Chapter Text
“Will you two give it a rest!” Cleo shouted from the kitchen. Etho glanced over at her curiously, then followed her gaze to the two in front of them.
“He started it!” Joel exclaimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest in a manner that reminded Etho of a pouty child.
Scott raised an eyebrow at him, “Weren’t you the one that insulted my sniping skills?”
“Yeah!” Joel shouted, waving his arms in the air. “They suck!”
“Do not! Not anymore than your medical knowledge, hell, I doubt you could even bandage a knife wound.”
“I definitely could!”
“Wanna try it out?” Scott eyed the knife set to his left.
“Enough of that,” Etho intervened, stepping between the two. “We don’t want any knife violence between assassins, right?”
Scott just rolled his eyes, and drifted over to where Pearl was leaning against a wall.
Joel sent a glare after Scott’s retreating back, then perked up as if a sudden thought had hit him. He turned to Etho with a strange look on his face.
“I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said a little distractedly.
Etho tilted his head curiously. “Alright, about what?”
“Who’s side are you on here?”
Etho looked at him quizzically, “What do you mean? If I had to choose, I guess, I don’t really know Scott-”
“Not that!” Joel hissed, and he dragged Etho by the arm away from the others.
“Then what?” Etho asked, ignoring the fact that he already knew what the conversation was about.
Joel glared at him wordlessly, and Etho put up his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know what you want from me, man.”
“What I want,” Joel started, sounding strangely accusatory, “is for you to make up your goddamn mind!”
“Okay, I’ve made it up. No.”
“Etho!” Joel complained. “This is serious! If you refuse, then you're going to die!”
“And if they catch us?” Etho asked. “What would happen to us then?”
Joel didn’t respond, instead he cast a glance around the room.
“Joel?” Etho prompted.
“We need to hold a meeting,” Joel muttered, more to himself than Etho.
“A meeting?” Etho asked, perplexed. “Why?”
“To see who’s on our side or not you blummin’ idiot!”
Joel stepped away from Etho, and walked to the dining table, clearing his voice loudly, drawing attention to him, causing all other side conversations trailing off to silence.
“I think we need to have a meeting,” he announced, his eyes sweeping over the occupants of the dorm.
Etho crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall at his back. He let his gaze flit around the room, not at the people, but at the walls. Something shiny caught his attention, he narrowed his eyes at it. A camera.
Surprise washed over his face, but he quickly masked it with a facade of calm. If the camera had a microphone, all of his friends were dead. Well, most of them, maybe not Grian, Cleo, or Scott.
He realized that Joel was still talking, and mostly everyone was gathering at the table. Conflicting thoughts clashed in Etho’s mind. On one hand, if he didn’t warn the others of the cameras, they would go through with the plan and die. But if he did… They wouldn’t relent on escaping, and it would only paint him as part of their plan. A target.
He looked at Bdubs. Could he really put his own selfishness in front of others, and sacrifice four of his friends for his own personal benefit? Could he really set his best friend, his boyfriend, up for death?
He wanted to say no, but a stray voice in his mind argued against his own morals. It seeped into his brain like poison, spreading, corrupting his thought process. Yes, it told him. Yes, you can betray them. Betray them all. You get to live.
Is a life where you kill others for your own benefit a life worth living?
The voice paused, contemplating this thought. Etho only realized it had fallen silent, when Bdubs was calling him over. Etho glanced up at Bdubs’s voice, the voice he knew so well, the voice he was in love with. The voice he was about to sacrifice like a pig put up for slaughter.
He uncrossed his arms, and walked over to the group at the table. He sat down between Bdubs and Grian, Bdubs giving him a reassuring look, where Grian’s eyes were elsewhere. He seemed nervous, picking at his sleeves, a habit that Etho had noticed Grian had started to develop as the air surrounding the nine grew more tense as the days passed.
“I think we all know why we’re having this meeting,” Joel started, sitting between Cleo and Martyn.
“Yeah!” Bdubs said, glancing around the group, and silently meeting Etho’s hand under the table. “We need to know who’s with us or not.”
Everyone was silent. Nobody spoke, no one moved, everything was still.
“So?” Joel asked, and Etho detected a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Who’s with us?”
“Me,” Martyn said, glancing at Joel and Budbs.
“I am,” Pearl spoke next, then, when nobody else spoke, Pearl nudged Scott with her shoulder.
Scott shrugged, “Okay, I’m in.”
Cleo made a noise of protest, and all eyes turned to them.
“What?” They asked indignantly, though a hint of panic resided in her voice.
“You know what,” Joel stated, and Etho was surprised to see a barely noticeable glare present itself on his face.
Cleo turned on him, “Why can’t a person have their own opinions, Joel? I didn’t know this was a monarchy!”
“There aren’t any type of political statuses here, Cleo-” Martyn started, but Cleo cut him off.
“Really? Because it sure seems that way! I think we could all very much die doing this plan, and you won’t take the opinions of anyone against you!”
“Okay, let’s hear you out then,” Joel huffed, crossing his arms and sinking in his seat, almost as if the anger was deflating out of him.
Cleo hesitated, then started. “If we escape now, we will certainly die if we get caught, right?”
There were a few murmurs of agreement, shortly followed by curious looks from around the table.
“All I’m saying is that this is basically a suicide mission,” Cleo said. “I don’t want anyone here to die, and if we try to execute this plan, there is a very large chance that we all will!”
“What will happen to us if we don’t?”
Bdubs’s voice was almost quiet enough to miss. Etho turned to him, his hand still gripped tightly in his own, and Bdubs’s face looked almost regretful, his eyes uncharacteristically hollow and empty.
“We would keep killing, and act like this never happened,” Etho answered for Cleo, looking deep into Bdubs’s eyes.
Bdubs’s lip trembled, “I don’t wanna keep killing.”
Etho felt an arrow strike through his heart embroidered in sympathy. “I’m sorry-”
“No, Etho, I don’t want to keep living if- if we keep taking innocent lives.”
Etho ignored the other’s words, his focus was entirely for Bdubs. “Okay,” he said, merely more than a broken whisper. “Okay, we can go.”
Bdubs’s eyes lit up, and Etho just then realized that they were sparkling with unshed tears.
“Really?” he asked, his voice full of hopefulness.
Etho nodded, and Bdubs launched himself at Etho, wrapping him in a tight hug. Etho returned the embrace, if not a little less enthusiastic, and looked at Cleo over Bdubs’s shoulder. She looked hurt, almost betrayed, and Etho felt his heart getting torn in half. The back of his shirt was getting damp from Bdubs’s silent tears, and Etho only hugged him tighter in response. Bdubs clung to him like a lifeline, a lifeline that would eventually let him down.
Cleo met Etho’s eyes, and her expression morphed seeing Etho’s wide and uncharacteristically scared eyes. She knew what Etho really wanted. Etho could only depend on them so that they wouldn’t confide that information to anyone else.
Joel cleared his throat, tearing Etho’s attention back to him and the real reason for this meeting.
Etho carefully detached himself from Bdubs, but held him close, as if he could fade away into nothingness if he let him go.
“Scar?” Joel asked inquiringly.
“I’m in,” Scar replied, pointedly not looking at Grian.
A silence fell over the group when Joel looked at Grian. “Grian?” he asked, his voice hard.
Grian bit his lip, his leg bouncing up and down under the table, his hands picking at his sleeves more ferocious than ever.
“Well,” Grian said, his wide eyes darting around the group. “I’m with Cleo.”
Joel raised his chin, then glanced at Etho to Grian’s left. Etho quickly schooled his face to something more akin to a neutral expression. He held eye contact with Joel until Joel looked away.
“Fine,” he said, standing up, Etho’s eyes following him curiously. “Fine, the seven of us can go, and Grian and Cleo will stay. Any objections?”
“Yes I have a fucking objection!” Scott exclaimed, standing up too to be at eye level to Joel. “If we leave them here they’re gonna just get killed because of their association with us!”
Etho had an inkling of a thought that Scott wasn’t really arguing with Grian in mind.
“Then what do you expect us to do, Scott?” Joel snapped, his eyes lighting with fire.
“If not all of us go, none of us go.” Scott gave Joel one last withering glare before marching away, the front door shutting with a surprisingly soft click behind him.
Pearl pursed her lips, then stood up with a soft scrape of her chair. “I should go too…” She trailed off, glancing at Cleo. Cleo wordlessly walked to her side, and the two left.
All eyes turned back to Grian. He stood up defensively, and Scar went to stand by him.
Grian turned harshly to Scar, tears brimming in his own eyes.
“What?” he spat out albeit his wobbly voice betraying his emotion. “Do you want to belittle me? Do you want to say how dumb I am for staying? Just fucking say it, Scar! I want to hear it!”
Scar didn’t say any of those things, he just wordlessly pulled Grian in a hug. Etho felt a little like an intruder watching that interaction, something that he felt shouldn’t be watched by prying eyes. He turned away, looking back at Joel. Then he stood up, leaving Bdubs seated in the chair.
“So?” Etho asked, and he couldn’t help the untrusting edge that accompanied his tone. “What now? We’re just going to leave them for dead? What about a plan to get out? The Watchers could know about this for all we-”
Etho’s voice faltered, and he fell silent, suddenly feeling sick.
“Etho?” Martyn asked, moving closer to him.
Etho took a step back, his breath involuntarily picking up.
Bdubs looked up at him, then stood up, his hands hovering in front of Etho, unsure of what to do. “Etho, what happened?” he asked, and Etho could see nothing but concern in those large, round eyes.
“Nothing,” he lied quickly, barely avoiding the word catching in his throat. “It’s fine, I just… have to go.”
Without another word, Etho abruptly turned and walked to his room, swinging the door shut behind him, then sitting down heavily on his bed.
Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. The world was spinning, and his mask was suffocating. He ripped it off, flinging it to the corner of his bed, and heaved in air. It barely worked, only inflating his lungs halfway.
He coughed, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, muffling himself. He needn’t worry Bdubs after everything that happened that night, especially with the lies that had rolled off of Etho’s tongue naturally. Almost too naturally.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned over to rest his elbows on his thighs, pushing his hands against his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Etho was supposed to convince the others that the plan was one of a fool, one that could easily be seen and revealed. But he had failed, he failed and Bdubs, Joel, Martyn, Scar, and Pearl were going to die. They were going to die, and it was all Etho’s fault.
***
Etho stared at the picture in the frame, it stared back at him. As well as a picture of a messily drawn boat could, that is. He knew he wouldn’t have any time for sleep when he spared a glance over at his alarm clock, it read 3:30 am in straight illuminated letters. Etho looked back at the scribbled boat, then sighed, picking himself up and tearing his gaze away from reminders of Joel. He shrugged on his casual clothes and trademark green coat.
Etho walked to the door and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the hall, then made his way to the bathroom to fix his hair. A sudden noise made him freeze, his hand automatically reaching for the knife that was always tucked inside his coat, but it was gone. Panic filled him at the missing item from his arsenal, and he tensed his body, slowly walking towards the kitchen where the sound had come from.
He stopped by the corner, took a deep breath, and turned. Grian yelped as he dropped the box of crackers he had been trying to silently take from the pantry. The box made an even louder sound against the tiled floor, and Grian hissed an apology as he bent down to pick it up.
Etho just stood there, confused, watching Grian pick the box back up and set it on the counter.
“Why are you up?” Etho finally asked in a hushed voice so as to not disturb Cleo’s sleep.
“I could ask the same to you,” Grian replied, eyeing Etho suspiciously.
“I asked first,” Etho said.
“Yeah, but I asked second, and two is more than one.”
“What?”
“Nevermind.” Grian opened the top of the box, and picked a roll of crackers and winced at the crackling of the plastic.
“Seriously though, I usually wake up in thirty minutes, so it’s not that big of a deal, but why are you up?” Etho asked, walking into the room, and taking the cracker out of Grian’s hand. Grian pouted at him for a second before relenting.
“I just can’t sleep knowing that the Watchers are looming over us.”
Etho froze, careful not to look towards the cameras. “Yeah? What brand of crackers are those, they look good.”
Grian’s eyes widened as he presumably realized his mistake, and his voice picked up in speed.
“Um, yeah, I love these crackers, very good, yes.”
“Just go back to bed, Grian, you can take the crackers with you,” Etho said, rolling his eyes in a hope that the Watchers would dismiss Grian’s words as the usual nerves that come with the job that they have.
“No, I’m not tired,” Grian whined, and Etho was shook by how much it reminded him of Bdubs when he was tired.
Etho gave him a pointed look, then shrugged, “Okay, but if you fall asleep on the job today, don’t blame me.”
Grian smiled, something that filled Etho with unexpected joy at the small gesture.
“So, what do you usually do in the mornings?” Grian asked, grabbing a cracker from the box and munching on it.
“Read.”
“Wait actually?” Grian looked dumbstruck.
Etho felt mildly offended. “Yeah,” he said slightly indignantly. “What’s wrong with reading?”
“I just thought you would do something interesting,” Grian said.
Etho crossed his arms despite the slight smile tugging at his lips. “Reading is interesting.”
“Nerd.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let’s do something interesting, yeah?” Grian said quickly, his eyes scanning the room.
“Something interesting? Like reading.”
“No,” Grian groaned. “Not reading! That’s so boring. Something like…aha! Let’s play Super Smash Bros!”
“Y’know, that’s not really all that productive,” Etho said, although he followed Grian to the couch anyway.
“It doesn’t have to be!” Grian said, handing Etho a controller. “I’m not supposed to be awake, and reading is boring, so why don’t we do something fun!”
“Like reading.”
“You’re putting me to sleep already with all that reading talk!”
“Good, go to sleep.”
Grian pouted at him again, and Etho couldn’t find it in himself to refuse anymore. “Fine, only a couple rounds though, then you need to get ready.” Etho eyed Grian’s messy hair.
“Yeah, yeah,” Grian waved him off, then turned to the screen. “Are you ready to get beat?”
Etho smiled despite himself, “Game on.”
The game went on for far more than a couple rounds. Etho partially blamed himself for that, it had been long since he had felt the competitive urge to win, and he thrived in the mindset.
“No fair!” Grian whined as Etho beat him yet again. “Your character is overpowered!”
Etho raised his eyebrows, “I’ve switched three times already, though. I’m at, like, the lowest level.”
“Maybe it’s your controller that’s rigged, here, let’s switch!”
Grian handed Etho his controller, and took Etho’s out of his hands.
“Sure,” Etho shrugged. “But I really don’t think it’s the controllers.”
A few rounds went by, and albeit Etho’s insisting that it wasn’t the controller’s fault, Grian did win a few rounds.
“Ha!” Grian yelled, holding up his controller victoriously like some sort of prize. “Get smashed!’
Etho stared at him for a second, then raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I would, but now’s really not the time.”
Grian stilled for a second, processing, then his face flooded bright red. “I didn’t mean it that way!” he squawked, covering his mouth.
“Sure you didn’t,” Etho responded, smirking.
“I am very sure I didn’t!” Grian yelled.
“Who’s getting smashed?” Cleo asked sleepily, trudging into the room.
“For the last time-” Grian started.
“Grian said apparently I was,” Etho shrugged.
“Oh! I see you’ve made your move, Grian,” Cleo asked, a smile flitting across her face.
“No!” Grian yelled. “I didn’t mean it like that! We’re playing Super Smash Bros!”
“Isn’t that quite counterproductive?” Cleo asked, glancing at Etho.
“That’s what I said,” Etho responded.
Grian gave them both a halfhearted glare, “I hate both of you.”
“But we love you so much!” Cleo said, then yawned deeply, stretching out their arms. “Go get dressed, Grian, you look like you were up all night.”
Etho stood up. “I think it’s because he was.”
Cleo’s eyebrows furrowed, “Actually?”
“I just couldn’t sleep, I dunno,” Grian said, eyeing the cameras.
“Right,” Cleo responded, following Grian’s gaze. “Well, get ready.”
Once Grian had gotten dressed, and Etho had fixed his hair, the three were sat at their kitchen table like usual every morning. There was a sense of foreboding that filled the air, thick enough to cut with a knife, yet transparent enough to only see if the eye was looking for it.
“We’re just spying today, no killing,” Etho told the other two, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “We need to stay inconspicuous, and it is vital that they don’t know we’re there.”
“Who are we spying on?” Cleo asked, a tone of nervousness in her voice.
Etho felt his face go grim, “Joel, Pearl, and Scar.”
“How does HQ know where they are?” Grian asked, his voice uncharacteristically void of emotion.
“They have eyes on them, and they think they’re planning something. Our job is to see if they’re right.”
“So, how are we going to do this?” Cleo asked, furrowing their eyebrows. “Will we be together, on the roofs, in casual clothes…?”
“We’re going to be split up, one for each person,” Etho said, a bitter taste rising up his throat and spilling out into his words.
Grain raised his eyebrows, “I’m gonna guess the Watchers are being salty again and assigned us to the people we have connections with?”
Etho reluctantly nodded, inwardly sighing.
Cleo ran a hand through her hair, “I really don’t want to spy on Pearl, like, she actually scares me.”
Etho grimaced, “Good luck with that.”
“Ah, you forget, luck is unlucky here,” Grian said, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.
Etho looked at him confused for a second, then the memory of the first signs of Joel unfogged in his brain and he felt a smile of his own finding its way on his face. Grian’s missed shot, and Cleo’s normal quick retort.
“That was one side comment!” Cleo exclaimed, yet the bite was lost from their voice.
Grian put a mock hand over his chest, “Yet I still took it to heart.”
Etho’s smile faltered into a grimace, remembering more about that day… and the one that followed it.
“What’s the other team doing?” Cleo asked, thankfully ignoring the sudden change in the atmosphere surrounding the table.
Etho gave a wordless noncommittal shrug met with a skeptical look cast from Grian.
“Don’t they tell you?” Grian asked, crossing his arms.
“Not always,” Etho replied, eyeing Grian’s expression with mild curiosity. “Sometimes they enjoy leaving us in the dark.”
Cleo pursed their lips, “Well, we should get going, right? We’re on a tight schedule.”
Etho nodded, then glanced between the other two. “Apparently I can’t say good luck, but, don’t let them see you. That could ruin everything.”
***
Grian didn’t know what to think when he saw Scar for the first time in over a year. He remembered the bad times, sure. The arguments, the tears, the immense feeling of guilt eating away at his very being. But when he laid eyes on his past lover, the memories of far happier events crowded his mind. Ordering pizza, Scar excitedly ranting about his day to Grian who patiently listened with a small smile playing on his lips, those nights where Martyn was asleep and it was just Grian and Scar, the way Scar’s eyes would sparkle when landing on Grian, and the fuzzy and warm feeling Grian felt whenever he looked at the man.
Despite everything, Grian had an inkling of a thought- which he crushed under his metaphorical shoe immediately -that he could just take his sunglasses and hood off, and meet those pretty bright green eyes. Begging them to let him back into his heart, embrace him in his arms once more. But that was over. That fantasy that Grian had lived for what seemed like so long ago had died like Grian’s love for the scarred man.
Grian breathed through the mask he was given to conceal his face, and turned his gaze on Scar one more. He was conversing with a man whom Grian didn’t recognize, he had a large dark mustache, and despite the casual coffee shop, he was adorned in a fancy and well kept suit.
Grian had learned that the man’s name was ‘Mumbo Jumbo’, and he went by Mumbo. Immediately, Grian had found himself taking an interest in the man. He himself could not explain why Mumbo had peaked his interest. Something about the guy, maybe the fancy suit he was wearing, or the way he held himself with a confidence that wasn’t entirely true but was still palpable to the untrained eye.
Either way, Grian was keeping a close eye on the two. He was close enough that he could vaguely hear their conversation, albeit only small snippets. One word found its way to Grian’s ears. Tracker.
Grian turned this word over in his head. Tracker? What was that about a tracker?
Grian leaned a little bit closer to the duo, straining his hearing to pick up on their singular conversation amongst the various hubbub crowding his ears.
Finally, when Grian got sick of trying to listen into their conversation at the point of gaining himself a headache, he grabbed the empty plastic foam cup and casually walked over to the drink machine, his head held down with his hood over his hair and the glasses and mask concealing his face. He stopped at the machine, back turned to Scar and Mumbo, listening intently to their words.
“-should be back by now,” Scar was saying, and Grian heard him move behind his back, presumably moving to check his watch or something along those lines.
“Yeah,” Mumbo replied, and Grian was pleasantly surprised that the rich British accent matched what Grian had envisioned for him to have.
Scar said something quieter that Grian couldn’t decipher, then he heard Mumbo perk up,
“Aha!” he exclaimed, and Grian heard the bells ringing on the front entryway door. Grian glanced up ever so slightly and was met with the sight of Joel Smallishbeans.
Joel’s eyes cast a wary look around the room, before striding over to Scar and Mumbo’s table and Grian heard the telltale scraping of a chair being pulled out.
“So?” Joel asked, but Grian didn’t dare turn around. “What’s the verdict?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw someone else enter the shop. Grian sent one nod towards Etho, who returned it, and made his way over to Grian who was still under the pretense of filling up his cup, which he had yet to do.
Etho stopped next to him, his back similarly turned to the trio behind them, and set a slip of paper on the counter right next to Grian’s hand, before walking off to the counter.
Grian closed his hand around the paper, and, resisting the urge to take one last glance at Scar, walked back to his table, with his now full cup of soda.
Grian sat down, trying his best to look as casual as possible, and unfurled the paper.
Planning something. Etho’s neat handwriting read. Pearl will be coming shortly.
Grian cast a look at Etho, who didn’t return the gaze, instead in favor of keeping his attention on Scar, Joel, and Mumbo.
Sure enough, a few moments later, Pearl waltzed into the cafe and made a beeline towards the ever growing table of enemies.
Cleo walked in shortly after, hands in their pockets and head slightly bent. They looked at Etho, then Grian, then went to sit at a table, her gaze now fixed on Scar, Mumbo, Joel, and Pearl.
The three assassins sat in silence observing their intended targets with the addition of Mumbo. They were planning something, something big, and the fact that Grian didn’t know itched at the back of his brain, begging to be let free from a loose tongue.
Grian ignored the itch, instead distracting his mind by looking at Scar. Bad idea. Instead, his gaze drifted to Pearl, who he hadn’t actually seen after she had left. To say she changed would be an understatement.
Pearl used to be sarcastic and sharp minded, always having a retort ready and prepared for any situation. Grian doubted she lacked those things now, but there was just something…different about the way she held herself.
Pearl’s usual navy hoodie was gone, replaced by a bright red colored one with the hood pulled over her long brunette hair which spilled out from under the hood in cascades of brown.
Her expression seemed guarded, even around the people she presumably trusted, and Grian found it odd. Eventually, Pearl had opened up with the other two groups, and she had been trusting and kind towards them. Now, even in the presence of Joel and Scar, she seemed wary and skeptical.
Was it because of what happened? Did everyone change like that? Grian wondered this question most nights as he tossed and turned until sleep eventually came to him. He knew he had changed, for the better or the worst. Yet, he had no idea how it had affected others. Well, he knew of some. Etho had become more guarded and quiet after the incident. Cleo had grown a lot more pessimistic and sarcastic, yet the support was never lost from her. Grian hadn’t observed many changes in Scott, just the occasional far away look in his eyes, or the looks he and Cleo gave to each other.
In turn, Grian knew how much the incident had changed himself. He remembered the time where he was bubbly and optimistic, wearing his trademark smirk at every successful prank he had played on his teammates.
He knew he had become distant, yet he avoided actually encountering the possibility that the ‘jailbreak’ of sorts had changed him.
He remembered the time he had smiled up at Scar and said, “Denial is a river in Egypt.” And Scar would burst out laughing every time, no matter how many times Grian reused the same joke. Because that was who Scar was. Others might have perceived him as someone who only benefits off of his own profit, seeing how he vastly enjoyed the prospects of monopolies and what he proclaimed, “The art of scamming.”
Yet Grian knew that wasn’t who he truly was. Scar was kind. He cared about others, and wanted to make them happy. In a way, Grian was like that too. He remembered someone saying once that it seemed like his mood reflected off of the mood of the people around him.
Grian narrowed his eyes as Scar’s chair scraping on the ground tore him out of his thoughts. The four were standing up, then made their way to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw Cleo make a move to stand up, but saw Etho shake his head. Grian’s eyes intently followed Scar as he turned to tell Joel something, who straightened, and Grian saw his eyes examine the cafe. Grian bowed his head, staring at his undrunken cup of soda.
Grian hesitantly looked up, and he barely glimpsed Scar disappearing out the doorway, Joel by his side.
The emotion that swirled in his gut was not regret, Grian knew that much. But why did he feel so guilty about it all the sudden?
Grian swallowed, then, when he was sure Scar, Joel, Pearl, and Mumbo were out of sight, he walked over to Etho, Cleo following him.
“So, do we go after them?” Grian asked the second he came within distance of his teammate.
Etho shook his head, glancing at the door which had swung shut. “HQ told us to come back,” he said, still looking at the door. “Report the information of what we heard.”
“Brilliant,” Cleo said sarcastically. “Pearl didn’t say shit.”
Grian pursed his lips, then followed Etho’s gaze to the door.
“Why did they send us? And not one of their spies?”
Etho shrugged, still not turning to look at him. “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t question it, they have their reasons I guess.”
“Yeah,” Cleo sighed, joining the other two in gazing at the door. “They always do.”