Dawlya’s Dragon
The air itself seemed to boom with silence, every other thread suppressing, flattening, as something vast pushed its way in like a ship parting water.
Morgan stood abruptly, chair skidding back. “Finally,” he muttered and then winced, because he didn’t mean it. He flicked his fingers and the glyphs rearranged, spanning between two points: outer-system perimeter and Ashbarrie.
The line between them sparked bright. Of course he’s heading there, Morgan thought grimly. Where else would he go when the Circle is anchored there, stitched to a dragon and an idiot sentinel who refuses to stand back.
His hand went to his comm. “Morgan to Mikan. We have a problem heading inbound.”
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