“Around,” I replied. No use in lying to him; he knew I would be stupid not to post surveillance where I could. “And the Order?”
“Won’t be joining us.” Leaning back, he crossed his long legs and stared at me over the table. “Though I did spend the last day and a half debating whether or not to turn you in. But you knew that.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You knew the risks when you contacted me, using our old emergency code, I noticed. Which is why I’m here, giving you the last benefit of the doubt and not watching the front door through the crosshairs of my scope.” He took a sip of coffee and said, in a perfectly conversational voice, “I assume this is fucking important, Garret. I could be court-martialed if they realize where I’ve gone.”
“I know.” This meeting was chancy on many levels. Tristan had taken a massive risk just by coming here. The Order would see talking to me as an act of betrayal and would punish him severely if we were discovered. “This is important,” I confirmed. “But...you’re not going to like it.” His brow furrowed, and I hurried on before he could change his mind and leave. “I need you to hear me out, Tristan. Before you make any conclusions, listen to what I’m going to tell you. That’s all I’m asking.”
“If this is about your scaly friends, let me save you the breath right now—”
“It’s not about the dragons,” I said. “It’s about the Patriarch.”
That prompted a wary frown, and he tensed, probably remembering our “conversation” at the facility. Where I had told him that the Patriarch was working for Talon, right before I knocked him out. “This better not be what I think it is, Garret.”
“The Order has been on a lot of strikes recently, haven’t they?” I asked instead, and the frown deepened, bordering on impatience. “Far more than normal. Three or four successful raids a year was considered average for us. Now the number of strikes has more than doubled, but nothing has changed within the Order.”
“Yeah?” Tristan’s expression was cautious. “And? What does this have to do with the Patriarch?”
“Because he is the one receiving the information of possible dragon locations,” I said, lowering my voice. “He’s the one responsible for the increasing number of raids. The info is coming directly from him.”
“Again, and I might be repeating myself...so what?” Tristan shrugged. “The Patriarch is sending us after dragons. I don’t really see the problem here. What does it matter where we get the information? As long as more enemies are killed, the Patriarch could be getting hints from fat cherubs in diapers and I wouldn’t give a crap.”
“Tristan...” I paused, knowing my next words were going to decide the fate of this meeting. “The Patriarch’s information isn’t coming from St. George. He’s getting the locations from within Talon itself.” My former partner gave me a blank stare, and I repeated it again, as clearly as I could, just so there was no doubt. “The Patriarch is working with the dragons.”
The empty look instantly transformed into one of outrage. “Okay.” Tristan pushed his chair back with an angry scraping sound. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. This was obviously a giant waste of time.” He picked up his cup and tensed to shove himself out of the seat. “Goodbye, Garret. And don’t worry. Next time I see you, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“I have proof,” I said quietly, making him pause. “I’m not just throwing around wild accusations. I went to England. I saw the Patriarch meet with Talon. But that’s not all.” My hand dropped to the chair beside me, brushing the manila envelope resting on the seat. “I have the evidence that shows, beyond any doubt, that he’s in the organization’s pocket.”
Tristan still hovered on the edge of his chair, clearly unsure which direction he would go. If he would settle back or stand and walk out the door. “You know me,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I have never lied to you. And you’ve known, deep down, that something isn’t right. That the Order has been hiding things from us.” I took the envelope off the chair and placed it on the table between us, keeping my hand on it. “This is proof. The Order has been corrupted, Tristan. Talon has been pulling the strings for a while now, and no one in St. George realizes it. If you can’t accept that, walk away now—we won’t stop you. And I’m sure down the road I’ll meet you again on the field.” His jaw tightened, making me hope he found that idea as sickening as I did. That the thought of killing his former partner weighed as heavily on him as it did me.
“Won’t be joining us.” Leaning back, he crossed his long legs and stared at me over the table. “Though I did spend the last day and a half debating whether or not to turn you in. But you knew that.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You knew the risks when you contacted me, using our old emergency code, I noticed. Which is why I’m here, giving you the last benefit of the doubt and not watching the front door through the crosshairs of my scope.” He took a sip of coffee and said, in a perfectly conversational voice, “I assume this is fucking important, Garret. I could be court-martialed if they realize where I’ve gone.”
“I know.” This meeting was chancy on many levels. Tristan had taken a massive risk just by coming here. The Order would see talking to me as an act of betrayal and would punish him severely if we were discovered. “This is important,” I confirmed. “But...you’re not going to like it.” His brow furrowed, and I hurried on before he could change his mind and leave. “I need you to hear me out, Tristan. Before you make any conclusions, listen to what I’m going to tell you. That’s all I’m asking.”
“If this is about your scaly friends, let me save you the breath right now—”
“It’s not about the dragons,” I said. “It’s about the Patriarch.”
That prompted a wary frown, and he tensed, probably remembering our “conversation” at the facility. Where I had told him that the Patriarch was working for Talon, right before I knocked him out. “This better not be what I think it is, Garret.”
“The Order has been on a lot of strikes recently, haven’t they?” I asked instead, and the frown deepened, bordering on impatience. “Far more than normal. Three or four successful raids a year was considered average for us. Now the number of strikes has more than doubled, but nothing has changed within the Order.”
“Yeah?” Tristan’s expression was cautious. “And? What does this have to do with the Patriarch?”
“Because he is the one receiving the information of possible dragon locations,” I said, lowering my voice. “He’s the one responsible for the increasing number of raids. The info is coming directly from him.”
“Again, and I might be repeating myself...so what?” Tristan shrugged. “The Patriarch is sending us after dragons. I don’t really see the problem here. What does it matter where we get the information? As long as more enemies are killed, the Patriarch could be getting hints from fat cherubs in diapers and I wouldn’t give a crap.”
“Tristan...” I paused, knowing my next words were going to decide the fate of this meeting. “The Patriarch’s information isn’t coming from St. George. He’s getting the locations from within Talon itself.” My former partner gave me a blank stare, and I repeated it again, as clearly as I could, just so there was no doubt. “The Patriarch is working with the dragons.”
The empty look instantly transformed into one of outrage. “Okay.” Tristan pushed his chair back with an angry scraping sound. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. This was obviously a giant waste of time.” He picked up his cup and tensed to shove himself out of the seat. “Goodbye, Garret. And don’t worry. Next time I see you, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“I have proof,” I said quietly, making him pause. “I’m not just throwing around wild accusations. I went to England. I saw the Patriarch meet with Talon. But that’s not all.” My hand dropped to the chair beside me, brushing the manila envelope resting on the seat. “I have the evidence that shows, beyond any doubt, that he’s in the organization’s pocket.”
Tristan still hovered on the edge of his chair, clearly unsure which direction he would go. If he would settle back or stand and walk out the door. “You know me,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I have never lied to you. And you’ve known, deep down, that something isn’t right. That the Order has been hiding things from us.” I took the envelope off the chair and placed it on the table between us, keeping my hand on it. “This is proof. The Order has been corrupted, Tristan. Talon has been pulling the strings for a while now, and no one in St. George realizes it. If you can’t accept that, walk away now—we won’t stop you. And I’m sure down the road I’ll meet you again on the field.” His jaw tightened, making me hope he found that idea as sickening as I did. That the thought of killing his former partner weighed as heavily on him as it did me.
