There is a specific type of morning-after-a-crisis energy that settles over a place when the crisis is technically resolved but everyone knows the resolution was just the first act of something larger.
Shadowmere had it in abundance.
The compound moved with a controlled, deliberate efficiency that wasn't quite normal and wasn't quite emergency — perimeter rotations tightened by half, pack wolves making eye contact with each other slightly more than usual, the particular body language of people who'd been told everything is fine and have chosen to reserve judgment.
I found out about Dena Marsh's four operatives the way I found out about most things in this compound: Luna told me, in graphic detail, over eggs.
"Cole broke one's wrist," she said, with the casual admiration of someone revi
