Damian stood in the corridor outside Allaran's room and said nothing for a while. In all his years, across every crisis Argent had faced, he had always possessed at least the architecture of a response, a direction, a next move, the practiced instinct of someone who survived by thinking three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
This was different. There was no explanation that fit what the evidence showed.
Either Allaran had ceased to exist inside that room, or something had moved him in a way that left no trace and bypassed every system.
And the second option couldn't be true, there was no one with an ability like that, at least not someone that had survived the exile. It didn't make sense.
"This time…" He said quietly, the admission sounding unfamiliar coming out of him. "I truly don't have a plan." He turned and walked through the corridor toward his office, his pace even, his expression unchanged.
