Damian's Oracle

"Nope. We were damaged goods when we were dropped onto this planet."

He felt Dusty's thoughtful gaze on him and looked up from strapping a gun to his ankle. "What's up?" he asked, straightening. Dusty shook his head, though Damian saw his faint smile. "Bro, what's up?"

"Either you need a woman real bad or there's something special about this one."

"Hey now, don't insult my Oracle," Damian warned. "Assuming she survives tonight."

He ignored Dusty's intent look, aware his adopted brother knew when he was avoiding answering his question. Dusty was right on both accounts: he needed a woman, and this one was special. He didn't dare mess with an Oracle, though. It was common sense: never piss off the woman who could see the future, lest she alter it and make your life hell. Thousands of years hadn't given him much insight into a woman's way of thinking, but this he knew without a doubt.

"As if the European front wasn't enough," Dusty muttered.

"Tell me about it. After this is over, I'll tell you about the Guardian recruitment stats."

"Gods."

"Yeah."

Hang in there, Sofia.