“Capturing him would be nearly impossible,” I counter, perhaps too quickly. “Storm Eagles kill themselves rather than face captivity, and they protect their leader with suicidal devotion.”
“Every defense has weaknesses,” Marcus says, the phrase he’s repeated since childhood. “That’s where your research comes in.”
He walks through the main treatment area, greeting military personnel and examining our equipment. I follow, maintaining a professional demeanor while silently praying he won’t investigate the quarantine room.
“Show me your lab,” he says eventually. “I want to see your current projects.”
I lead him to my research space, relieved that I’d secured everything sensitive. “I’m focusing on understanding their physiology rather than seeking specific vulnerabilities. The more we know about how they function, the better we can predict their behavior.”
Marcus scrolls through the sanitized data I’ve prepared. “This is all very academic, Elena. The Council needs actionable intelligence.”
“Science can’t be rushed,” I reply, the same argument we’ve had throughout our careers.
“Wars don’t wait for peer review,” he counters, as always. Then he pauses, examining a test result I’d overlooked—a partial analysis of the electrical conductivity in Storm Eagle nerve tissues. “This is interesting. Their neural pathways conduct electrical energy at rates far beyond normal shifters.”
I tense, realizing too late the implications. “Yes, it enables their lighting manipulation.”
“It also suggests a potential vulnerability,” Marcus says, his tactical mind making connections I’d hoped to avoid. “A targeted electromagnetic pulse could potentially disrupt their entire nervous system.”
Horror fills me at the thought. Having felt Kael’s storm energy, having channeled something similar myself, I understand this wouldn’t just disable them—it would be excruciating, like setting every nerve ending on fire simultaneously.
“That’s theoretical,” I say quickly. “And it would require extensive testing to confirm.”
“Then accelerate your research in that direction,” Marcus instructs, still scrolling through data. “The Council is considering a preemptive strike against the Storm Eagle aerie. Your findings could make it more… humane.”
The casual mention of genocide disguised as military necessity sends ice through my veins. “Preemptive strike? Based on what justification? They’ve only targeted supply convoys, not civilian populations.”
“They’re escalating,” Marcus says grimly. “Intelligence reports indicate they’re planning something larger. We can’t afford to wait until they attack settlement centers.”
“Or perhaps they’re desperately gathering resources because they’re struggling to survive,” I counter, remembering Kael’s explanation about dwindling hunting grounds. “Have we considered diplomatic options?”
Marcus gives me a sharp look. “Since when do you advocate negotiating with raiders who’ve killed dozens of our people?”
“Since I’ve studied enough of their biology to recognize intelligent beings acting from necessity, not malice.” I meet his gaze steadily. “The Storm Eagles show every indication of a sophisticated culture with complex social structures. They’re not mindless predators.”
“Your scientific objectivity is admirable,” Marcus says, his tone suggesting the opposite. “But don’t let academic fascination cloud your judgment about what they are—enemies who would see our people starve if it meant their survival.”
The irony of his statement, given Haven’s Heart’s plans, isn’t lost on me. Before I can formulate a response that won’t reveal my divided loyalties, a nurse appears at the lab entrance.
“Dr.Ashford, the quarantine patient’s readings are fluctuating. You asked to be notified of any changes.”
My heart stops. Zara must be waking from the sedative earlier than expected.
“Quarantine patient?” Marcus asks. “Your reports mentioned no infectious cases.”
“Not infectious,” I say quickly. “A severe neurological reaction to Storm Eagle talon wounds. I’ve isolated the patient to study the progression without contaminating the results.”
“I’d like to see this case,” Marcus says, already moving toward the door.
“The patient is in medically-induced coma,” I protest, following him. “There’s nothing to observe yet.”
But Marcus is already striding toward the quarantine room, his military bearing brooking no argument. I hurry after him, mind racing through scenarios, none of them good. If he discovers Zara’s identity, everything falls apart—my research, Kael’s secret visits, possibly the fragile peace between our territories.
Just as we reach the quarantine room door, the facility’s emergency alarm blares. Red lights flash throughout the complex.
“Perimeter breach, northwest quadrant,” announces the automated system. “All security personnel report to stations.”
Marcus immediately shifts to military mode. “Stay here,” he orders, already reaching for his sidearm. “Secure your research. This could be a raid.”
