The hush in the HON headquarters after Anna and Liam had left was a palpable weight. The euphoria of the effective community speech had given way to the unpleasant taste of the gray suit man. Reuben was alone by the whiteboard, the name HOWARD CRANE glowering back at him like some malevolent genie. The red marker hung heavy in his hand, a tool for plotting defenses in a conflict he did not wish to fight.
He was a scientist, an epidemiologist. His battlefields were petri dishes and statistical models, not dark corporate plots. The Outbreak System was a weapon of magical accuracy, a scalpel for cutting disease from the body of mankind. But how did one wield a scalpel against a shadow?
As the mind reeled, the familiar pressure began to form at the base of his eyes—the precursor to a System
