The sound cut the world in half.
Outside became muffled - wind, distant voices, and the palace's steady heartbeat - while inside became operationally clear: straps, headsets, clipped confirmations, and the metallic odor of gear that had been cleaned too thoroughly to be comfortable.
Arion settled into the seat like he'd done it a thousand times, because he had. The harness clicked across his chest. Someone handed him a headset, and he put it on without looking, eyes already on the tablet that had been mounted between the seats.
The map filled the screen in clean layers. Roslew marked in a calm, authoritative font. The border corridor was highlighted in a band of pale red that meant 'high saturation.' Movement patterns overlaid in red pulsating markers.
