𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 (𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟗

"What did I say?" Kimberly snapped at me. A ferocious fury in her tone as she leveled me with a hardened glare. I mentally repressed a groan, frustration pulling at my chest. "I don't think we are focusing on the important aspect of this—"

"I told you that this would potentially put everything at risk. Taking her out, having her channel in the public!" She slammed her fist on the table; Her outburst was dramatic and unnecessary, given we all returned unscathed. "I warned you."

It didn't make me feel any less uneased and guilty about the entire situation. And her words had drilled a coiled type of dread into my chest and tension to my shoulders.

I exhaled a sharp breath. "I know, as you have said at least ten times already." I bit out, frustration edging my tone. "But knowing we all returned somewhat unharmed, I think we should discuss the issue in them locating us so quickly-"

She raised a hand, interrupting me again. Everybody always fucking did that. "No. You both endangered your group, put this operation at risk, almost lost Flores," She scoffed, shaking her head.

"And verified Isadora being their core piece, and have single handedly put a target on her back and this entire sanctuary." She bit out, each word filled with more and more anger.

Please, continue to rub salt into the wound.

She was spewing shit I already knew. I already thought about these things, about the amount of mistakes I had made during our outing. It was engraved deep in my brain to haunt and torment as it pleased.

I didn't like this. I didn't make viable mistakes. Nothing I wasn't able to fix, but this? This was could be long-term damage, this could ruin everything.

"You don't think they are going to be searching harder now? Monitoring this area and that area like fucking hawks?" She clenches her jaw, tension ticking veins in her neck. "We are like prey hiding out, and them like vultures waiting for us to reveal ourselves so they can initiate their attacks"

As her words settle into my chest, prying to my already consumed brain; I tapped the tip of my finger on the table. And for some, absurd reason her face slid into my vision. Her tearstained cheeks and swollen lips choking out sobs. And the fear written on her usual cheery features.

Fucking hell. I tried to do something good for her and it had completely backfired on me. This was supposed to be her taste of freedom, this was supposed to fill the craving of change she so desperately longed for.

Yet the only thing it truly managed to do was scare her back into her shell, and traumatize her. I knew she'd have to face it eventually. The concept of death and murder fell into the same category in this scenario, because if you died in war it was most definitely intentional on someone's part.

I didn't understand why I had this itch crawling at my stomach at the thought of her experiencing it. I thought it was because I knew the feeling, knew the empty feeling gnawing at your insides when you first witness it. But this was different, it was deeper and I could feel it.