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I track the sound through the labyrinth of concrete, locating a reinforced door guarded by two men holding assault rifles. They stiffen as I approach, their eyes darting to the glowing orange neural filaments pulsing along my neck and jaw.

“Greetings.” I don’t break stride, raising a hand. The doors slide open before they can decide whether to shoot me or salute.

It’s a war room. A map of the Isles covers the central table, littered with markers. Maggie sits at the head, surrounded by four older human males wearing mismatched human military fatigues adorned with tarnished medals.

A man with a gray mustache and a florid complexion is mid-sentence. “—cannot risk moving the southern garrison. If the Ghorvek push past Birmingham, we leave the entire M4 corridor exposed.”

I step fully into the room. “The Ghorvek won’t push past your Birmingham.”

Five heads snap in my direction. The generals bristle, their faces tightening with various shades of outrage. Maggie remains perfectly still, her blue eyes narrowing into slits.

I pull out a rusty folding chair, turn it backward, and straddle it, resting my forearms over the metal backrest. “Apologies for my delay. Your corridors lack adequate signage. Do continue.”

“Why the hell is he here?” the florid general demands, glaring at Maggie.

“Orien is the Avaren intelligence officer assigned to coordinate with us,” Maggie says, her voice devoid of inflection.

“This is a closed command briefing, Elmsleigh,” another general spits. He looks at me like I track mud onto a white rug. “We do not invite outsiders into strategic deployment sessions.”

“I am an ally,” I offer, flashing a bright, predatory smile. “And a deeply invested one. Besides, you’re looking at the map wrong.”

“Excuse me?” The florid man steps forward, planting his hands on the table.

“Birmingham.” I point a long, gloved finger at the map. “You think they will push south because human armies push south. You think in terms of supply lines and paved roads. The Ghorvek do not care about your motorways. They are cunning, but they are not strategists. They are built for eradication, and they go where the prey is thickest.”

I stand up, moving closer. The generals instinctively step back. I tap a cluster of red markers near the coast. “They are amassing here because the coast gives them cover and the survivors upstream give them prey. If they move, they will move east, toward the denser population centers, where there are more people to kill and infect. Your choke points on this M4 are irrelevant. You’re guarding a door they have no intention of using.”

Silence drops over the room, thick and suffocating. The generals look at the map, then at me, then at Maggie.

Maggie stares at the red markers. I can see her mind moving at lightspeed, processing the intelligence, integrating it into her own survival calculus.

“He’s right.” She doesn’t look up.

“Maggie, you cannot seriously base our entire defense strategy on⁠—”

“I said, he is right.” Maggie lifts her head, pinning the florid general with a look so cold it could freeze boiling water. “We’ve lost three scout teams on the eastern ridge in the last week. We assumed they were isolated skirmishes. They aren’t. It’s a gathering.”

She straightens, smoothing the front of her tailored jacket. “Redeploy the southern garrison to the eastern ridge. Establish overlapping drone turrets at these three junctions. I want the order issued in ten minutes. Dismissed.”

The men look like they want to argue, but the crushing weight of her authority silences them. They gather their files, cast a few lingering, venomous glares in my direction, and file out of the room. The reinforced doors hiss shut behind them.

We are alone.

Maggie doesn’t move. She keeps her eyes fixed on the map.

I lean against the edge of the metal table, crossing my arms over my chest. The matte-black nano armor retracts into my ports soundlessly, leaving me in the form-fitting synth-weave combat shirt and trousers beneath. The fabric clings to every muscle, designed for maximum mobility and minimal friction.

“You didn’t invite me to the meeting, Maggie.” I pitch my voice low, letting the raspy, theatrical whisper slide through the quiet room.

“It was an internal briefing regarding troop movements,” she replies, finally looking up. “It did not require Avaren oversight.”

“I am your liaison.”

“You are a guest in my bunker.”

“I am a strategic asset who just saved your eastern ridge.” I tilt my head, studying the rigid posture of her spine. “You should be thanking me.”

“I don’t thank people for breaking protocol.” Her nostrils flare, a tiny, brilliant sign of the fury she is desperately trying to suppress. “If you want a seat at my table, you wait until you are summoned.”