In the corridor, listening to the grisly sounds of the Xomillas, presumably feeding on Mendoza, the two men looked at each other. From his face and thoughts, Darzul read Ren’s disgust and a sense of shame or self-reproach. Privately, he had to agree—for the moment, they had failed. That was bad, maybe almost unforgiveable. Not only had they been unable to save Mendoza, but their work to merge into his organization was now probably wasted. They’d have to begin anew to track down the origin and logistics behind that hazardous drug.