“Gage?”
Green Ravens
Zorion
The new Ravens facility was a tower of black glass and steel. It was four levels but looked as tall as ten.
Zorion crouched on the edge of the roof, watching the pedestrians of Washington, DC, scamper in impatient directions.
From up high, he could read faces like an open book.
With his enhanced vision, he saw the screens of people’s phones and what they were scrolling on social media. Read the lips of a couple arguing, saw a server working the small tables on a restaurant’s patio, and rolling his eyes when his customers weren’t looking.
The night air sifted through his hair beneath his hood, and it was those slow, private moments that relaxed the animal inside him.
To his left, his partner and love, Valor, stood, silent and strong, the heat from his puma a constant comfort.
Across the roof, near the helipad, the Blacks’ retrieval team was waiting for their arrival.
Cases were lined up in neat rows for their gear, which would be stripped, cleaned, sorted, logged, and then stowed until their next mission.
Their handler, Corvo, stood wide-legged with a tablet tucked under his arm, conversing with his assistant.
Ten minutes later, the jet-black chopper ghosted in from the east, the rotor pitch dropping to its reduced-noise mode as it touched down.
The stairs dropped and Ex stepped out first…then Meridian.
His knee-length trench flared as the aircraft’s downdraft caught its tail. They both had their hoods low and bled into the night the way ink bleeds into water.
Zorion couldn’t help but stare.
Meridian’s suit was a weapon disguised as a wardrobe, perfectly tailored and blacker than volcanic glass.
A dark goatee framed his full lips, and his glare could cut through steel.
Ex wore black cargo pants and his usual long tunic with the oversized hood thrown forward.
They said a few words to their team before walking toward them.
Ex frowned at where Zorion was balanced on the ledge.
“Isn’t your choice of profession dangerous enough without you purposely risking a two-hundred-foot fall?”
“Just enjoying the view,” he said.
Ex clenched his teeth.
“You know I won’t fall,” Zorion scoffed. “Calm down.”
“I don’t care. It’s reckless.”
Zorion ignored him.
“Mere, make him get down,” Ex said, folding his arms over his chest.
“Get down,” Meridian said casually as he drew a black Sobranie cigarette from a slim case and slid it between his lips.
Dammit. Zorion leapt down, scowling at Ex. “Tattletale.”
