Draven.
The morning was still young, but it already felt heavy.
I sat behind my desk, sleeves rolled to the forearms, pen set down on the leather blotter, my thoughts caught between unfinished paperwork and the quiet burn in my chest that had stayed since dawn.
Then the landline rang.
Its shrillness cut through the stillness of my office, sharp as a blade.
I picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.
"Alpha Draven speaking."
"Alpha," came the voice, smooth but carrying that edge of careful diplomacy. "Good morning. It's Mayor Brackham."
I leaned back slightly in my chair, fingers tapping once on the desk.
"Brackham," I returned. "Let's hope you're calling with good news."
A moment of silence answered me.
The kind of silence that wasn't empty, but weighed down by excuses waiting to spill.
"Unfortunately," Brackham began, voice dropping, "my team… could not find the evidence to prove that what is killing my people is the same thing killing yours."
