Book 3: Drinking Buddies

Hollis

I storm out of the copse of trees, clenching and unclenching my hands. I have to hit something. There has to be something in this Goddess-forsaken place for me to hit. I march back to the mock-training ground Zain and I slapped together, still empty, but we’ve only finished the fucking archery part.

It’s better than nothing. I shoulder one of the heavy bows, nock an arrow, and let it fly. Bullseye.

Inhale, aim, fire, exhale. The next arrow lands directly next to it.

Tension knots my muscles, over tightens my grip. The third quivers in the ring just outside the bullseye, its bright-red fletching taunting me. I throw the bow down in the grass and storm down the shooting range. All fucking clear. And I have to get that last arrow out before anybody else sees it. I haven’t missed the bullseye from this close since I was sixteen.

I’m not an idiot. I know I went a little overboard. The look in her eyes is going to haunt me in my dreams