The crisp mountain air of the Northwood peaks was biting. Luca Vane sat alone on a weathered stone bench overlooking the jagged drop of the eastern ridge. He was still wearing the thin, translucent knit sweater Kaelan had provided—a garment that felt like a layer of ice against his skin in the high-altitude wind.
His hand was pressed firmly against his underbelly, the heat of the unhealed wound radiating through his palm. He looked fragile, a solitary figure dwarfed by the massive pines, but beneath the ivory surface, the mind of Dahmer Lukas was a storm of cold, clinical frustration. His body felt heavy, his internal systems diverted toward a regeneration process that seemed to be stuck in a feedback loop.
Suddenly, the encrypted black smartphone in his pocket vibrated with a sharp, insistent buzz.
Luca pulled it out, his breath hitching as the screen illuminated his face in a pale, violet hue. It was a message from the contact saved as Mate.
