CHASING HIS LUNA BACK
If I didn’t cut him out now, he’d bring the whole damn structure down around us.
I tightened my grip on the shoulder straps of my travel gear and turned toward Xander Potts, the man who now bore the title of Delta. He stood at attention, broad-shouldered and stone-faced, though I knew he felt the weight of this role.
“You have the pack while I’m gone,” I told him. “No mistakes, Potts. I want a full patrol rotation every six hours, the borders swept, and a watch on the Luna at all times. You breathe wrong, and I’ll hear about it.”
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