Cecilia had been lost in thought, wondering if Mika would ever publish a book about himself—his body, his mind, his mysteries. It would probably be the best book ever written, she thought, half-smiling at the absurdity.
But her musing was cut short by the sudden sound of frantic footsteps crunching through snow, followed by desperate voices echoing across the valley.
She turned around sharply. Adrian and a group of volunteers were sprinting toward them, faces pale, eyes wide, some even crying.
"Mika!" Adrian shouted as they reached him, breathless. "Mika, we have a problem! A big problem!"
"What is it?"
Adrian pointed behind him toward the field of spears still standing in the snow.
"Some of the spears we sent down...there's been no reaction at all! You haven't called those up yet, and even when we tried pulling them ourselves—nothing. No weight, no resistance, no sign anyone's holding on!"
His voice cracked slightly.
"It's like they never touched the spears at all."
