Raven stood alone in the armory long after midnight.
Overhead fluorescents buzzed like dying wasps, throwing harsh white light and long ugly shadows across the weapon racks. Concrete floor pressed cold and unforgiving against her bare soles. Every faint seam in the slab registered under her feet like the night wasn't done chewing on her yet. Steel racks lined the walls, blades and rifles gleaming wet under the glow. The air hung thick with gun oil, old leather, and that metallic ghost of blood that never scrubbed out of the mats no matter how hard they tried. She had wandered down here without deciding to, the weight of the Council chamber still stuck to her skin like smoke that refused to burn off.
She wasn't cleaning knives tonight.
