No surprise there. Cole hadn’t actually expected to find them; the whole ‘golf’ excuse hadn’t been convincing at all. Still, they had to at least check. Once they’d confirmed the obvious, the only sensible move was to follow the trail to wherever their friends had actually ended up.
They found everyone at the bowling alley instead, several lanes deep into what looked like a pretty competitive game. The scoreboard told the story before anyone could explain it: Miles was running a perfect game. Mack and Ethan had respectable numbers, around the 140s and 150s, but they weren’t even close to Miles’ back-to-back-to-ad-infinitum strikes.
Anyway, having caught the tail of the whole competition, Cole and Elina had simply decided to spectate. Miles finished with a 300, then proceeded to swing his dick around until they got back to their rooms. He was still at it the next day, right up until the ocean gave him something else to think about.
Pristine waters and mimosas with those little paper umbrellas had a way of doing that – dissolving whatever you’d been carrying, whether you meant to let go or not. They spent most of the morning splashing around like idiots and building sand fortresses with magic. After enough sun and enough salt water, lunch became the obvious next move.
The Pavilion had surprised him. Cole hadn’t expected anything in this world to hit the part of his palate that remembered weekends off, or decent restaurants, or meals not eaten out of scheduling necessity.
Between the lamb-lite and the citrus analogues and the garlic-ish, the place had come really close to some of the best Mediterranean cooking he’d had back home. And the bread! Man, it told him that someone here actually understood what ‘Mediterranean’ ought to feel like, even if they’d only ever reconstructed it from description.
Was it authentic? No; nothing here ever was. But it was convincing enough that he stopped bracing for disappointment.
Same went for the music venue, though that one was less of a gamble. Victorian society without orchestral music would’ve been like France without wine or croissants – technically possible, but a violation of something fundamental.
The concert hall delivered exactly what it promised: velvet seats, gilt trim, and an ensemble that knew what they were doing. Cole couldn’t tell a fugue from a concerto or whatever, but if Ethan was properly invested, it must’ve been a top-tier performance. Even Miles stayed quiet for the full hour, which might’ve been the real miracle.
They spent the next few days cycling through whatever else the resort had on offer. Ice skating was mostly an excuse to watch Miles eat shit twice, which lived up to the hype. The real highlight, though, was getting Elina out on the ice – she’d never done it before, so Cole played instructor. By the end they were doing laps together, her hand in his. Definitely not the worst way to spend an afternoon.
Golf, they tried exactly once. Cole had always suspected it was one of those things people claimed to enjoy because it signaled the right things – CEO networking shit, country club membership, that kind of stuff. Turns out it was also just boring. Five holes in, the group seemed to reach the same conclusion. Nobody mourned the decision to quit.
The onsen, though – that one stuck. It was the one thing that settled into routine, becoming their nightly ritual: dinner, soak, bed. Rinse and repeat, literally.
But anything prior to that was fair game. Somewhere in the schedule, they’d caught another movie as a group, an intense battle shonen that would’ve definitely been hit with a copyright strike – if it had aired back home. A bowling rematch also happened at some point, which went better for Mack and worse for Ethan, with no change to Miles’ domination. The air rifle arena saw a couple visits. The spa saw a few. The beach saw a few more.
The days began to smear together in the way vacations were supposed to – hours stacking without distinction, schedules dissolving. Cole never bought the full fantasy, though; his mind idled high no matter how soft the surroundings were. The mess waiting back home hadn’t resolved itself just because they’d stopped babysitting it.
But for what it was, the slowdown came close to actual rest. It was the most decompression any of them had gotten since the demon shenanigans; since getting whisked away; hell, since even before Al Jadira!
Mack, more than anyone, seemed to come back to himself. Lord knows he needed it. Of course, the signs weren’t earthshaking – laughing along, starting conversations voluntarily, stuff like that. Small stuff, sure, but small stuff was how people in that situation climbed out of the hole, pushing up the ladder one rung at a time.
By the last morning, the reluctance was obvious. Elina stayed out on the balcony after breakfast, staring at the grounds like she could hold onto the quiet by sheer will. Miles had floated the idea of staying a few extra days – part joke, part genuine hope – until Ethan shut it down. And Mack… well, he hadn’t said anything, but the slow packing said everything.
Honestly, Cole felt it too – that pull to stay, to stretch this out just a little longer. But he didn’t become captain by giving in to such temptations. He paved the way forward, checking them out by noon.
And of course, nobody really wanted to drive back, so it fell upon Cole to don that mantle.
The hours bled together – endless road, endless conversation about nothing, endless wishing they’d squeezed one more day out of the trip. By the time the mansion crept into view, Cole’s back had fused into the seat.
Tenna, Darin, and Melnar were already waiting out front. He parked, killed the engine, and barely made it two steps before Darin and Melnar descended on the luggage like a Formula 1 pit crew. Tenna simply gestured toward the door.
“Gentlemen, my lady – if you will. The sitting room is in readiness, and tea has been laid. There is correspondence from OTAC awaiting you; I shall bring it through directly.”
They returned to find the sitting room unchanged save for a waiting tea service, steam lifting as if it had been poured the moment she spotted their car. Everyone gravitated to their seats.
“I’ve two matters that require your notice,” Tenna said, producing an envelope from the inner pocket of her apron. “The first is this – an express delivered yesterday, bearing the seal of OTAC.”
The fancy seal told him everything he needed to know, but Cole opened it anyway and read aloud. “‘Captain Mercer and attached personnel – you are directed to report to OTAC Headquarters at nine o’clock on the morrow. Recent intelligence concerning suspected cult operations requires immediate briefing. Attendance is compulsory. Signed by Fernal.”
He set it down. So much for easing back in.
Miles evidently shared the same sentiment. “Already? Hell, we just got home. No time to settle in, huh?”
“Yeah, woulda been nice,” Cole agreed.
But in truth, he wanted another shot at those cultists. The port mission was, by all technical means, a success – enemy cell destroyed, attack stopped. But successes with civilians dead were the kind that ate at him. Even minimized casualties were unacceptable, especially to Mack.
Cole didn’t need telepathy to know how Mack felt about round two, and the possibility of exacting retribution on the cultists.
Tenna must have caught the shift in the room, because she moved on before the mood could curdle.
“The second matter is of a more routine nature,” Tenna said. “I have assembled a list of nine candidates for the additional household post. When convenient, I should be obliged if you would indicate which three you wish to put forward for formal interview.”
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She handed over the papers. Cole accepted them, glad for anything that diverted his head away from the kid and back toward something he understood: work.
The profiles gave him what he needed – names, work history, and Tenna’s annotations, which he trusted far more than the resumes themselves. Cole didn’t see a single weak link. Every candidate could do the job.
A few, though, came with caveats. Nothing as crude as disqualifiers, but something to keep in mind. These were more like subtle mismatches: someone whose personality ran hotter than the household needed, someone a shade too rigid, and one with an emphatic X that signaled Tenna’s rare but decisive ‘no thank you.’
Cole passed the stack around. “Thoughts?”
Miles frowned at one of the profiles. “Says this guy worked for a baron. Sounds real fancy, ain’t gonna lie.”
“Former staff, though,” Ethan said, leaning over. “As in, he’s not there anymore.”
Miles lifted a shoulder. “People quit jobs all the time. Maybe he wanted out.”
“Or maybe the baron wanted him out,” Ethan countered.
Mack spoke up with a different sheet. “How about this one, then? Fifteen years at an estate in Verantia, clean record, no weird gaps.”
Cole checked the margin note, which said ‘Preference 1.’ Coming from Tenna, that was basically a sure thing. “Sure, why not?”
Elina slid another page over. “‘Personable and professional,’” she murmured, tapping the margin with her thumb. “She does not bestow such praise without cause.”
“That’s two,” Cole said.
The third took longer. Most of the remaining candidates were serviceable but forgettable. Then he hit a younger applicant, lighter resume, but apparently Tenna thought this kid was worth considering.
Potential over pedigree, pretty much. Someone had taken that bet on him once, back when he’d had more grit than credentials. He didn’t mind returning the favor.
“These three,” he said, pulling the profiles aside. “Set up interviews.”
“Shall I confer with your calendar to arrange the interviews, or would you prefer that I determine the selections on your behalf?”
Cole considered asking her to pencil him in, but the odds of OTAC giving them breathing room were slim. Might as well delegate.
“Yeah, you can go ahead and handle it,” he said. “We trust your read.”
“Very well. I’ll update you when they’re confirmed.” She paused at the doorway. “Lisara shall prepare dinner at seven, so do place your requests with her.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Tenna.”
The rest of the evening was about as uneventful as it could get. Everyone dealt with their luggage, which somehow took longer than expected – a week’s worth of laundry, random souvenirs that had migrated into weird pockets, that kind of thing. Dinner was low-key, conversation even lower-key.
Cole was upstairs by nine, his bed almost beckoning him.
That was the funny thing about vacations: no matter how good they were, there was always something about coming back. Even to a mansion they’d just started living in. Even when the resort had been objectively nicer – better views, better amenities, better everything. Somehow, this room, this bed, this particular configuration of silence and shadow still felt more like home than any of it.
He fell asleep at some point, morning coming faster than it should have.
Cole was up, dressed, and halfway through coffee before his brain fully caught up with his body – already back in mission mode, apparently, whether he’d decided to be or not. The others filtered down at their own pace, nobody saying much. Breakfast was quick. By the time they hit up OTAC, the vacation already felt like it had happened to someone else.
The briefing room was already full when they walked in. Director-General Fernal sat at the head of the table, hands folded, expression unreadable. Lady Syndra occupied the seat to his right. Warren Graves and Gideon Vale filled out the left side – Graves offering a small nod, Vale offering nothing.
“Captain Mercer,” Fernal greeted. “I trust your respite proved sufficient.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Then let us proceed.” Fernal gestured toward some empty seats. “If you would.”
Cole and the others sat.
Fernal waited until everyone was settled. “Vale has extracted intelligence from the cultist seized in your port operation. He will relay his findings.
Vale stood. “The colluder offered scant resistance. From him I drew the truth entirely: the cargo was routed from the Istraynian Wastes – Ostreva’s ruins along the eastern coast.”
“The vessel yielded this.” He pulled a folded ledger from his coat, and placed it on the table. “Their mission was a paltry thing: Ostreva to Alexandria, then to Auber, should they have extra cargo. They were to meet intermediaries – fools like that distributor, Conway. As expected of a pawn, the captain’s grasp of the greater design was pitifully narrow.”
Vale let the information settle before continuing, “And the vessel that fled Alexandria has been found as well, it seems, in a decrepit harbor within Ostreva. Lady Syndra?”
Syndra inclined her head slightly before speaking. “Our inquiry at Auber Port has borne additional fruit. There, we discovered a cultist warehouse, which we have taken under our charge. Within it we discovered papers of interest – ledgers and correspondence that speak to the breadth of their distribution. These documents are presently being ordered for proper study.”
She placed a leather folio on the table, though she didn’t open it. “The tainted provisions were never meant for Alexandria alone,” she said. “Auber Port was prepared as a secondary point of dispersal, from which a further consignment was to defile the railway stores bound for the frontier cities – Veloren, Carston, Tarwick. The papers name each in turn, with dates suggesting the shipments were to follow upon the heels of the Alexandria delivery.”
She allowed a quiet moment before speaking again. “The folio’s remaining contents speak to the breadth of the Ostreva design,” Syndra continued. “We recovered ledgers of supply, directives bearing the hand of Vampire Lord K’hinnum and others of his ilk, and references concerning other establishments within the ruined city. Taken together, the evidence leaves little doubt: the cult has settled itself in Ostreva in earnest, and employs the place as its principal conduit for smuggling operations into Celdorne.”
Fernal picked up where she left off. “The Royal Navy has confirmed the location. A sloop dispatched to reconnoiter sighted movement within the city, but could not close the distance without risking detection.”
“Hence us, I’m guessing,” Cole said.
“Precisely.” Fernal’s gaze settled on him. “Ostreva is your concern now. You will go in quietly, see what breathes behind those walls. And if the situation proves… persuadable, you will judge whether action ought be taken.”
“The Admiralty stands prepared to seal the approaches by sea,” Syndra added. “Their vessels are to hold the coastline under watch and render such support as circumstance may require – whether by bombardment or by a more deliberate advance upon the city. The matter of further escalation, however, is yours to determine, Captain.”
That was probably the best news Cole had heard in a while. All that discretion, just for them? Hell, if only Washington had offered the same deal during their last mission in Al Jadira.
Cole fought back a smile. “Understood.”
“You are to depart for Ashpoint this afternoon,” Fernal said. “A driver shall await you outside your home, and he will see you on to your ship. You shall board the sloop HMS Redoubt, which at present lies at berth along the port. Expect to make Ashpoint by sometime tomorrow.”
He paused. “The base lies a mere twenty miles from Ostreva. Commander Percival Stroud holds command there and has been fully apprised. Whatever support you require, he shall provide.”
“Rules of engagement?” Ethan asked.
“Your mandate is reconnaissance,” Fernal answered. “Engagement is to be avoided unless necessary for the mission – or your survival. That said… should circumstance place a valuable target within reach, I would not have hesitation stay your hand. The cult has demonstrated no reluctance to sacrifice civilian lives. I see little reason to extend them courtesies they would not reciprocate.”
No red tape, huh? Back home, a target package like this would’ve taken weeks to clear. JAG would’ve wanted confirmation, CENTCOM would’ve wanted a briefing, and by the time everyone finished covering their asses, the opportunity would’ve been long gone.
Here, Heroes were apparently given everything they needed to get shit done. Cole could definitely work with that. “Understood, sir.”
“Graves and Vale shall accompany you to Ashpoint. Graves will see your coordination kept in order; Vale will continue his work for any… inquiries that arise.”
Vale looked a little too eager for the assignment. Normally, Cole would’ve found that disturbing, but after the cultists tried to poison half the country, he wasn’t inclined to care. They had it coming.
“Any further questions?” Fernal asked.
Cole glanced at his team. Nobody looked like they had any. “No further questions.”
“Attend to your preparations. Your conveyance shall depart in three hours. Hunt well, Heroes.”
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