"The UN task force is mobilizing in San Diego," Morgan says, her voice crisp and professional. "They have three deep-sea submersibles and a fleet of autonomous drones. They’re calling it 'Operation Deep Echo.' They believe the magnetic anomalies are a submerged, foreign surveillance network."
"Let them look," grunts Silas, an elder of the Blackthorn pack. He is a massive man, his face lined with age and scarred from decades of border wars. He represents the old guard—the wolves who survived by hiding, by suppressing their markers, by keeping their heads down. "The First Chamber is shielded. They’ll find nothing but basalt and squid."
"They will find the residual ley-line fallout," I correct him gently. "And when their sensors pick up magical resonance, they won't see squid. They'll see a
