She zooms the hologram in on the Pacific Northwest. On the Blackthorn Academy.
"It’s targeting us," General Croft’s voice crackles over the secure comms. She is standing on the bridge of the UN command ship, her face pale, her military bearing rigid. "Luna, our orbital satellites just picked up hundreds of massive drop-pods detaching from the dreadnought. They aren't landing in remote areas this time. They are landing directly on your territory."
I stare at the holographic map. Hundreds of red dots are descending through the atmosphere, aiming directly for the Academy’s courtyards, the integration school, the medical wing.
"They realized the atmospheric strategy failed," Lilith says, stepping into the light. Her ancient face is pale, her silver eyes wide with a profound, chilling clarit
