POV: Caius

The interrogation room sits two levels below the main compound, deliberately stripped of comfort. Concrete walls. A single metal table. One chair for the prisoner, two for us. The lights are bright and even. No shadows to hide in.

I take the seat across from the man we pulled from the perimeter the night the Summoning Mark appeared. He is older than the usual run of operatives, mid-forties, with the kind of calm that comes from long practice rather than confidence. His hands are secured to the table. He has not asked for water. He has not asked for a lawyer. He simply waits.

Ryker stands near the...