The transport ship touched down on the Sterling Tower’s private airfield under the cover of a manufactured thunderstorm. Rain lashed the fuselage, providing a sensory shield against the prying sensors of the remaining Global Council loyalists. Astra stepped onto the tarmac, her legs still feeling like they were made of sea-foam.
Beside her, Dante was a pillar of dark iron. He didn't look like a CEO; he looked like a general returning from a m******e. His hand was firmly on the small of Astra’s back, guiding her toward the medical elevator.
"Get the survivors to the sub-level clinics," Dante commanded Jax. "No records. No names. If anyone asks, we’re processing a 'Grey Zone' spill."
"Understood, sir," Jax said, his eyes lingering on the girl Astra had pulled from the cylinder. The girl l
