The command van smelled of burnt coffee, cold rain, and cheap diesel. Monitors lined the interior walls, casting a stark, blue-hued glare over Michael’s hardened features as his fingers flew across the soundboard and tactical displays.
I leaned over the central console, wearing a headset pulled tight over one ear, my eyes glued to the live drone feed hovering silent and high above the industrial district.
Through the grainy infrared overlay, the abandoned meatpacking plant on the edge of the river looked like a tomb. But heat signatures didn't lie. Five distinct red silhouettes paced near the loading docks, while another dozen clustered inside the main warehouse floor.
The Ashen Kings thought they were ghosting us. They thought setting up shop in a dead industrial park gave them the dro
