The base hadn't even had time to die before another life was grafted onto it.
Only a few days had passed since Pilaf's troops had been evacuated, dislodged, exterminated—the word didn't matter. The place had changed hands, but not its scent. The dried blood had been scrubbed away, not forgotten. The walls still sweat the old hierarchy, the old orders, the screams of before.
But Martissant's men moved through it with confidence, as if it were conquered territory. It was no longer an enemy base. It was their base.
Maggie, however, didn't feel any safer.
She noted silently how swiftly the elite soldiers had reclaimed the place, organized the barracks, sealed the weapon caches, locked down the communication networks. Not even a speck of dust escaped them.
And not a single emotion, either.
