Hunted Predators✔️

New book

Keep reading for an excerpt of my new book, Supernova.

"When I first heard about the Reapers escaping, I thought it'd be over in a week, like some failed science experiment. Then I saw the mess they made out of New York City. You know what my first thought was? I was kind of glad the world is ending."

The psychologist nods slowly. She studies Frey's face, taking note of even the slightest twitch in her spiral notebook. "And why did you feel like that?"

"Maybe I was glad I wouldn't be the only one."

"The only one dying? Are you referring to your cancer?"

"Yeah."

"I see. Do you think the treatment negatively impacted your mental health?"

Frey stares at the psychologist, her eyebrows raising. "Did your diploma negatively impact your stupidity?"

At the psychologist's reddened cheeks, Frey raises her hands, holding back a grin. "I'm sorry. That was rude. It's just, the thing is, it's really hard to give a crap when I'm about to be sent on a mission to my death."

The psychologist clears her throat, trying to regain her composure. "Is the upcoming mission scaring you?"

"Is the super hard mission where I'm probably going to die scaring me?"

"These sessions typically work better when the patient refrains from parroting and answers the questions."

"Who wouldn't be scared?"

"Eshan wasn't."

"Well, Eshan is a diagnosed moron."

"Eshan is not a diagnosed moron."

"Yes he is. I call him a moron all the time. He's diagnosed. By me."

The psychologist rubs her temple. "I think we're done here."

"Great!" Frey reaches over the desk to shake the psychologist's hand, knocking over her folders and books in the process. "Whoops!" Frey drops to her knees, grabbing a folder. "Stop," the psychologist says. She bends down to the ground. "Just stop. I'll get it."

Whistling, Frey leaves the room, wearing the first genuine grin the psychologist has ever seen on her. A few hours later, she, Eshan and Steve are buckled in to the back of military plane.

Frey reaches into her jacket, pulling out a spiral notebook.

"What's that?" Eshan asks.

"Karen's notes on us."

"Isn't the psychologist's name Yolanda?"

"Seemed more like a Karen to me." Frey flips through the pages. "Karens are always-"

"You shouldn't be reading that."

"It's a book, Steve. Books are meant be read."

"My name isn't Steve. My name is-"

"I don't care. You seem more like a Steve to me. Like I said, it's hard to give a crap when-"

"When you're about to die on a mission," Eshan finishes for her.

"We know," Steve adds. "We've heard it countless times from you."

Frey finds a page with her name on it, studying its contents intensely. Steve rolls his eyes. Frey peaks from under her eyelashes to see if she had Eshan's attention. She does.

"Well what does it say?" Eshan asks.

"Frey Bueller," Frey reads. "Age: Sixteen, Height: five foot eight. Race- boring, boring, boring." Frey skims through the report, skipping to the next page. "That's personal. How did she even know... Oh, okay, here's the good stuff: even after a half an hour talk, I can declare Frey unfit. It's clear she has many issues."