The Hunt by Megan Shepherd Page A

deer’s legs. He dragged the deer into the corner, where he began hacking at its antlers.
    Lucky leaned closer. “What happened to you out there?”
    Cora squeezed her temples, keeping her voice low. “I told Cassian I’d work with him, but then I got overwhelmed. There were some game pieces. A jack, the kind with the sharp points.” She remembered Cassian’s touch on her cheek. “I . . . couldn’t stop myself.”
    â€œYou stabbed him?”
    Mali leaned in on all fours, sniffing around Cora like an animal. She gave a flat smile of satisfaction. “Yes. She stabbed him with her mind. This is why her nose bleeds.”
    Cora tossed a look around. The last thing she needed was the whole ensemble knowing her secret.
    â€œIs this true?” Lucky asked. For a second—just a second—fear flashed in his eyes, as if he was looking at some freakish imitation of a girl, but then he blinked, and his eyes were only filled with concern.
    â€œHas she died yet?” Dane called from the other side of the room. He kept hacking at the deer. When Cora narrowed her eyes at him, he smirked. “Oh. Still alive. Congratulations.”
    She jerked her chin toward the saw. “I thought they didn’t kill the animals.”
    â€œNot for sport.” Dane threw his weight behind the saw to break off an antler. “But this one was old. Organ failure. An exception to the moral code.”
    â€œWhy cut off the antlers?”
    Dane wiped a speck of blood off his forehead. “Won’t fit down the drecktube with them attached.” He unceremoniously bagged the deer in the burlap sack, unlocked the tube with his key, and shoved the deer down the same drecktube that Chicago had probably disappeared down.
    Pika sighed deeply. “Poor little deer. It had such a cute tail.”
    Cora pitched her head down. Memories of the gleaming jack and that tug in her mind shot through like streaks of pain. The sound of the backstage door opening came, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at the bright lights again.
    â€œShe looks sick,” a deep Kindred voice observed.
    She jerked her head up. With her hazy vision she didn’t see more than a tall figure at first, and her head throbbed harder—if it was Cassian, what would she say?—but then her vision cleared. A dark-blue suit with twin knots down the side. A face with a sharp wrinkle cutting down his forehead.
    â€œShe’s fine,” Lucky said quickly to Fian.
    â€œI will be the judge of that.” Fian looked around the filthy room, as though one wrong step could get him contaminated. “Come with me, girl. I need to investigate this incident.”
    She glanced at Lucky. They both knew that Fian was on their side, a secret member of the Fifth of Five initiative, but she was still wary.
    Fian motioned for her to follow him into the shower room, which, with its groaning pipes, was the best place to talk in private.He cast one look at the dirty drain and stepped carefully to the cleanest spot on the floor.
    â€œWhy are you really here?” she said, once they were alone.
    â€œCassian asked me to check on your condition. He wishes to see you himself, but he thought you might prefer to speak with someone else.”
    â€œBecause of the whole stabbing thing, I assume.”
    Fian only blinked.
    She slumped against the wall. “You can tell him I’m fine. And despite what happened, I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll run the Gauntlet. We can begin training as soon as he wants.”
    Fian pressed a hand against each side of her head gently. She tried not to recoil as he tilted her head up to inspect the dried blood rimming her nostrils. “Your mind needs time to heal first. Four days.”
    â€œThat’s too much time. Cassian said we only have thirty days to train and”—she did a quick tally—“at least five have already passed. The module must be halfway to