The sky above Blackthorn territory begins to change an hour after we leave the medical wing.
It is not a darkening caused by clouds. It is a darkening caused by density. The air grows thick, heavy with a pressure that presses against the eardrums and settles deep in the marrow. The birds stop singing. The wind dies. Even the insects fall silent.
The storm is not just approaching. It is arriving.
From the courtyard, I watch the horizon. The geometric clouds are visible now, swirling in perfect hexagonal patterns that defy meteorology. Lightning arcs between them, not jagged and random, but straight lines connecting points like a circuit board etched into the sky.
The pack is moving.
Not in panic. In formation.
Kieran stands at the center of the courtyard, directing the integration sch
