Sensing my arrival, he looked up. “Madeleine. I was wondering when you were arriving.”
“Sir.” I let the flap fall back into place, closing out the hubbub of the camp.
The tent was draughty, but there was a Light-generated heater in the centre which fended off most of the chill. Someone had pinned various maps to boards and tables, and there was a glaring lack of weaponry. Who needed a rack of cold iron blades guarding a ruin? Not us.
A row of black storage boxes were stacked to one side, the stamps on the side marking them as drones. I assumed they were for surveying the ruins more than surveillance. We’d never needed technology to do our jobs—that’s what our Light was for.
“I’m glad to have someone of your capabilities here, Madeline, but I want to make something clear. There is no place for theatrics, lone wolves, or self-serving ambition at Camelot. We uphold the tenants of our people here, just as any other outpost.”
I held his gaze. He’d read my file.
“I don’t care what the Inquisitor says, this isn’t a low-priority mission,” he went on, throwing in a little dig towards Wilder—there was no love lost there. “The work being done here at Camelot is important and it needs to be protected. There is no telling what might be unearthed here—demonic or otherwise.”
I supposed there was truth in that, but it wasn’t the front lines. Maybe I was crazy, but that’s where I wanted to be. All my life I’d dreamed about serving the London Sanctum and fighting the Dark—that’s where the centre of all Natural-kind was and it housed the Codex.
The Codex was the book that housed our sacred history. Created in the cataclysm’s aftermath, it was intended to save as much of our lost heritage as possible, but over the years, it’d become much more than a record. It governed our choices, our beliefs, and our very souls. The manuscript had gathered so much Light it had become a link to all Naturals…but only one could read it. The Protector—and the Twin Flames.
Then there was the bit where anyone who touched it burned to ash from the inside out. We were a delightful bunch of supernaturals.
The point was, everyone wanted a post in London. Everyone. But since I was standing here of all places, I’d obviously screwed it up.
Thompson stared at me, his gaze cold and heavy. “Are we on the same page?”
I read everything I needed to from his expression. He wasn’t a man I should push too hard.
“Sir.”
His eyes narrowed slightly and sighed. “Report in the morning. I’ll have your schedule fixed by then.” He nodded towards the tent flap. “The barracks are at the outer edges of camp. They’ve been marked.”
I picked up my duffle. “Sir.”
“Madeline?”
I lingered, waiting for his parting wisdom.
“You can say more to me than sir.”
“Yes…sir.”
He snorted and shoved his hand through his hair. “That’s a start, I suppose.” He moved around the table and stood before me. Thompson was a full head taller and I had to lift my chin to meet his gaze. “Just so we’re on the same page, this is your last chance, Madeline. I’m not sure what will happen to you if you screw this up.”
I tensed. This was a new revelation. Wilder was testing me by not mentioning my precarious position and Thompson was throwing me a bone.
“You’re an exceptional Natural,” he went on, “that much is clear from your file. Top grades at the Academy, high strike rates…but your attitude is severely lacking. The red flags almost outweigh the accolades. You’re far too young and talented to be discharged for insubordination.”
I bit my tongue as shame pulsed through my body. Rebelliousness would only get me so far, then it was a sharp turn to a cliff called ‘fall from grace’. He was right—everyone who tried to beat it into my head was—but I didn’t know how to be anything other than a pain in the arse.
Thompson relaxed his posture. “The only person who can help you is yourself. We can only do so much.”
“I know, sir. I… I’m trying to figure it out.”
He sighed again. “I sincerely hope so.” He nodded towards the flap. “Now get out of my sight.”
* * *
After I’d found an empty bunk, I followed my nose to the camp kitchen.
The sun was already lowering in the sky and many of the Naturals working up on the dig site were returning to base for the evening.
I sat at a table in the corner—away from the noise—and watched as they filed into the tent. It was easy to tell everyone apart from the amount of dirt caked on their clothes. Hard mud on both knees equalled archaeologist. Caked boots and weaponry were security. Mostly clean were scientists who spent most of their time in their laboratories. Spotless were the researchers who catalogued and translated.
I poked at my food, the battered fork spearing the soggy vegetables.
There seemed to be at least seventy to eighty people here. Not a great deal when Camelot inhabited a twenty square kilometre pocket of space and time. And Aiden mentioned they’d uncovered less than five percent of that.
“You’re pouting. I can see nothing’s changed.”
I jumped as a familiar face appeared in my line of vision and dropped my fork. “Trent?”
He grinned and sat across from me. “The one and only.”
Trent had grown up a lot since I’d last seen him. His face seemed to have learned what stubble was and the boyish roundness in his cheeks had hardened. The hair on his head had darkened and his eyes seemed more focused than I remembered.
“Look at you,” I said, trying to remember the last time I’d seen him. “You’ve gone and grown up.”
“Physically,” he said with a grin. “Mentally?” He pulled a face. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
“How’s Kayla?” I quipped, raising an eyebrow. Kayla was the Natural who he’d had the hots for throughout our time at the Academy. Along with
