A slab of concrete tucked between pine trees and highway signs, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, a vending machine blinking out of order beside a row of trash cans. Families passed through without looking twice. Truckers refueled and disappeared again. To the outside world, it was a pause without meaning.
To them, it was a fault line.
The caravan pulled in one by one, engines idling as if reluctant to go silent. Tires crunched over gravel. Doors opened. Cool air rushed in, carrying the sharp scent of pine and asphalt and something else—tension, thick enough to be tasted.
Aurelia felt it settle between her shoulders.
She stepped out of the rear vehicle and stood still for a moment, letting her senses adjust. This place wasn’t guarded, not warded. It wasn’t protected. It was neutral
