Lucas doesn't answer Kellan's text, or my phone call.
Probably busy again with the Council.
Stretching, I test the range of motion in the lightweight tactical clothing Kellan provided. The fabric is breathable, but I'm already sweating beneath the impact-resistant layer in the shirt. A knife rests heavy on my belt, and the boots feel stiff, promising blisters if I have to run for my life. But of course the beta insisted, so here I am, trussed up like an operative minus the arsenal.
The bodyguards have all ditched their suits for similar getups, though several sport guns on their hips. I turn to Marcus, brow raised. "Why don't I get a gun?"
He barely glances my way. "A gun in untrained hands is just asking for trouble."
I purse my lips but concede his point with silence. Using it would require an instruction manual, and there's no time for that in an emergency.
