“It’s dead.”

“Okay, that is a problem,” I said, turning on the scientist. My stomach roiled, and I felt more than slightly nauseous, but I stood tall and glared at the human, who looked pale and horrified himself. “I understand the vessels were programmed for obedience, Dr. Olsen, but having no initiative at all makes them a liability. We need soldiers who can think and act on their own, not robots. Not...whatever that is.” I gestured to the blood-soaked vessel, standing motionless and impassive over the mangled mess of his brother. “Can we fix it?” I asked, looking at Ms. Sutton, as well. “Can the process be improved upon?”

“I...don’t know.” Ms. Sutton ran a hand down her face. “Maybe. The behavior programming is supposed to be foolproof. Trying to change them now could have...unexpected consequences.”

“Try.” My voice came out flat, nonnegotiable. Dr. Olsen glared at me, and I turned on him, narrowing my eyes. “This is unacceptable, Doctor. They cannot be so empty that they have no independent thoughts of their own.”

“Talon told me that obedience is crucial—”

“I’m not saying they should question orders,” I snapped. “I’m saying they shouldn’t walk off a cliff without blinking an eye because we told them to march forward.” I stepped back, preparing to leave because I couldn’t stand there any longer knowing the empty, blood-drenched thing that was supposed to be a dragon stood right below us. “Fix it,” I told the scientist again. “I don’t care how. I don’t want more incidents like the one I saw today. Is that understood, Doctor?”

Dr. Olson looked sullen, but nodded. Ms. Sutton gave a tight nod, as well. I whirled and stalked out of the training arena before I could say anything else.

Back in my office, I sank down behind my desk, put my elbows on the wood and ran my hands over my scalp. Well, that was...disturbing. I knew the vessels’ programming and behavior modifications had been extensive, but that creature in the training room today wasn’t a dragon. It wasn’t even a dog, as Mace had so inelegantly commented not long ago. At least dogs had thoughts and feelings of their own. The vessel was a machine. A living, breathing machine.

This can’t be what Talon envisioned, I thought, jiggling my computer screen to life, knowing I needed to report today’s incident to the organization. I know these creatures are bred for war. I know they’ve been created so that we stand a chance against St. George, but how far is too far? What were we sacrificing to save our race from extinction? If a hundred vessels died so that one “real” dragon would be saved, was it worth it?

Ember wouldn’t think so.

I frowned at the thought of my disgraced twin. I’d been keeping myself deliberately busy so that I wouldn’t speculate about where she was, what she was doing, but sometimes she crept in all the same. Where was Ember now, I wondered. If Talon found my sister, Mr. Roth had assured me that I would be the first to know. That I hadn’t heard anything meant she was probably still causing trouble for the organization with that rogue dragon she’d met in Crescent Beach. Being drawn further into the lies and machinations of Cobalt and his network of criminals. If things continued down this path, I wasn’t certain my wayward sibling could be saved. I was even less certain that she would want to be.

Ember made her choice. I shook myself and began composing an email to the organization. Her fate was out of my hands, and I trusted that Talon knew what it was doing. I couldn’t worry about my twin now. I had my own problems to deal with.

I finished the email detailing the incident in the training room and hit Send, watching the message vanish from the screen. It was probably a good thing Ember wasn’t here now, I reflected, leaning back in the seat. She was too emotional. Too hotheaded. She let feelings get in the way of logic and judgment, and wouldn’t have taken that scene in the training room well at all. Whereas I, while I didn’t like what had been done to the vessels as a whole, could at least understand Talon’s intent. We needed soldiers to bolster our numbers, to fight in the war with St. George. It was necessary for our survival as a race.

Maybe that was why Talon had chosen me for this project. They knew I would do anything to ensure our survival. Including tasks that would horrify my sibling.

My computer chimed, indicating a new message had come through. It was from Talon headquarters, re: The incident in the training room. Surprised at the fast response, I clicked on the email. Per usual, it wasn’t very long and got right to the point.

Mr. Hill,