The landing gear of the Sterling jet hissed against the scorched tarmac of Aethelgard’s private airfield, but the usual welcoming committee of high-ranking Enforcers was missing. Instead, the perimeter was lined with drones that didn’t bear the Sterling blue. They were painted a matte, predatory crimson, their sensors tracking the plane’s movement with a mechanical, cold precision.
Astra stood at the top of the airbridge, her emerald dress replaced by a fresh set of tactical leathers. She could smell the change in the wind before her boots even touched the ground. The scent of "First Rain" that had begun to cleanse the city was gone, replaced by the stagnant, metallic tang of old blood and cheap synthetic pheromones.
"Dante," Astra whispered, her silver eyes scanning the empty hangar. "T
