“He probably dashed. I’d bet you by now he’s buried in the barracks,” Zephyr smiled sadly.
“Is he really as good as everyone says?” Orlov asked, strain leaving his shoulders. There was nothing to be gained this evening by being hostile.
Zephyr appraised the ornate man. “It’s probably a good thing for us that he’s a shy, accommodating individual,” Zephyr responded.
Orlov narrowed his gaze. “Why?”
“Because it’s easier to control him that way,” Zephyr responded nonchalantly, downing the glass of bourbon in his hands. Orlov tilted his head. With a deep sigh of admiration for the burn, Zephyr raised his now empty glass to Orlov. “His shot test was supposed to be tomorrow. I told him he didn’t have to come back in until his doc checked him out at the end of the week. I’ll have him come in anyways for the test. Join us,” Zephyr dropped the glass back down on the counter with a clunk. He turned to walk away, waving offhandedly back to the prince. “It’ll be an enlightening experience, I promise you.”
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