The wind on the outskirts of Titan never truly stopped. It howled between the cracked concrete pillars of this long-dead monorail station, carrying the scent of sulfur and cold iron that stung the nostrils. I stepped out from the shadows of the platform, feeling every inch of my body scream from exhaustion. My tactical jacket was torn at the shoulder, a souvenir from my meeting with Kael's butcher squad and Marcos's betrayal in the utility conduits earlier.
"You're ten minutes late, Jax. That's not like you," the heavy voice emerged from the darkness at the end of the rusty tracks.
I stopped, hand automatically dropping toward my pistol holster, but I let go immediately when I saw the familiar wide silhouette. Kratos stood there, leaning against a support pillar with the quiet stillness
