Page 156 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

He glanced at me, mid-bite. “Eating a sandwich.” He took another bite, chewing with the contented focus of a man on a picnic.

I blinked rapidly, trying to process. “You can’t do that after the game? You have to do it now? In the middle of a paintball match?”

His chewing slowed. He looked at the sandwich. Then at me. Then back at the sandwich. “But I’m hungry now.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You know what?” I nodded slowly, turning back to my lookout. “Fair enough. Keep at it.”

Naija was creeping toward a thick oak near the edge of the clearing. To anyone watching, she looked like she was planning to take cover behind it. But her gun was angled up. Pointed at the branches.

In a flash, she raised her barrel and fired. Three quick shots, popping through the leaves.

A yelp. A rustle. Then a very indignant voice from the branches: “This was a very good hiding spot, Naija. Do you have any idea how fast I had to climb this tree? You could have taken a few more seconds. Let me have my moment.”

Felicity began her clumsy descent, branches shaking, leaves showering down. Her vest was marked with bright yellow paint.

Naija lowered her gun, utterly unrepentant. “Sorry.”

She glared at Naija. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Naija nodded calmly.

I was watching the exchange with a grin, my guard down for exactly the wrong second.

Rohan emerged from behind a stack of pallets like a ghost, his gun already raised. He fired twice before Naija could even flinch.

Paint splattered across her vest in a bright burst of color.

She looked down at the fresh paint blooming on her vest, then up at Rohan.

He stood there, gun still raised, expression carefully blank.

“You lied,” Naija said flatly. “When you said you’d never played before.”

Rohan looked at his gun. He rubbed his thumb over a nonexistent spot on the barrel. “Did I say that?” He tilted his head, the picture of feigned confusion. “I can’t seem to recall.”

My gun was up before I made a conscious decision. I sighted down the barrel, adjusted for the slight breeze, and fired.

The paintball hit Rohan square in the chest. The exact spot he’d hit Naija.

He looked down at the spreading red paint, then up at me, genuine shock on his face.

Naija glanced in my direction, a slow smile spreading across her face. She looked back at Rohan. “Looks like my boss is better than yours.”

Rohan shook his head, muttering as he inspected the damage to his vest. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Naija walked past him, patting his shoulder as she went. “Tell me about it.”

I turned back and leaned against the wooden barrier, glancing at Cassian. He was crumpling the empty sandwich wrapper, looking vaguely satisfied.

I smiled. “Are you finished, your highness? Or shall I fetch you a beverage as well?”

He stuffed the wrapper into his pocket. “Actually, water would be great.”

I raised my gun. “Cassian, I swear—”

“I’m kidding.” A warm laugh escaped him. “I’m done. Promise.”