They entered through the front doors of the police station in formation. Damon first. Blair beside him, hood up, hand in his. Beta Draven and Briggs flanking. Brennan in the rear, doing an admirable job of pretending he wasn't cataloging every ward etched into the doorframe as they passed through it.
The intake officer behind the front counter looked up from his paperwork, saw five people he had never seen before wearing clothes that did not belong to this kingdom, and made the face that intake officers make when the last hour of a shift stops being quiet.
"Can I help you?"
Beta Draven stepped forward. The step was measured, unhurried, the approach of a man who had been walking into hostile rooms since before this officer was born and had learned that the first thirty seconds determined whether you got what you wanted or got escorted out.
