Sebastian did not turn. "Enter."
His second stepped in, a compact woman named Irena with cropped dark hair, sharp eyes, and the exhausted competence of someone who had read the same northern reports and found them equally insulting.
"Convoy moves in twenty," she said.
"I know."
"Updated roster came through."
Sebastian reached for his sidearm. "Any changes?"
"No dominant omega."
His hand paused for half a second, then resumed.
"I saw."
Irena's mouth tightened. "That's a hole."
"It is."
"Command says the northern route is stable enough."
Sebastian smiled faintly. "Command says many comforting things before breakfast."
Irena gave him a dry look. "You are very calm for someone being handed optimism as a shield."
"I dislike panic before nine."
"It's nine-thirty."
"Then I am late."
Her mouth twitched.
Then she stepped further in and lowered her voice. "Your pheromones?"
Sebastian looked at her through the mirror.
"Balanced."
"For now."
"For now," he agreed.
