The Summit's security checkpoint stretched across the expansive lobby of the Prism Center, a gleaming architectural marvel at the heart of Meridian Bay's financial district. Maya observed the meticulous screening process as she approached, noting how the guards focused on metal detection, explosive residue testing, and identification verification – all useless against the sonic threat they were about to face.
She adjusted the specialized glasses that not only assisted with her lip-reading but also contained miniaturized versions of her analysis equipment. The security personnel wouldn't recognize the technology; it resembled adaptive eye wear many deaf individuals used. Her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh in a rhythm only James would recognize as shorthand for "they're missing
