Central Medical Center.
The hallway outside the operating theaters was sterile, white, and smelled of antiseptic and anxiety.
Red Serpent paced back and forth, his heavy boots squeaking on the linoleum floor. His brow was furrowed so deeply it looked like a trench had been carved into his forehead.
What is wrong with the War God?
What happened?
He couldn't figure it out. He had served under Matthew Powell for years, through bloodbaths and crises that would break lesser men. He had seen Matthew calm in the face of armies.
But just now, when Matthew called him, his tone was filled with an urgency Red Serpent had never heard before. There was anxiety, yes―the sharp, biting kind―but beneath that... was it fear?
Yes, it was definitely fear. It was a deep, unsettling unease, the kind a ma
