The problem with saving the world repeatedly was that eventually you ran out of convenient rift passages and had to take actual planes like a normal person.
Which meant I was currently thirty thousand feet in the air, sitting next to my husband who was reading coalition reports with disturbing focus, while a small entity with mysterious emerald horns slept on my lap and occasionally made soft sounds that might have been dreams.
Void had its eyes closed for the first time in two days, finally resting instead of watching everything with that unsettling intelligence, and I was trying very hard not to move and wake it up because sleeping Void was significantly less creepy than calculating Void.
"Cairo's situation is deteriorating faster than expected," Henrik said, not looking up from his tablet.
"Define deteriorating," I said.
"Reality distortions expanding, temperature anomalies, coalition members getting frostbite."
"Frostbite," I repeated. "In Egypt."
