We went back to the archive that evening, just the three of us.
Verath received us through the bridge with the warmth that was becoming familiar, the compressed collective consciousness recognizing the jurisdiction holder and her two constants with something that felt like the In Between equivalent of a greeting.
“The eastern border region,” I said. “My world. Seven weeks ago.”
The archive shifted.
What it showed us was not comfortable.
The pack had fractured. Not the way it had been fracturing before, slowly and along existing lines of disagreement about my hybrid nature and my fitness to be Luna.
A sudden fracture, the kind that happens when the center cannot hold and everything that has been held in by the pressure of a common authority suddenly has nowhere to be contained.
Kael
