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tense if my mate were more well.”

Her feelings stung at the barb, Claire aware that even if his COM did not show a visual, he was absolutely watching her. That he saw how her lip shook before she could stop it. “I am not one of your Followers. You don’t get to order me to do anything.”

Darkness promising so many things purred over the line. “Then I shall continue to outwit you. Have fun cleaning up the feathers. I love you, and I will see you at dusk.”

The connection terminated.

Fuming, Claire looked around the wreckage of their bedroom and screamed. Hating that she knew he was still watching her. That he would be watching her all day.

“Wow.” Maryanne leaned back in her chair, baffled and grossed out. Also not entirely sure it would be a good idea to tell Shepherd he had a small white feather in his hair. “You guys sound so normal.”

Tucking away his COMscreen, Shepherd poured such a look on Maryanne that her moxy fled.

Throwing her hands up, she said, “I know you ordered me not to speak, but she’s not on the line anymore. And it’s strange, you know? I have not heard my best friend’s voice in over a year.” Unsure why she had a death wish, Maryanne added, “Why doesn’t she have friends? Claire was always popular. A total teacher’s pet too. Everyone loves Claire, they always have.”

“If you do not report on Jules in the next ten seconds, I will break your neck and replace you.”

Rolling her eyes, Maryanne flicked the screen that held a breakdown of her daily report, including segments of video footage for Shepherd to absorb.

“As you can see, Jules remains in a cell. He receives two meals a day, which he refuses to eat. Despite standard intimidation and bribery, he has also refused to interact with his visitors: identified as Commodore Jacques Bernard and Ancil Vox, Head of Bernard Dome Security—which was ridiculously easy to infiltrate. Whoever is supervising their communications network, they are not reacting to my invasion as a professional would. I don’t think they even know I’m there. I think it’s also relevant to note that Jules has not signaled.”

His cold “You have access to everything?” was not the gold star she felt she earned.

Maryanne should have known better than to expect Shepherd to offer praise for a job well done. “So far. Including the Commodore’s bedchambers. Those videos will give you nightmares.”

Crossing his arms in a way that stretched his suit coat, Shepherd studied the monitors. “Tell me about the woman.”

“The scarred Omega? Her name’s Brenya Perin, the new mate of Commodore Bernard. As noted in previous reports, most surveillance of them are… of a sexual nature.”

“Show me.”

Several monitors filled with recorded examples of the Omega heaving under her Alpha. In all of them, she appeared unresponsive—until the bloom of Alpha coercion manipulated her physiology into an empty shell that stopped resisting and climaxed from the pressure of a knot.

To be honest, Maryanne found it… disturbingly familiar.

Years ago, Claire had come to Maryanne in such a state. Battered, frightened, but there was a clear difference between the two Omegas. Claire had refused surrender. Brenya Perin was the embodiment of defeat.

Glancing at her boss from the corner of her eye, Maryanne knew Shepherd saw it too. His jaw ticking as his unwavering stare catalogued everything.

“Do you want to know what I think, Shepherd?”

Eyes that could see right down to her rotten soul turned from the screen and weighed her down with one unbroken glare.

Her throat bobbed in a swallow, the icy fingers of impending death scratching at her spine. “I think you need to watch this.”

Flicking the controls, the screens went black, the grunts and sounds of sex snuffed out. All that was left was a single monitor offering a cheery, sun-drenched nursery.

“The runtime is one hour, five minutes, and twenty-seven seconds.” Glancing back at the Alpha monstrosity, Maryanne added, “You might want to take a seat.”

Ignoring her offer, Shepherd stood through the entire recording of Brenya Perin having tea with Security Advisor Ancil Vox’s first wife. Maryanne had already watched the video three times, making notations on each timestamped twitch, focusing less on the depressing exchange of two sad women and more on the physical oddness.

“Brenya Perin isn’t neurotypical. She cannot understand nuance or subtlety. She can hardly interact in this social situation without mimicking her hostess. Yet she is counting every single object in the room, unaware that she is doing it.” Those words had already been in her report, but reading an opinion versus viewing it for oneself? “She sees everything and notices nothing.”

Shepherd, it would seem, had come to the same conclusion. “She’s a genius.”

“Annette confronts Brenya for running. The ship your Followers monitored flying toward Thólos three days ago? I think Brenya stole it. That woman piloted a craft with no training, somehow managed to get outside the Dome, was apprehended halfway to Thólos, and was returned mated to the Commodore. Just look at her. She’s battered he bit her twice. The mangled claiming mark on her neck was still bleeding badly enough to leave a decent stain on her dress.”

There was no agreement or negation from Shepherd. He simply waited for Maryanne to continue her report.

“Jules was imprisoned because of her escape. He’s refusing to eat, meanwhile these women are discussing honey and Beta rations.” There was no point in beating around the bush, so Maryanne just admitted she didn’t understand what that meant. “What are Beta rations?”

Shocking the fuck out of her, he actually explained. “Outside of the ruling class, the citizens of Bernard Dome are fed pharmaceuticals from birth to keep them complacent and obedient. That is why Jules is choosing to starve.”

Okay, since they were having a heart-to-heart, she figured she’d do it thoroughly. “Why not just send him home? If he dies, they must know you will end them all. You’re not subtle in your threats, Shepherd.”

“Give me a close up of Ms.

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