Andrew stalked to one side of the room, turned and leaned against a wall, fixing me with a solemn glare. “Relax, Sebastian,” he said. “I told you before. I heard what happened back in the States, most of it, anyway. I know what you’re accused of. Bullshit or not, you saved my life once. That’s something you don’t forget. And I don’t care what the Order says—anyone who has ever fought with you would know that you wouldn’t just betray your brothers like that. Not without reason.”

He looked away as the pod climbed slowly higher, sunlight streaming through the glass. I gazed down at Big Ben on the other side of the river, its giant face announcing that it was almost noon.

“Thanks,” I said. “I wouldn’t blame you for turning me in, Andrew. I’m just glad you’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m not the only one,” Andrew replied. “A lot of us weren’t happy with the way your trial was handled.” He lowered his voice, as if there could be people eavesdropping, even here. “When you ‘escaped,’ we knew there had to be more to the story than what the Order was telling us. And I suspected I might see you again, sooner or later—I did say you could call on me for anything.” He gave a wry grin. “So if you need a favor, Sebastian, as long as it doesn’t involve going directly against St. George, you just have to ask. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here.”

I nodded, smiling faintly in return. “There is something I wanted to ask you,” I said. “You’re a scout now, right?”

His brow furrowed, as if that fact was painful. “Yeah,” he answered shortly. “After that close encounter with a bullet, I couldn’t go on any more raids. They stuck me with intel gathering, rooting out Talon activity in assigned areas.”

“And the number of strikes has increased recently, correct?”

Again, he nodded, though there was a wariness to him now, as if he knew where I was going with this.

“How are you getting the information?” I asked.

“Good question. Wish I could answer it.” His brow furrowed as he gazed back down at the city. “The Order hasn’t contacted me in several months,” he admitted. “I haven’t found or given them any information, and I know several others in the same boat as me. St. George isn’t using its scouts to find the nests. And yet...the number of strikes is at an all-time high.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “How are they finding these dragons? They’re certainly not coming to us.”

I frowned. That wasn’t what I was expecting. I’d contacted Andrew because I had hoped to learn why Order attacks on dragons had taken such a jump. But if St. George wasn’t using its scouts at all...

“That is strange,” I muttered.

“I think so, too,” Andrew agreed. “And it gets even stranger. I asked around, trying to find where the Order has been getting their information, and you know what I heard?” A dubious look crossed his face. “Rumors are that the Patriarch himself is receiving visions from God, telling him where to find the devils.”

My brows rose. The Patriarch was more than the leader of St. George; he was almost a holy figure in the eyes of the Order. Only the most revered, staunchest devotee of St. George could become Patriarch, and once the position was filled, it was his for life. The council chose a new Patriarch only when the old one died, as they had done since the Order was founded. The Patriarch was a symbol of purity, incorruptible and utterly dedicated to the cause. But visions from God? I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“Has he been right?” I wondered.

Andrew barked a laugh.

“Well, I don’t know where the man is getting his intel, but whether it’s from God or not, he’s been spot-on every time. Wherever he sends the teams, they find dragons. I guess the Order doesn’t need us anymore.”

I fell silent, thinking. The capsule spun lazily, stopping every so often as the Eye picked up new passengers or let others off. A gull flapped by, soaring past us toward the river. “Is Order headquarters in the same spot?” I asked finally.

Andrew nodded. “Same place it’s been for the past hundred years,” he answered. “Why?” His eyes widened. “You’re not thinking of going in! Sebastian, they’ll put a hole in your head before you get past the front desk.”

“Relax, I’m not going inside.” There wouldn’t be any point. Headquarters would not leave suspicious files or dealings out in plain sight, and I wasn’t a computer genius like Wes, able to hack my way through almost anything. I’d never been to Order HQ, didn’t know the layout of the building, its cameras or security systems; if I sneaked in, I’d be going in blind, something I didn’t care for. Besides, I was a wanted man within the Order; venturing into the heart of St. George’s operations seemed like a bad idea.