Page 8 of Stolen Empire

"Or maybe you didn't lock it at all."

I let the words sit between us for a moment, watching him squirm.

"This isn't the first time you've been careless. Last week, you left a saddle out in the rain. The week before that, you forgot to latch the gate to the training ring. Now this."

I swear I feel like I’m parenting teenagers, not managing professional adults.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice cracks. "It won't happen again."

"You're right. It won't."

I turn to the other two men, who are standing a few paces back, watching with wary expressions.

"The Radich crew is out there, looking for any excuse to move against us. Every mistake you make gives them an opening. Every door left unlocked, every piece of equipment left unsecured, every schedule you let slip to the wrong person—it all adds up. And when they come for us, it won't be my head on the line. It'll be yours."

Rodion's breathing is shallow now, his eyes wide.

I step closer, lowering my voice so only he can hear.

"Fix the fuckups, Rode, because if this happens again, there will be worse consequences than losing a night of sleep."

He opens his mouth to argue, then thinks better of it.

He nods once, quickly, and turns toward the shed.

The other two men watch him go and follow behind him.

I don't need to say anything else.

They've seen what happens when I lose patience, and they're not interested in testing me further.

"Lock the shed after it's cleaned up," I tell them. "Then you may as well get to work."

They nod and move to obey, and I turn and walk back toward the main building.

The confrontation has left me tense, my muscles coiled, and I need to move before the energy burns through me.

I take the long route through the yard, circling the perimeter and checking the fences, looking for any signs of tampering.

Everything is intact except a spot in the chain link that reveals where the girl snuck in.

I find her bag left there in the darkness and take it with me.

It tells me maybe she is working alone.

Why else would she have cut through the fence?

If she were with someone else, they'd have walked her through the gate and she would never have had to cut through.

But that doesn't settle the unease sitting deep in my gut.

By the time I reach the tack room where the girl is locked up, it's nearly four in the morning.

I unlock the door and pull it open, letting the light from the hallway spill inside.

She's sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest.

She looks up when I enter, her gray-green eyes sharp despite the hour.