The meeting tent wasn't big. Just a thick, reinforced canvas pitched near the back of the medical zone. Nothing flashy. No signs. No outside guards.
But everyone inside knew what it was for.
Six people sat around a wide table—old metal, dented at the corners, with scuff marks from years of folding and refolding.
The air inside smelled like coffee that had been reheated one too many times and papers that had been held too tightly.
Vice Director Hannick stood near the far end, hands behind his back. Not speaking. Just listening.
The others did the talking.
"We lost control of two entire zones," one of the exam planners said, voice tense. "That wasn't a regular migration pattern. Something triggered them. Something big."
"The mana spikes weren't random," another added, flipping through a thin stack of heat maps. "They hit at the exact moment the outer cult locations went dark. That's not a coincidence."
