The private meeting room of Alpha Squad in the central wing of Magical Intelligence was submerged in a silence charged with the electricity of tension and hostility.
The bright white lighting reflected grim faces, old scars, and pride that had been recently wounded in the alleys of the middle sector.
I stood at the end of the massive electronic table, wearing the ridiculous new recruit uniform that looked slightly oversized on my thin body.
I wasn't wearing the mask. I was just "Kyle Valtier"—the pale boy with faded crimson eyes, and a Rank G that made me, in the eyes of those seated before me, nothing more than a walking joke.
At the head of the table sat Commander "Kyrion Drathis," the living legend, rubbing his temples like someone suffering from chronic migraines.
