"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 12: Wastleland

"Are you done feeling sorry for me?" Ghost asked after waiting what seemed like an eternity, exacerbating the smothering atmosphere.

My fucking jaw ached from holding in everything. The exhaustion, grief, and shock from the past seven or eight hours had punched me in the face, and they were giving me no space to even lick my wounds. At this point, the fatigue had slammed me into the wall of no longer feeling hunger, and I'd decided then that food would come after slipping into an unconscious void for a few hours.

"Kelsey," he tried again to coax a verbal reply out of me, "I asked you a question." I couldn't decipher if his voice sounded more commanding or forgiving.

As a Lieutenant, as my Lieutenant now, there now lived a permanent boundary between us. I was now obligated to follow any and all orders as a soldier, and a shred of insubordination could result in penalization whereas before, I had support from Graves to wave anything away.

The motherfucker liked pretty girls, and I happened to sometimes use my naturally God-given gifts to my advantage. Key word: sometimes. A light squeeze to his bicep mixed with a couple of doe eyes could do him in; I wasn't afraid to admit it seeing I was now a traitor to the Shadow Company. If they even considered themselves that anymore.

While Ghost's tone could not be translated, I ensured mine was blatantly obvious. "Holland," I corrected him, "and, yes, I'm done if that's what you're ordering me to do."

Aloud, yes, I'd agree to stop feeling sorry for him. However, the guilt continued to seep through into my bone marrow, staying there until it became food for maggots.

"May I be dismissed?" I broke the tension-filled eye contact with Ghost as my eyes then met with Price's. Not like either was better than the other. One boiled my blood while the opposite tore at my atrium, making it so my body could experience The Phlegethon spitting through my veins and the Acheron River pooling in all four chambers of my heart simultaneously.

I was becoming a wasteland for grief all over again.

The Captain gave me a curt nod before answering, "Dismissed. I'm sure you'd like to rest. Training starts tomorrow, though."

Of course, it did. I expected nothing less from someone who just uprooted me away from my peaceful solace to jump right into action. I'd been dumb enough to leave my security so easily obtainable, it was my fault for letting my guard down so haphazardly.

I'd thought myself to be safe in Russia, covered by skidding off the grid and hiding behind the vast mountains. But the defense of trees hadn't been thick enough, had it? My jump from the grid, not far enough.

Not when I'd also been blinded by love that I let him open my mouth and have me regurgitate all of my dreams, desires, and descriptive details. That, I blamed myself for, too.

The running, the capture, the death, all of it.

It weighed down on not only my shoulders but my soul if I still mine intact. Time had only diluted the pain, but did it heal any of me? With the rage pumping in my veins that could in essence be mistaken for the Underworld's rivers, it was my only reminder that I'd grown from the shell I'd walked into Russia as. Other than that, I had nothing else to nudge me away from self-ridicule.

Back now against the closed door after saying nothing else to any of them, slipping through the door as a stifling silence trailed behind me. I shut the door before it could follow me into the hallway. I refused to be uncomfortable in solitude, too.

I almost laughed as bitterly as I had done when Price told me Graves and Shepherd were still alive. But this time, the cackle would have stemmed from disbelief that I didn't think before acting. Again.