Kade carries the lead-lined case down the rocky slope, his boots crunching on the wet stones. I follow a few paces behind, my senses stretched to their absolute limit. The tracker is active. I can feel the thin, silver thread of my magic humming inside the crystal, a delicate spiderweb waiting for a fly.
One of the men steps forward, extending a gloved hand. Kade hands over the case without a word. The man checks the biometric seal, nods, and carries it to the boat.
"Transfer complete," the man says, his voice distorted by a comms earpiece. "The UN submersible Nereus is en route to the drop zone. ETA ten minutes."
"Understood," Kade says. "Tell your directors to handle it with care. It’s volatile."
The men don't respond. They simply start the engine, and the boat speeds away, disappear
