The scout returned on Day Fifty-Two.
His name was Elias, a wiry kid who moved through the Mist like a ghost. He stumbled through the gate, dehydrated and shaking, his clothes torn and stained with grime. He looked like he'd run a marathon through hell.
Marcus hauled him to the command center, practically carrying him. I handed him a canteen of water laced with a drop of the nutrient-rich tomato juice.
"Report," I said softly, trying not to startle him.
"City is gone, Boss," he rasped, his voice cracking. "Not the buildings. The people. It's a graveyard. Silence everywhere. Except the Mall."
My stomach tightened into a cold knot. "The Westridge Mall?"
"Yeah. Lights on. Walls up. They got guards, military gear... floodlights on the roof." He lowered his voice, eyes darting around the room. "They call it the Citadel. Run by a woman. They call her the Siphon."
I didn't need to ask for a name. The bitterness in his tone told me enough.
"Claire," I murmured.
Elias nodded, shivering. "She's... different. I saw her execute a Stage Two with her bare hands. She didn't punch it. She touched it, and it just... withered. Collapsed into dust. She glowed green, Boss. Like she absorbed it right out of the thing."
Energy Siphon. Right on schedule.
"What else?"
"She's recruiting. Aggressively. Saying she's building a new government. She knows about you. Calls this place 'The Green Trap.' Says you're hoarding the cure for the Mist."
I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Propaganda. Classic Claire. She always did know how to spin a story."
"She's sending an envoy," Elias added, gripping the table. "Tomorrow. With 'terms'."
I looked at Alex. His jaw was set, his tactical mind already calculating interception vectors.
"Let them come," I said, my voice cold. "We'll give her an answer."