handlers’ decisions?”

I huffed a deep breath, infuriated at what a waste of time my morning was turning out to be. “Given that they’ve only been my handlers for, what, two weeks? Never. I questioned Marie’s motives more.”

“Who is Marie?”