Nawat nodded curtly, a sharp sniff of approval issuing from his thin, hawkish nose. "Very good," he said. "You've divorced emotion from the concept of killing. I believe that you are ready for the task ahead."
A knock on the door presaged the arrival of Sonoma, her clothes wet with a fine mist of rain. She addressed Nawat, an edge to her voice.
"Is Lokua Sale prepared?"
Nawat nodded. "I believe so."
"Good," she snipped, wasting no time bandying about with excessive discussion. She gestured at you. "We'll be leaving with General Rivera in eight hours. From there we'll be taken into custody by the humans. Don't fuck this up; it might just be the most important part of the mission."
Before you could so much as acknowledge her words, Sonoma whirled and stormed out into the rain, no doubt to deliver similar orders to the other wolves under her command.
"She's stressed," Nawat said, and you felt a shiver between your shoulder blades. "She needs to calm herself or her worry will spread like a disease at the worst possible time."
You can't help but agree.
"As for you, Lokua Sale, you should get your rest. The trial ahead of you will be fraught with peril. Stay true—sharp as a blade and calm as the dead—and you'll have nothing to fear."
The Memory Fades