Three days. Three long, nerve-shredding days since Fin's unsettling visit. Mara's fingers hovered over the encrypted datachip on her desk.
The information was there – names, affiliations, suspected abilities of key Association Hunters. A list that felt heavier than lead. Each byte of data was a potential death sentence, for them or for Fin. Or for her, if this went wrong.
'He said he'd be in touch,' she thought, chewing on her thumbnail. 'When? How?' Every unexpected noise in the Guildhall made her jump. Every sideways glance from a colleague felt like an accusation.
Her desk comm chimed, the sound sharp and sudden. She flinched.
"Mara, report to my office. Immediately." Jolly's voice, clipped and cold. No room for argument.
Mara's blood ran cold. 'Oh no.' She knew that tone. It wasn't about budget reports or overdue paperwork. It was the tone Jolly used when something big, something bad, had hit the fan.
'She knows. Or she suspects.'
