The air hummed with the quiet tension of senior squad leads and outpost commanders who had been summoned on short notice.
Michael had come through as promised. Stacked neatly in the center of the broad wooden conference table were twelve ruggedized slate tablets, their matte-black casings reflecting the harsh fluorescent lighting above.
Drakon stood at the head of the table, his tall, imposing frame immediately cutting through the low murmur of conversation as the heavy doors slammed shut. I stood just half a step behind his left shoulder, holding my own tablet, watching the room adjust to the sight of us side-by-side.
"Starting tonight, the old paper logs are officially burn scrap," Drakon began, his deep voice carrying effortless authority across the room. "No more lost notebooks, no
