A woman in her forties emerged from a side door, wearing official Hunter Association administrative uniform with a badge that marked her as senior staff. She was carrying something carefully in both hands, a large crystal orb about the size of a basketball that pulsed with faint internal light, like there was a heartbeat trapped inside the glass.
She set it on a pedestal in the center of the platform with practiced care, adjusting its position slightly until she was satisfied with the placement.
Behind her came a man in his fifties, salt and pepper hair, glasses perched on his nose, wearing a formal Association uniform with rank insignia that marked him as high-level administration. He had the tired look of someone who'd been working nonstop since the crisis began, bags under his eyes and tension written in the set of his shoulders.
But his bearing was authoritative, the kind of presence that came from decades of experience and the confidence that came with senior rank.
