The bureaucratic shrug of the WHO was a physical blow. The mood within the command center, once tense with hope for Dr. Thorne's breakthrough, became oppressive. The ping of incoming infection reports, once a rebuke to move, was now a death knell. The committee would meet in two weeks' time. The virus doubled in scope every seventy-two hours. The math was a cold, harsh epitaph for millions.
Kael Fenris stood before the primary screen, the Hyperion virus's crimson stain seeming to pulse in harmony with his own boiling rage. He had never felt so much the commander, so much the failure. The subterfuge had failed. The keyhole was expanded, and they saw nothing but a world content to step back and allow the fire to burn.
A low, unconscious growl started in the bottom of his chest. Not a human
