The warehouse had become a mausoleum of murmured grievances and the hum of impending betrayal. The main bay now housed two monstrous prisoners: the sedated Dominator in a triple-shielded containment cylinder, and the palpable, seething resentment of the fractured coalition.
The funerals were brief, brutal affairs. The Ironblood burned their dead on pyres of scrap metal, Magnus reciting not eulogies, but the names of the fallen like a vow of vengeance. The Free Folk simply vanished their dead into the earth, Seth's face a closed door. There were no shared ceremonies. The blood had soaked into separate grounds.
Days later, in the deepest part of the night, in a sub-basement air duct the Free Folk had secretly cleared, Seth met with Ken, the blind perception-user from the Ironblood. The meeting was a risk that stank of desperation.
