The tactical command center at the safehouse was fully operational by the time we arrived.
The doors opened with a soft _hiss_ and warm air hit my face. It smelled like coffee, ozone from the monitors, and the faint lemon cleaner they used on the tables. The overhead lights were bright, white, and buzzed faintly. After two hours of mountain dark and lantern orange, it felt like stepping into daylight.
Li was sitting at the table, a cup of untouched tea in front of her. The porcelain was cold. Condensation had beaded on the outside and made a small wet ring on the wood. She stood up the moment I walked through the door. I heard her chair scrape back.
The relief washed over her face so completely that her professional mask shattered. Her shoulders dropped. She crossed the room fast, and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face against my chest.
