Ryder
I had driven past the east administrative building twice before I parked.
Not because I was being followed. I had checked that with the specific care of someone who had grown up in a pack where surveillance was as natural as breathing and who knew exactly what being followed looked and felt like. I was not being followed. The two passages were something else — the particular behavior of a man who had made a decision and was finding, in the execution of it, that the decision was harder than the making of it had been.
I sat in the parked car for four minutes.
The building in front of me was ordinary. Administrative glass and stone, the kind of structure that existed in every pack compound in a fifty-kilometer radius, is designed to communicate function rather than power. I had been
