The freight elevator ride from Sub-Zero to the surface felt like it took a lifetime.
When the heavy doors finally hissed open at the street level, the deafening mechanical silence of the Citadel was instantly shattered by the roar of the perimeter. Coldwater’s main gatea towering, sixty-foot barricade of reinforced durasteel and auto-turretswas buzzing with chaotic, frantic energy.
Dax, Sienna, and I sprinted up the metal grated stairs to the catwalk running along the top of the wall. Tank and Reaper were already there, peering through the tactical binoculars mounted on the parapets.
"Tell me it's not a Vanguard fleet," Dax ordered, stepping up to the edge and grabbing the railing.
"It ain't a fleet, Prez," Tank said, lowering the binoculars. A massive, disbelieving grin split his scar
