"Let's see what you're really after," Silas muttered.
The boy walked casually beneath a lone streetlamp, the package already behind him.
The drone dropped elevation—low enough to scan.
Just before the sensor could tag him, the kid turned.
A faint scar ran along his chin, clean and thin like it had been etched with glass.
He stared at the drone.
"Make sure you make the right play here," he said. "We'll be waiting."
The light around him pulsed, almost unnaturally bright for a second—
—and then he was gone.
Gone. No trace.
Silas snapped a frame and froze it. The drone climbed back, sweeping the street twice before returning.
"Flash the package," he said.
The screen shifted. The drone hovered above the box now, scanning it with short-wave filtered light.
A second later, the image sharpened.
Inside—paper.
A folded letter, dark red trim.
Silas magnified the text.
You are hereby invited to join the Primed Epics.
Refusal means opposition.
We can track you.
