Rhane hadn’t spent the entire afternoon fixated on the memories of his old teammate and his old crew. He hadn’t thought for a second about his past life and the friend he’d lost. No, those feelings were all dead and buried, and now he was free to focus on the things that really mattered.

  And what mattered was this: he had finally made it. After years of clawing his way up the ladder—years of taking every job, following every order, no matter how demeaning or dangerous—he was here, at last.

  The big leagues.

  Part of him still couldn’t believe it. When he’d first heard news of the debacle at the docks, he was positive he’d blown his chance. He had technically failed, after all—he hadn’t found the thieves in time, and because of that they’d escaped. But luckily Director Vogel didn’t seem to blame Rhane specifically—all of the agents had come up equally empty handed. If anything, the crisis may have even helped him out. The Director was now in urgent need of skilled agents, and there was no more time for tryouts. Rhane had been formally fast-tracked straight to the top.

  And now he was there, sitting in the very room where it all happened: conference room 39B—The Executive Agents’ Assembly room. It felt more like an elaborate banquet hall than a meeting area. The room was spacious and warm, with all the luxuries money could afford and then some: wall-to-wall carpeting hand-dyed with complex geometric patterning, wood paneling sophisticatedly carved to look like trees, and a chandelier so delicate it almost seemed like it was suspended in the air by magic. In the center of it all was the conference table, stretching the length of the room and polished to a mirror shine, held up by an immaculately sculpted statuary of humanity besting the Unbound, carved from purest marble. While it wasn’t the longest table Rhane had ever seen, it was definitely in the top three.

  Rhane sat himself in the centermost seat, surrounded by Verloren’s finest field agents. He blithely studied the others, masking his interest with an aloof, cool expression, catching a glimpse only when he was sure they wouldn’t notice. They were all there: Rohas Undali, Laima Petrasso, Ji-Yaro Meeda, and more—a dozen men and women Rhane had idolized for years, some since he was a kid. They each carried themselves with such seasoned intensity, their years of experience reflected in their heavily customized uniforms and armor, decked out in all manner of tools and attachments and filigree. They were the perfect mix of grizzled and elegant. As he inspected the agents, Rhane couldn’t help but notice that, at age twenty-six, he was the youngest in the room by a half-decade at least.

  The second-youngest among them was one Seras Pfeiffer, the strikingly beautiful woman who sat directly across from him, mired in her own thoughts. She stewed in her seat, fidgeting in her trademark armor speckled in glitzy colors and patterns. A ream of bandages was wrapped around her head, her lengthy braided ponytail sticking out just beneath it. She gently nursed the wound at the back of her skull, looking visibly cranky. Rhane figured it best to talk to her some other time.

  The doors to the conference room abruptly burst open. A hulking man stormed inside. Rhane whipped his head around, unable to hide his growing grin. He’d been waiting for this moment for as long as he could remember.

  Darius Meyer was a legend. The youngest man to ever be selected for the world-famous Lanzers, and so successful that they were forced to retire his number when he left the military. War hero turned pirate slayer, decorated by the Emperor himself twice, and now the highest ranking agent in Verloren Industries history, captain of his own ship and crew. Imposing didn’t do him justice. He was a massive figure, tall and tastefully brawny. Gleaming steel armor ran the length of his body, accented by a long black cape trailing behind him. His face was perpetually masked by an intimidating steel cowl, revealing only his grizzled, stubbled, scowling jaw.

  Rhane slyly picked up the pair of gloves he had covertly placed onto the seat next to him when he’d arrived. He watched with bated breath as Darius turned his head towards the open chair. Silently, the hulking man marched to the seat beside Rhane and crashed himself into it, sitting with perfect poise.

  Rhane folded his hands and stared straight ahead, fighting the urge to flip out. After a calculated pause, he leaned over.

  “Uh, hey, Darius,” he said softly, extending his hand. “Farren Rhane. We met once before. You remember, yeah?”

  Darius barely turned his head. Rhane wasn’t too surprised that Darius Meyer may not have remembered the fifteen second speech he gave at Rhane’s initiation four years ago, or the wordless handshake they’d exchanged shortly thereafter, but he figured it was worth a shot.

  Rhane retracted his hand, no offense taken. “First off, love your work. Great to finally be doing a job with you. Still can’t believe they invited me up to the big time.” He flashed Darius a playful smile. “Catching thieves, exploring Ama-Lasria—Just another day for the one and only ‘Lanzer 13’, I bet.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Hm,” Darius grunted.

  Playing up his confidence, Rhane leaned back and threw his feet onto the table. “Yeah, you and me, we got this in the bag. Those vandals can’t hide from us, not after what they just pulled.”

  Darius scowled. “Put your feet down. Show some respect.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, sir,” Rhane said, hastily removing his boots from the tabletop. He polished the spot with his cape for good measure.

  “Hmm.” Darius growled at Rhane once more before returning his attention forward.

  Director Vogel glided into the room without a sound. Darius sprang to his feet, snapping upright. “Director’s here. Attention!” he called. Rhane and the rest of the group promptly stood in response, greeting the Director with obedient stillness.

  Vogel moved to the head of the table. “Sit,” she ordered. The field agents all returned to their seats. Removing an ingot-shaped object from her suit coat, she raised it up and pushed a button on its face. With a mechanical whir the double doors behind her swung closed.

  Rhane pursed his lips—What the hell was that? Some kind of new technology? It was like magic. Subtly shaking his head, he cast aside the thought, focusing up.

  Vogel looked over the room in silence as the agents gave her their full attention. “Per my request, this task force has been officially folded into the Ama-Lasria expedition. There will be no further pretense of trials. Felicitations,” she said without a hint of emotion.

  Rhane worked to force down his smile. Vogel locked her eyes straight on him, helping him to do so.

  “You will all notice there is a new member among us. Agent Rhane has proven himself worthy of the cause. Welcome him.”

  Rhane waved to the group. A round of tepid claps greeted him in return.

  Vogel stood straighter. With feline grace, she paced around the conference table. “Today a group of anarchists have announced themselves to the world,” she began, speaking with cold deliberation. “After the theft of Verloren assets, and the subsequent destruction of state property, these criminals have fled from the city and are now in hiding out in the wastelands. It is their intent to sabotage our upcoming expedition—a backwards attempt to obstruct the march of progress.”

  Vogel angled her body past the table, making her way towards a large silk screen attached to the wall at the room’s far end. The agents tracked her as she prowled. “This task force represents the very best that Verloren Industries has to offer. You will be responsible for the recovery of our stolen effects,” she stated. Reaching the back of the room, Vogel glared down the long table with steely intensity. “As well as for the capture or termination of the malcontents.”

  All agents, save Rhane, nodded grimly in accordance. He looked around and joined in a half-second later.

  She didn’t actually mean ‘termination’, did she?

  Vogel raised the device in her hand and pushed another button. The lights dimmed. An overhead projector kicked on, casting onto the screen an image of a small, red landship.

  “This is your target,” she revealed. “A Voyager-class expeditionary vessel. Ziedler Motors, Zuferra model. Designation: Redland Runner.”

  “Why hunt them at all?” joked Rohas Undali from the back of the room. “If they’re in a Ziedler ship, it might just do the work for us.”

  The other agents snickered. Rhane forced a chuckle, despite finding the joke in somewhat poor taste.

  Vogel clicked the button once more. The slide cycled with a mechanical clomp, shifting to an identification photograph of a young woman in glasses. “This is the vessel’s owner and the leader of these anarchists: Sheah Ziedler, aggrieved heir to the now defunct Ziedler Motors company.” The agents murmured at the name.

  Seras amusedly huffed. “Huh—daddy’s business goes up in flames, and she takes it out on us. Pretty sad, if you ask me.”

  “The only sad thing is how she got one over on you,” Darius growled in response.

  “S—she did not!” yelled Seras, instinctively touching the bandage wrapped around her forehead. “You best shut it, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Darius leaned in, throwing her a dirty look. “You’ll cry to your father about it?”

  Seras bore her teeth and glared at him.

  “Agent Meyer,” said Vogel, tamping down on the friction.

  “Hm,” grunted Darius. He leaned back in his chair. The room settled.

  “Her accomplices—” Vogel continued, clicking to the next slide. A recognizable face appeared on the screen. “Jira Sirroza: Ex-member of the Rezna Expedition.”

  Rhane’s eyes lit up. “Whoa, ‘The Knife’?!” he exclaimed excitedly.

  “I thought she died years ago,” quipped Rohas. The other agents laughed.

  Vogel clicked the remote again. A new slide came through. “Dez Albrech: Mechanic, veteran of the Sky War. And lastly—” Another click. “Kaelis Vintra: Nobody of consequence.”

  It took a long moment to hit him. Rhane’s attentive smile slowly faded. His pupils swelled, his body grew clammy and cold. The color drained from his skin. Staring him in the face was Kaelis’s unmistakable image, caught in an unflattering identification headshot.

  “Each of you will be assigned a region,” the Director announced. “Begin at the most prominent settlements and work your way towards the mountain range…” Bit by bit, her voice faded from Rhane’s ears, drowned out by the thrumming of his heartbeat.

  Kaelis… An anarchist?

  There had to be some mistake. It couldn’t be her…

  Could it?

  …Oh no…