I take a deep breath, centering myself. I draw on the quiet room, building the walls, sealing out the cosmic noise, the fear of the trench, the anxiety of the masquerade. I step into the center of my own mind, calm, collected, and utterly in control.
Then I open my eyes and walk toward the landing pad.
The helicopters are sleek, black, and heavily armored. They descend onto the landing pad with a deafening roar, kicking up a storm of dust and dead leaves.
I stand at the edge of the pad, flanked by Kade and a dozen of our most disciplined, human-passing warriors. We are dressed in crisp, dark tactical gear—professional, intimidating, but not overtly magical.
The side door of the lead helicopter slides open.
Ambassador Vance steps out. He is a tall, imposing man in his late fifties, wit
