The safe house in Oakland was a modest two-story Victorian on a quiet residential street. From the outside, it looked like any other house in the neighborhood. From the inside, it was another command center, smaller and less sophisticated than the shelter's basement, but equally well-equipped.
Elena was waiting for me in the living room. She looked older than when I had seen her at the observatory, but her eyes were sharp and focused.
"You made it," she said. "That's good. The network was moving faster than we expected. They're consolidating resources. Something's changed. They're accelerating their timeline, which means they know about you and Catherine's research."
I spent the next twelve hours reading through Catherine's journals in chronological order. I had skimmed them before, but
