Page 47 of Elas

“Of course, sir. What can I do for you?”

“When we last met, you said you’d help if we found any new information about my uncle’s death and Officer Ronan’s involvement.”

“That’s correct,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “Has there been an update?”

His eyes finally meet mine, examining me for a moment before he continues. “There’s no concrete evidence of his guilt, but he fled, and that’s enough for me. Ronan killed Bravis, I’m sure of it… I just need to prove it. And now I might have a lead.”

“What sort of lead?”

“There’s a camp that our convoys use, about a day’s ride from here, and my scouts found signs of someoneliving there recently. They might’ve only missed him by a few days.”

“Which camp, sir?”

“A rebel settlement that was taken down several years ago. It was well maintained and well-stocked, so we frequently use it as a stopping point.”

“And you believe Ronan was there?”

“I can’t be sure it’s him, but my gut tells me it is. Dozens of our platoons have stopped and camped there over the years, but this was the first time it looked as though someone had stayed put for a while. The local rebels know better and stay far away from that place, but Ronan wouldn’t have any idea that we use it.” He taps his fingers on the desktop, gesturing vaguely towards the window. “It makes sense that he’d seek shelter while he figured out his next move. One of the solar panels was even repaired, like he was planning on staying long term.”

My brows bunch as I purse my lips, considering this. “Ronan isn’t mechanically inclined,” I say, and his full attention focuses on me. “He’s smart and resourceful, but he couldn’t fix a solar panel. Hells, he wouldn’t know where to start. We were on a scouting mission once and the vehicle broke down. All he did was curse and kick the tires until someone further back in our convoy reached us and helped.”

“Since you didn’t do the repairs, either, I take that to mean you also aren’tmechanically inclined,” he deadpans. I can tell he’s trying to get under my skin, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reaction, I just chuckle.

“Not in the least, sir.”

His fingers steeple and he drums them against his chin as he considers what I’ve told him. Years of schooling my face into the easy demeanor people expect of me pay off, and I keep my expression carefully neutral. It doesn’t matter how much of an idiot Khors is—this is a dangerous game I’m playing, and I’d be a fool not to realize that.

“Well, I’m not ready to write it off yet. There are few places close enough that he could’ve run to before needing to stop and regroup. Would Ronan be able to handle himself in the wilds?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, especially if Cameron is by his side, though I keep that thought to myself. It seems like they’re oblivious to his presence, or to the fact that Ronan is mated, which are both a relief.

“That complicates things,” he mutters as he stares at his stack of envelopes. “You’re a tracker, aren’t you, Elas?”

“One of the best, sir.”

A flare of annoyance crosses his face, but it isn’t arrogance behind my words. I’ve been the base’s top tracker for a long time. My amplified senses and analytical mind mean I think differently than others, and find answers they might overlook.

“Alright, let me think about this. If I asked you to investigate the camp…” He trails off, leaving the rest of the question unasked.

“I’m at your service, sir. Whatever you need from me, consider it done.” Sure, I’m laying it on a little thick, but he’s too dense to notice.

Nepotism created a monster, and I’m not afraid to use that to my advantage.

“Thank you, Elas. Your dedication and discretion are appreciated.”

“Of course, sir.” I nod and slap my thighs, ready to get the fuck out of here, but he holds a hand up to stop me.

“There is… one other thing.”

I ease back into an expectant smile and let my body relax into the chair once more. “Anything, sir.”

“I understand there was an incident with your…” He tilts his nose up, a disgusted grimace pulling his lips back to show the edges of his teeth. “Pet.”

“Pet, sir?”

“Your human.”

My stomach drops in a sickening plummet, and it feels like my insides might tumble right out of me. Khors’s attention on August would paint a target right on his back, and with it, a target on my own. He’s reckless enough to act without cause, and arrogant enough to always think he’s right.

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