The rain hammered against the van's roof; inside the vehicle, the silence was so thick I could barely breathe.
I was squeezed into the back seat, the scabbard of my katana resting between my knees, the tactical vest weighing heavy on my shoulders. My hands, covered in black gloves, were stained with grease and my own blood from a superficial cut I'd gotten two nights ago. I had been training and accepting minor field missions for weeks. I wanted to be ready for the confrontation with Gregory.
But nothing prepared me for the team Ezequiel sent me with today.
There were five of them. Two women and three men.
In the corridors of Goden, people spoke of them in whispers. They were known as the Old Guard, or simply The Five.
I knew the story. When my father-in-law, Kun, allowed Jun-ho to join Goden at sixteen, to them, Jun-ho was just a war-hungry youth with no self-control. He painted the walls of every enemy's house with blood.
