Marlowe
King mobilized a small response team within the hour, insisting I stay close to the main den despite my protests, and for once I didn't fight him on it — not out of old fear, but because I understood, watching the tension in his jaw, that whatever this new threat actually was, we didn't yet know enough to guess how dangerous it might turn out to be.
I waited at the garage with Wrench and Nova, both of them pretending to work while clearly listening for any sound of trouble from beyond the fence line, and the hours crawled by with an anxious weight that made even small talk feel like an effort.
"Vance's gone," Nova said, more to reassure herself than either of us. "Whatever this is, it can't be as bad as that."
"Doesn't mean it's nothing," Wrench said, gruff, not looking up from
