It was Malachi who found them first.
A dark green troop-carrying vehicle fled through a city just on the cusp of rebuilding.
They were really stepping on the gas. Almost as if they were running from something.
Malachi's avian body vanishes from the sky in a streak of lightning.
He reappears on the ground, in his himation, with his hand outstretched casually.
The vehicle slams into him at full speed due to the driver's slow reflexes.
The entire car flips over his head.
Before any property can be damaged, Malachi manipulates the shadows on the ground.
An umbral hand catches the truck as if it were a lobbed softball, holding it in place.
Malachi's face tightens. He already knows Morgan is not inside. He cannot feel him.
With a thought, the shadows cut the truck right down the middle, and it splits open.
Dozens of disoriented men in foreign uniforms were sprawled across each other.
But none of them seemed to belong to the American group belonging to Morgan.
