She can tell he’s not from around here. He has an accent—but it’s off, somehow. Faded, distant. Like its original language doesn’t get any use. She’s heard it before; spies who have cut their own throats before betraying their benefactors.
Aephir doesn’t get a chance to muse on it any further—a great shadow passes over the both of them, from outside the window, and the floor rumbles. She feels a small part of her being shake. And no one, she thinks, could blame her.
“Mein gott,” the man says, turning, his eyes wide as saucers beyond his tinted goggles. She doesn’t need to see past them to know that. “What is—?”
She turns and makes a line for the nearest corridor, out of line of sight, away from the huge assembly room. Her leg muscles burn, but she ignores them. There’s no chance for a rest now. A moment later, the stranger is next to her, leaning back against the hallway with his mouth half-open.
“What is that thing?” he inquires of her. “And why is it after you?”
Aephir smirks at him thinly. His question is punctuated by the crashing of the windows in the room beyond. The creature has entered the assembly.
“Stay and find out, if you want,” she murmurs, holstering her gun. She makes a break for it.
