It was almost nighttime when Tatehan took the battle commander from New Helios to Waython Hollow.
The Skyblade hummed steadily as it cut through the Martian sky, the last traces of sunlight fading into deep purples and blacks on the horizon. Inside the craft, the atmosphere was quiet and tense.
It was this kind of crazy silence that came from people who knew they were transporting someone whose fate had already been decided.
The battle commander sat by the window, his wrists bound in powerful magnetic cuffs that glowed faintly.
Breaking free was not possible. The cuffs were made from reinforced alloy, designed to withstand forces that would shatter bone, and they were synced to a proximity alarm that would trigger the moment they detected tampering.
Even if the man had his full strength, even if he had not been weakened by weeks of captivity and interrogation, he would not be getting out of those restraints.
