The executive council chamber on the ninety-fifth floor of the International Exterminator corporations Headquarters was built like an impenetrable vault. Thick panes of polarized smart-glass spanned the eastern wall, looking out over the endless, glittering metropolis of the capital, while four-foot-thick plates of reinforced titanium and anti-mana dampening alloy sealed the room from the outside world.
Commander James Maddox sat alone on the southern side of the massive, circular obsidian conference table.
His posture was relaxed, his hands resting loosely on the table, but his sharp brown eyes were entirely stripped of their customary warmth. The boyish, cheerful smile he wore to appease junior officers and public reporters had vanished. In its place was a chilling, ancient stillness—the demeanor of a sovereign observing a room full of vipers.
