The Northern Continent Embassy's defensive barriers shimmered like aurora light as our convoy approached the imposing structure that represented one of the few truly secure locations remaining in Avalon City. The building itself was a masterpiece of defensive architecture—crystalline walls, magical shields that drew power from the Northern continent's own ley lines, and emergency protocols that had been designed by the most paranoid military minds in human civilization.
But as we pulled into the embassy's secure courtyard, I could see that we weren't the only ones who had thought of this sanctuary.
"Daddy," Stella said from her position pressed against the vehicle's reinforced window, her nine-year-old voice carrying the kind of innocent observation that cut straight through adult pretenses, "why are all those people running toward the building? They look really scared."
