“You already know Brenner’s out.” Elias offers me a droll look. “I heard he broke his leg during training. With Ashford, of all people.”
Kellen nods, scanning the room for the fifth time since I arrived. “Tibia displacement. Clean break, but he’s done.”
“Interesting,” I murmur, reevaluating slightly. Perhaps there’s more to Ashford than I thought. Brenner was a formidable recruit, though his Charger abilities were nothing special. Knocking him out of commission shows some tactical thinking, at least.Ifit was purposeful.
“Oh, and Denwick sent word,” my third continues, referring to the administrative coordinator who manages hubcommunications. “Seric from Central Tech will be here this week to upgrade the perimeter scanners.”
I frown. “Why? The current ones function at 99 percent efficiency.”
“Syndicate’s concerned about how those women made it past the perimeter undetected. They want to increase the signal strength to ensure the chips can be picked up at greater distances.”
My head shakes—what a waste of fucking resources. The chips implanted in female infants are positioned in a small pocket created in the muscle tissue over the left shoulder blade. The placement allows the device to grow with the child’s body without migration. Our current scanners can detect them from fifty meters away, even through barriers.
If women are making it beyond the perimeter without triggering alarms, it’s not because the scanners failed to sense the chips. It’s because someone disabled the scanners or guided them through dampening their device’s signal.
“Have none of them considered that the issue might not be technological?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Kellen answers anyway. “Of course. But upgrading the scanners is visible action. It looks like they’re doing something decisive while the actual investigation continues quietly.”
Typical Syndicate approach—public posturing while the real work happens behind closed doors. Harridan’s influence, no doubt. He’s always understood the value of appearances.
“Speaking of technology,” Elias’ starts, lowering his voice further, “have you seen the new drone footage? There’s evidence of defensive structures at the northern site. Nothing sophisticated, but they’ve clearly been preparing for the possibility of pursuit.”
I nod, processing the information. “We’ll need to addressthat in training. Styx could be useful for disabling sentries without alerting others.”
“If he can manage control at range,” Kellen points out. “His precision drops significantly beyond three meters.”
Disappointments. All of them.
“Then we work on that. We have maybe three weeks before Rennaux demands results. If our team isn’t ready by then, he’ll replace us with someone who will get the job done, regardless of collateral damage.”
The implication remains unspoken between us. The Syndicate wants those women back in a facility, but they want them alive and functional. If another team is sent, they might not be so careful. Female casualties would be deemed acceptable losses.
“I’m meeting with him in the morning. He’ll want a progress report.”
Elias, always the optimist, offers, “We’re ahead of schedule with most recruits. Focus on that.”
“And emphasize Ashford’s unique abilities,” Kellen suggests, ignoring my scowl. “Rennaux will appreciate the strategic advantage of remote emotional manipulation for retrieval operations.”
He’s right, though I’m reluctant to admit it. For all my issues with Ashford, his power represents a significant asset if properly harnessed.
I stand, waving at my second and third to remain seated when they move to follow. “I need to check the office. There’s bound to be a stack of bullshit waiting for my signature.”
“Don’t stay up all night reading requisition forms,” Elias warns with a half-smile. “Remember what happened last time.”
Last time, I’d gone thirty-six hours without sleep trying toprocess the backlog of administrative work. Nearly broke a recruit’s arm during a demonstration when my concentration slipped. Not my finest moment.
But still, Elias cares too much.
And that’s what I appreciate about him. He understands me to my core and will always be a loyal friend because of it.
“I’ll make it quick.” It’s a promise we all know I won’t keep. The paperwork never ends—just multiplies the moment I focus on something else.
I leave them to finish their meal, stopping briefly at the food station to collect something I can take to my quarters. As Commander, I’m entitled to eat privately, and I prefer it that way. Food is fuel, nothing more. I don’t need company to consume it.
The corridors are quieter now as evening duty shifts begin. Most recruits will be in their quarters or the common areas, recovering from the day’s training and preparing for tomorrow. My office is an outer corner of the administrative wing—a location I chose deliberately for its isolation.
Inside, the space is sparse but functional. Metal desk, three chairs, wall-mounted screens for communications, and a small arsenal of weapons secured in a cabinet along one wall. No personal items or decorations. Nothing to suggest the office belongs to me specifically. If I died tomorrow, someone else could step into this role without disruption.
