This Would Be Paradise (Book 3)

The lingering scent of stale coffee and desperation clung to me as Roy badgered me again, his voice a persistent hum against the background bustle of Hargrove's cul-de-sac. "Bailey, it's been weeks," he pleaded, oblivious to my simmering annoyance. "I think one scouting mission couldn't hurt."
I gritted my teeth, the memory of Darren’s gruesome death and Wyatt’s recent demotion still fresh wounds. Life in Hargrove was meant to be settling, but Roy's relentless pursuit of a mercenary hideout, and my foolish promise to help, kept the tension taut. I sighed, motioning vaguely toward the gate, a silent invitation for him to just go.
"Fine, Roy. By all means, grab a vehicle and go."
He opened his mouth to retort, then clamped it shut, his gaze narrowing. "I'll go find John," he muttered, storming off, leaving me to my uneasy solitude. Just as I turned to head for the armory, Oscar, our perpetually frantic doctor, burst from the medic center, waving like a madman. My heart sank. What fresh hell awaited me now?
