Eve
A week to the Bloodmoon, and everyone had gathered after our first physical meeting in weeks. We were ahead of schedule—but that was only for Obsidian and for the refugees already adapting to the new territory. With every contingency planned and every dome in place, there was only one variable left to test.
Ellen.
The observation deck was crowded. Council members, scientists, military commanders—all of them pressed against the reinforced glass, watching the containment chamber below. I stood at the front, Hades's hand steady on my shoulder, anchoring me.
I had disallowed Ellen from doing this weeks earlier because of her health. She'd been placed on hours of bed rest, light exercise, supplements, and IV drips just to get her strong again. The doctors had worked miracles. Her vitals were the best they'd ever been. She was looking like she was in her early thirties now instead of her late forties—color in her cheeks, steadiness in her movements.
