The command center of Asylum was a pocket of focused silence. Deep beneath a city of noise. Edward placed the worn journal on the central tactical table. The crudely drawn eye on the last page seemed to stare up at them. A symbol of a mystery that felt far more dangerous than the marching armies above.
Selene leaned over the book. Her expression was uncharacteristically serious. Her usually playful, cynical demeanor was gone. Replaced by the sharp focus of a predator that has caught an unfamiliar scent. She produced a small, crystalline device. She passed it over the symbol. Capturing a perfect digital image.
"I've seen thousands of gang signs, thieves' cant, and assassin's marks," she murmured. Her fingers flew across the keys of a data-slate. "This is none of them. It's clean. Too clean."
