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It was a sound suggestion in theory, but in practice, it would never work. The Vanguard had grown significantly since their humble start five hundred years ago, but they still depended on Sorin’s expertise and Bertram’s insider knowledge to keep their operatives safe and their existence hidden. Not even Sandrine, Sorin’s most trusted operative, was suited to take over for long. Despite her keen intuition and her cleverness, there were simply too many risks to allow her to assume a leadership role. If anyone was going to die from their mistakes, it would be Sorin. These omegas had given their lives for the cause even after all they’d suffered through, and it was not a sacrifice he took lightly.
“You’re in your head again,” Sandrine accused in a flat tone of voice. She poked him in the knee. “If you are worried we won’t be able to hold down the fort while you take time to yourself, we can temporarily suspend operations. I’m sure everyone would be glad for the holiday. Kevin has been saying for ages we’re due for some paid time off.”
Now that—that wasn’t a bad idea.
Apart from their investigation of the Diamond cloister—which had fallen through due to unusually high security—there were no pressing missions to attend to. Until the Pedigree was abolished and its omegas safe and free, their duty would never be over, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t rest every now and then. With Sorin in such a sorry state, it was probably for the best.
But…
“What did you want to tell me?” Sorin asked, wincing as he gave his temples one last rub before looking Sandrine in the eyes. “I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have come all the way out here just to scold me for skipping breakfast.”
Sandrine waved a hand. “It can wait until after your vacation.”
Sorin gave her a hard look. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“Seriously, it can wait.”
“Is it news from one of the Californian strongholds?” Sorin asked. An unusual number of Topaz dragons had been granted sanctions to try for a clutch recently, and while none of them had chosen an omega yet to the Vanguard’s knowledge, the members of the Vanguard stationed stateside were keeping an eye on things.
“No, it’s nothing so urgent.” Sandrine drained the rest of her coffee—a nervous tic. “Let’s pick this conversation up two weeks from now,” she said when the coffee was gone. “You get your rest, and I’ll catch you up to speed then. Okay?”
“Sandrine.”
Sandrine wrinkled her nose. It was clear she didn’t want to get into it, but she knew as well as Sorin that if she considered something important enough to leave her post and come find him, it warranted immediate discussion.
“Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll trade you. You eat breakfast, I fill you in on what’s happening. Deal?”
Sorin arched his brow. “I am not a child to be bargained with—I am over five hundred years old.”
“You don’t look a day older than my son.” She leaned in, impishly pinching his cheek. “Besides, all of us could use a good mothering sometimes. Especially when we aren’t feeling so well. Those are my terms, kiddo. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
Sorin made a show of swatting her hand away, making her laugh, before he pushed up with some difficulty onto his feet. “All right,” he said. “You drive a tough bargain, but you leave me no choice but to accept. What’s the minimum you’ll let me get away with?”
“A half bowl of fruit and at least one piece of cheese.”
The thought of food turned Sorin’s stomach, but he agreed to her terms, and off they went to the mess hall. He did not admit while on the way that her mothering had done him good.
* * *
“So,” Sorin said as he choked down a piece of cantaloupe, “what’s going on?”
Sandrine clicked her tongue a few times and drummed her fingers on the cafeteria table, glancing off to the side. A few members of the Vanguard sat across the room on their coffee break, well out of earshot, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Do you remember how, after our attempts to investigate the Diamond cloister failed, we put our intelligence team to work establishing contact with Magpie?”
“Yes.” Anxiety formed a lump in Sorin’s stomach. Magpie was the Vanguard’s black market connection—the one supplying them with weapons. The intelligence team had discovered by accident that he was working out of a cloister, and from there, determined he was a member of the Pedigree. Ever since, one of their highest priorities had been recruiting him to their side, but he had proved elusive, and with him in the heart of Diamond territory, it had been too much of a risk to be forthcoming about who the Vanguard really was, and what they stood for. It was why they’d gone out to investigate that cloister—and perhaps why, Sorin feared, security had been so tight when they’d arrived. “Did he finally reply to one of our messages?”
“No.” Sandrine frowned. “Unfortunately not. Here. Check this out. Maybe you’ll understand.”
She took her phone from her pocket and slid it across the table to him. A PDF was pulled up on the screen. Sorin eyed Sandrine for a prolonged moment, trying to figure out what she was up to, then set down his fork and picked up the phone.
The PDF was an official proclamation from the council.
“The intelligence team managed to hack into some of Magpie’s files,” Sandrine revealed as Sorin read. “As far as we can tell, it was issued around when the council suddenly assembled several months ago, right around the time that…” She trailed off, struggling. “… the proceedings were happening with Alistair’s clutch. We thought at first it had to do with that, but it seems we were mistaken.”
“Explain.”
“A second clutch has been laid.”
Sorin’s blood went cold. He tore his eyes away from the screen and looked at Sandrine in horror. She refused to meet his gaze, sweeping an errant lock of her graying hair behind her ear.
