The engines around Don and Charles
Low but constant.
VRRMMM—~
Smoke drifted past in uneven waves, carried by the leftover wind currents that hadn't fully settled from jets flying low not too far.
Don stood beside the Land Cruiser, one hand resting briefly against the frame before dropping back to his side.
His gaze moved once more across the perimeter—
Then stopped.
Charles had already turned.
His attention fixed on one man.
He stood slightly ahead of the others. Not by much.
But enough.
The difference was clear.
His beret—Silver.
His posture—Straight.
Lean build, tall, shoulders narrow but firm. His face showed age—not worn down, but defined. Lines at the corners of his eyes, jaw set in a way that suggested long hours, longer decisions.
Mid-forties.
Maybe more.
His uniform matched the others—black base, silver-lined armor plating—but his seemed to carry weight.
Authority.
Charles stepped toward him.
"What's the situation, Mr. Olynk?"
Mr. Olynk gave a slight nod.
