The wind changed direction, lifting leaves and the scent of something new. —It wasn’t Valor or Zorion—It was the unmistakable hint of animal musk, and it grew stronger as it got closer.
Gage lowered the tip of his cane to the ground.
Something moved near his left boot. It had a tail with fur as smooth as velvet.
In this region, the most common nocturnal animals were raccoons, opossums, coyotes, skunks, deer, and foxes.
The delicate footwork, light then quick, starting and stopping, curious chittering instead of snarls, told him it was a fox.
Gage dropped to one knee.
Stayed that way until the animal decided what it thought of him. He didn’t reach out and invade. Instead, he let it be what it was…respect.
The fox whipped his tail at him, let out a cute bark, then darted away.
Gage smiled.
“Well done,” Valor said beside him.
Zorion’s quieter presence settled on his other side.
“You’ve learned to let the unknown come to you. That technique will keep you alive in the field.”
Valor put his big hand on his shoulder.
“Your vision impairment can make you small…or it can make you the fiercest one in this program. That choice is yours.”
Gage stayed in that submissive posture, allowing Valor’s intelligence to sink into his spirit.
“The blind tiger snake is one of the deadliest, predatory snakes in the world,” Valor said. “And what’s so fascinatingabout them is they’re not born blind. It’s their treacherous environment that does it to them over time.”
Gage rose smoothly, cane in his hand.
“When their sight fails, it doesn’t stop their hunting, only the way they hunt, because then they have to rely on the parts of their surroundings that never lie—vibrations, scents, sounds. And they hit their target every time they strike.”
“Am I ready now?” Gage asked.
“Only you can decide that,” Zorion said. “But stop trying to catch arrows like Meridian. You don’t need his tricks. You have your own.”
Gage’s mouth twitched. “Noted.”
“Come,” Valor said. “We’re done here.”
Back at headquarters, the moment he entered the building, his assistants were there, ready to fulfil any needs or instructions he gave.
He only had one question.
“Where’s Scar?”
White Ravens
Scar
The Ravens didn’t eat in a typical office-style cafeteria. There were no long Formica tables or harsh overhead fluorescents.
Scar sat in a private dining hall reserved for the Ravens, their handlers, and a select few of their staff allowed inside their orbit.
The room looked like a business-class airport lounge with its matte-black stone tables, recessed lighting, and muted walls.
