Chapter Twelve #2
Kellen has already removed his mask, setting it on the table beside his tray.
His features are sharp, eyes a penetrating stormy gray that miss nothing—that’s fine when it’s not directed at me.
Dark hair cropped short frames a face that most would call handsome if they didn’t know the coldness behind his calculating gaze.
He’s halfway through a plate of protein, with another waiting next to it.
It smells divine. My stomach tightens in response, but I ignore it. Food can always wait.
I never quite understood their comfort with removing their masks around others.
To me, the mask has always been more than uniform—it’s protection.
It keeps others from reading my expressions and connecting the man to the Enforcer.
It maintains distance. Any form of personal connection is a potential weakness, and I will not be weak.
Through fear comes compliance. Through compliance comes order. Through order comes stability.
“Training go well?” my second asks as I lower to my usual seat, his tone neutral but his eyes searching my posture for signs of my mood. He’s always been perceptive, even without using his power.
Before I can answer, movement catches my attention. Ashford enters the dining hall, his uniform still showing evidence of today’s training in smudges of dirt across the knees. He collects a tray, fills it with more food than his frame suggests he could possibly consume, and spins to leave.
My eyes follow him across the room, noting how he walks. There’s something in his gait—a carefulness that doesn’t match his supposed background. Messengers develop a looser stride from constant travel. His is stiff and deliberate.
“Why do you hate the guy so much?”
I consider deflecting, but what’s the point? These two know me too well to be fooled by evasion.
My response is flat. “He’s scrawny, plus physically and mentally frail. He claims some medical condition to secure private quarters, but we all know that’s bullshit. I’d put him in the center bottom bunk with the rest of the recruits if I could, but he’s too skilled at manipulating regulations.”
Leaning back, I stretch out the tension in my neck. “He takes the easy way out of everything. When we’re actually beyond the perimeter, his power will be useful enough to justify his presence, but until then, he’s nothing but deadweight.”
Kellen and Elias exchange looks—one of those silent communications they’ve perfected over the years that always leaves me excluded.
“You remember what it was like, Ry,” Elias says in a careful manner.
“Being thrown into training while having no choice in the matter. You never showed it, but you were scared. Lachlan is too. Out of the three of us, I’d think you could empathize with him the most.” Lachlan.
Didn’t realize they were on a first name basis.
“Empathize.” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “Fuck off. You asked why I didn’t like the guy, and I told you. He’s about as fucking useful as a woman. Probably be a better fuck than an opponent on the mat.”
Kellen’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think he’d be into you like that, but I’d be interested to see you ask him.” Of course he would.
Elias snickers, adjusting in his seat while I glare at my third.
“What, is he your new project?” I demand. “Did I miss the directive that we’re supposed to coddle recruits now?”
The man sighs. “No one’s coddling anyone.” His voice takes on a reasonable tone that makes me want to pummel him. “But if you’re going to keep him on the squad for his powers, maybe try not looking like you want to gut him every time he enters a room. It’s counterproductive.”
“And what about you, Elias? You’ve been up Ashford’s ass since you both arrived. Anything you care to share?”
A moment of silence before he answers with a creased brow.
“Honestly, the guy reminds me of myself. When we first joined the force, I was scared—rightfully so.” Bright eyes meet mine.
“I remember what it was like to feel so overwhelmed by the training and constant chattering of everyone around us. I wish Trent had given us a little grace, so apologies if I do with a couple of the recruits who are struggling. These are our charges, Ry…we’re meant to look after them and lead them, not tell them how worthless they are every chance we get.
Vitriol doesn’t build a good soldier—it creates a resentful one. ”
My mouth opens to continue the argument before I stop myself. This is pointless. We’re wasting time bickering when we should be discussing strategy.
“Fine,” I concede, something I will only do with these two, before leaning forward on my elbows.
I glance around the dining hall, noting many of the recruits have already left.
The noise level has dropped enough that private conversation is possible, though I still keep my voice low.
“How are they progressing in your sessions?”
Elias shrugs, swallowing before speaking.
“Better than expected, for the most part. The simulation training is revealing some interesting approaches. Forven’s Clinger power gives him excellent mobility advantages, he’s trained it well.
And Benson can blend into shadows—very useful for recon.
Rhyne is able to suppress pain, which means he’ll keep functioning even when injured. ”
“Pax Eston’s telepathic range extends farther than our initial assessments indicated,” Kellen adds. “And Till’s skills are developing nicely—not as refined as yours, Elias, but solid enough for field work.”
“What about the two problem children?”
“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. If it was purposeful.
“Oh, and Denwick sent word,” my third continues, referring to the administrative coordinator who manages hub communications. “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 address that 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 to process 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.