The meeting dissolved soon after.

Chairs shifted. People stood, gathered belongings, and filtered out in uneven clusters. Some spoke in low voices, others kept their heads down and moved with purpose. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The projected screen went dark behind Director Graham as the hall slowly emptied.

Don and Charles left together.

They moved through the corridors toward the helipad without breaking stride. Eyes followed them—curious, wary, speculative—but no one approached. Not even Frostbite, though Don caught her slowing near the exit, posture tight, like she might change her mind at the last second.

She didn’t.

The air on the pad was cool as the helicopter powered up, rotors spinning into motion—whup... whup... WHUP~. They boarded and took their seats, doors sliding shut with a solid thud~.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Charles exhaled lightly and leaned back. "Well," he said, "that was sudden."

Don nodded as he settled in, adjusting his seat. "Too sudden, if you ask me."

Charles chuckled once and inclined his head. "Agreed." He glanced sideways. "But then why didn’t you walk out?"

Don’s mouth curved faintly. "Probably the same reason you didn’t." He shrugged. "I don’t like missing opportunities. And beyond that..." His gaze drifted to the window as the city began to pull away beneath them. "I need a break from training. A real operation might help with that."

It wasn’t an excuse.

The routines had been grinding into him—same drills, same resets, same commands to start over. His body was improving, but his mind felt saturated.

Charles accepted that without question. "Same," he said. "There’s no better place to test what we’ve learned than an actual operation." He paused. "And given the numbers, hopefully it won’t be as bad as last time."

Don nodded once. "Let’s be ready for the worst. Hope for the best."

Charles smiled. "Right you are."

The flight passed without much else said.

By the time the helicopter touched down at Ebon Crest Residences—thud~—the day had already shifted closer to afternoon. They parted after agreeing on a time to meet the following day, each heading to their own place.

Don stepped inside his home and was greeted by order.

Winter was moving across the living room with her usual measured care, cloth in hand, every surface attended to. Amanda was sprawled on the sofa, mouth slightly open, snoring softly—snrrk~—one arm hanging off the side.

Summer and Samantha were nowhere to be seen.

Winter turned the moment Don entered, her posture straight. "Welcome back," she said. "I would ask how the meeting went, but I have already analyzed all available footage transmitted via your aviators." She paused. "Side note: I find it troublesome that covert surveillance devices are so easily carried."

Don didn’t answer.

He glanced at Amanda instead.

Winter followed his gaze immediately. "Understood," she said. "Based on analysis of Amanda’s sleep patterns, she is currently in a deep REM phase. At this stage, only the scent of well-cooked meat would be sufficient to wake her."

Don sighed quietly and kept walking toward the kitchen.

Winter fell into step beside him. "If you have reviewed the meeting," Don said, "then you and Gary are already up to speed."

"Yes," Winter replied evenly. "We are."

As he crossed into the kitchen, the augmented display in his aviators flickered to life. A small speech tab appeared in the upper left of his vision, labeled Gary. Text began to scroll.

We are, sir.

A second line followed almost immediately.

We are compiling all available data on the town involved and the so-called ’evaluations.’ Something unusual is unfolding. I believe there may be an opportunity to exploit the situation—provided we understand the variables at play.

Don leaned a hand against the counter, letting the words settle.

"I’ll leave it to you two, then," he said.

The display dimmed.

Behind him, Amanda snored on, oblivious.

———

A few minutes later, Don had changed into something looser—soft shirt, comfortable pants—and was walking down the hallway with a plate balanced in one hand. The house was quiet, broken only by the low hum of distant traffic filtering through the windows.

He stopped in front of Samantha’s office.

From behind the door came the rapid clatter of keys, then a frustrated mutter. "Oh, fooey!"

Don smiled to himself. He lifted his knuckles and knocked lightly. "Hey, Mom. Is this a bad time?"

There was a brief pause. The typing stopped. He heard hurried movement—papers shifting, a chair scraping softly—skrrt~.

"Oh—no, sweetie," Samantha called back, her tone instantly warmer. "Come in. Uh... door unlock."

A click sounded—chk~—and the door slid open.

The office was neat and modest. A wide desk faced the window, its surface mostly clear save for a monitor, a lamp, and a small framed photo turned slightly toward the chair.

Shelves lined one wall with neatly arranged folders and a few personal touches—a plant, a ceramic mug, a city skyline model. Beyond the glass, the city stretched out under the morning light.

Samantha sat at her desk, glasses perched low on her nose, a large sweater draped over her shoulders above pajama bottoms. She looked up and smiled when she saw him.

"Hi, sweetie," she said. "Back already?"

"Yep," Don replied.

He walked around the desk and stopped behind her chair, leaning down to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She laughed softly and reached up, catching his hand and holding it.

"How’s work going?" he asked.

She sighed, rubbing his hand with her thumb. "Oh, you know... boring." Her smile faltered just a little. "I wish I hadn’t agreed to go through these reports. Sunday’s the only time you’re free lately."

The words came out low, unguarded.

Don felt it—the gap their schedules had carved out between them. They were always moving, always surrounded, rarely just there together.

He rested his chin lightly against her head. "Well," he said casually, "I’ve got an operation starting Monday. But after it’s done... what do you say we take a mini-vacation? All of us. Get out of the city for a bit."

Samantha’s eyes lifted immediately, bright behind her lenses. "Oh?" she said, excitement washing over the earlier frustration. "That sounds wonderful! What did you have in mind?"

"I’m not sure yet," Don said. He hugged her a little tighter. "Somewhere quiet."

He leaned closer, voice lower. "And private."

She blushed, the color rising quick and honest. She nodded anyway. "Oh—uhm... I can ask Fabio," she said, smiling. "He always knows good places."

Don straightened and stepped back, grin easy. "Perfect. And don’t worry about the budget."

Samantha laughed, shaking her head. "Of course you’d say that."

He tapped the desk lightly and headed for the door, leaving her smiling at the screen again—this time with something to look forward to.