We had barely managed to catch a random can-can* and barely fit into it, when everyone's communicators beeped at the same time. While I was looking for the device in my purse between napkins and old passes, all of us had already read the message.

“Red level,” Diego said curtly and ordered the driver to change route. He connected in his mind the place where we got into the car and the despotic manners of Favorra, silently turned the steering wheel and gave it a gas.

I just pressed the read button, trying to keep the communicator in sweaty palms at a speed and read the text jumping before my...