The heavy oak doors of the GBDC command center slide shut, sealing out the chaotic hum of the Geneva fire department and the panicked shouts of the UN delegates. Inside, the air is cold, recycled, and thick with the metallic tang of ozone.
I stand at the head of the holographic table, my hands resting on the polished steel. My ribs are heavily taped, my left arm in its carbon-fiber brace, but my posture is rigid, my chin held high. Kade stands to my right, his right hand resting on the hilt of his tactical sidearm, his left sleeve pinned neatly to his chest. Through the mate bond, his presence is a solid, unyielding wall of lethal calm.
The main holographic display flickers to life. Secretary-General Lin’s face appears, looking thoroughly haggard. The glittering New York skyline behind h
