Mara marched purposefully toward Elias. He was now flipping through a hunter magazine with a bold title: Nemesis Monthly.
"You have a desk," she said.
He looked up. "So?"
"It's under these... mountains of paperwork. Overdue reports. Evaluations. Requisitions signed by you but obviously filled out by someone else. I even saw an equipment inventory dated six months ago! That's a major infraction!"
He shrugged. "If we don't inventory, we can't report losses. Logical."
"That's not logic, that's fraud!" she exclaimed, drawing looks from the entire room.
A sudden silence fell.
Elias slowly set down his magazine. "O'Connell. Sit."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order, given with such calm and absolute authority that Mara obeyed before even thinking about it, taking the rickety chair across from him.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, ignoring the mugs that wobbled. "You want paperwork? Fine. Let's talk paperwork." His voice was low, for her ears only. "Form 47-B, human loss report. How many have you filled out?"
Mara blinked. "A few. In Doom Company."
"Me, I've filled out twelve. Twelve names. Twelve faces. Twelve reports where I had to describe how and why they died. Each time, there was a box: 'Protocol deviations contributing to the incident...' You know what I learned? Procedures are written by people who haven't been in the field for decades. They're made to cover bureaucrats' asses, not to save lives. My protocol is simple: everyone comes back. No matter how. If that means throwing a brick, using a pen, or sleeping through a Hargrave briefing, I'll do it."
He leaned back, his mask of nonchalance partially returning, but his eyes remained grave. "My men love me, O'Connell, because I don't send them to die just to follow a paragraph in the manual. They know I'll always find the shortest, safest path, even if it's the messiest. So yeah, the paperwork rots on my desk. And you know what? It'll keep rotting for a long time."
Mara was speechless. She looked around. The hunters had resumed their activities, but she sensed their discreet attention.
"Now, if you want to make yourself useful, there's a stack of leave requests that need the Vice-Captain's signature. Have fun."
Elias grabbed his magazine and held it up in front of his face.
Mara sat for a moment.
She stood and turned to the room.
"Alright. Everyone. Post-mission briefing in ten minutes. Conference room. Agent Briggs, bring your summary. Agent Saito, your firing data. Finn... come with the others. And someone find a working whiteboard."
An awkward silence greeted her words. The hunters looked at Elias, behind his magazine. He didn't move.
Jax cleared his throat. "Uh, Vice-Captain... we usually do an informal debrief around the coffee maker. It's more... relaxed."
"Relaxation is when the mission is over and analyzed," Mara retorted. "Conference room. Ten minutes."
She expected resistance, grumbling. Instead, she saw looks turning back to Elias's desk.
Behind the magazine, a hand rose and made a small annoyed wave, as if to say "Go on, do what she says."
As one, the room sprang to life. Cards were put away, mugs set down, models set aside. In less than thirty seconds, everyone was moving to prepare the conference room.
Mara stood frozen.
'I'm the Vice-Captain. But in this room, there's apparently only one captain...'
As she headed to the conference room, her gaze fell on the cleanest corner of Elias's desk. A single photo, simply framed. A group, young, smiling in front of a building. Elias was among them, but different: face more tense, eyes sharper, without the current weariness. And he had his arm around the shoulders of a young woman with fiery hair, laughing at the camera.
Mara recognized the face.
'Anya Rostova. A Class A prodigy, missing in action three years ago. Presumed dead. Is this one of the twelve names he told me about?'
She didn't have time to examine further. Elias abruptly lowered his magazine, following her gaze. With a quick hand, he flipped the frame face down on the desk.
"The conference room awaits, Vice-Captain."
Mara nodded, turning on her heel.
The conference room smelled musty.
Mara stood before the whiteboard—which worked—surrounded by fourteen hunters, half of whom looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. The other half glanced discreetly at the door, as if Elias might suddenly burst in to save them.
Spoiler: he wouldn't.
She'd checked. He'd settled into the "nap corner" of the main hall—a beat-up armchair by the window—with his magazine and headphones. The message was clear: Have fun, kids.
"Right. On that note—"
The conference room door swung wide open.
Elias was in the doorway. He held a huge sandwich in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He chewed slowly.
All eyes turned to him.
He swallowed. "Carry on. Don't let me interrupt." He entered, headed to the captain's seat, and sat down. He placed his sandwich on the table, in a small cloud of crumbs.
Mara gripped the marker. "We were analyzing the engagement sequence, Captain."
"Analyze, analyze." He opened his chip bag. The crinkling plastic was outrageously loud. "I'm listening. Well, listening while eating. Multitasking."
Mara resumed, jaw clenched. "As I was saying, Agent Saito's firing data is a good example of precise reporting. Agent Finn."
Finn jumped like a rabbit in headlights.
"Your intervention."
"I... I..." Finn blushed. "I fired once. On Briggs's shield."
"And why did you aim at a teammate's shield?"
"I... I was aiming at the Nemesis. It was moving. And... and..." Finn looked down. "Sorry."
"Error is human," Mara said, but she sensed her attempt at consolation fell flat. "But it must be documented. We'll set up additional firing sessions for—"
"Unnecessary," Elias cut in. He crunched a chip loudly.
All eyes turned to him.
"Pardon?" said Mara.