The moment the jet touches down in Longyearbyen, everything moves at once. Tyrone rushed home immediately, barely pausing long enough to look back. The rest are driven straight to Medusa's residence, the engines cutting through the Arctic cold as if speed alone might outrun what waits for them. Medusa is already waiting for them when they arrive.
Bernard has served her all his life. He has seen her calm in war, cold in loss, and unshaken by centuries of disaster. But the expression on her face now, soft, open, almost gentle, unsettles him more than any fury ever has. It makes his stomach tighten with dread.
She welcomes them without standing. "Sit." Despite her icy words, her demeanor suggests otherwise.
They sit before her: Bernard, Christa, Samuel, and Timothy. All of them uneasy, all of them sensing the weight in the air. "Madam," Bernard asks carefully, "what has happened?"
