The flight from Nova Aethelburg to New Haven took three hours.
Ezra chose the window seat. Below him, the landscape shifted from green forests to red-brown deserts, then to barren hills that seemed untouched by rain.
Frontier Territory.
The youngest region of Veridia. Established only fifteen years ago, in what was once considered "no man's land" — a buffer zone between the federation and several unstable states. Population: only 3.9 million — the smallest among all federal territories. But its size: 350,000 square kilometers — the largest.
That meant a population density of 11 people per square kilometer.
Sparse. Isolated. Perfect for... anything.
Ezra closed his eyes. In his mind, he organized his strategy:
Primary objective: Confirm or deny the existence of a black market for slaves.
Secondary objective: Identify regional officials involved (Territorial Administrator Razlan, Mayor Jamal, and possibly others).
Method: Pose as a journalist. Find local sources. Trust no one.
Limitations: No authority to arrest. No authority to reveal VEISD identity. If suspected, he would "disappear" — and no one would come looking.
Ezra opened his eyes.
The plane began to descend.
New Haven Airport was small — comparable to a minor airport in Western Veridia. One runway. One terminal building. Two immigration counters.
The immigration officer — a heavyset man with a thick mustache — examined Ezra's passport.
"Purpose of visit?"
"Tourism. I'm a freelance journalist. I want to write an article about Frontier Territory."
"A journalist?" The man narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a permit?"
Ezra shook his head. "I'm not an official journalist. Just... a freelance writer. Travel blogging."
The man paused. Then, "A travel blog. In Frontier Territory."
"People like reading about exotic places."
The man chuckled. "Exotic. Yes, very exotic." He stamped Ezra's passport. "Welcome to Frontier Territory, Mr... Tan. Don't get lost."
"Thank you."
Ezra picked up his backpack and stepped outside.
Hot, dry air greeted him.
"Mr. Tan! Mr. Alex Tan!"
A young man — early twenties — waved from beside an old military jeep. He wore a worn flannel shirt, torn jeans, and a cowboy hat too large for his head.
"I'm Ben! Ben Harper! Regional Tourism Department. I've been sent to pick you up."
Ezra approached him. "The Tourism Department sends someone to pick up a travel blogger?"
Ben scratched his head. "Uh... we don't get many visitors here, sir. So the boss said... treat you well. Hop in, sir. I'll take you to the hotel."
The jeep rattled as Ezra climbed in. The engine sounded like a wounded cat.
"This vehicle is... unique," Ezra said.
"She's old, sir. But loyal." Ben tapped the steering wheel. "Taken me everywhere. From New Haven to Dustfall to Blackridge. Never died on me. Yet."
Ezra smiled. "You're local, Ben?"
"Yes, sir. Born and raised here. My father was a miner, my mother sells vegetables at the market. I've been working with the Tourism Department for two years."
"Do you like it here?"
Ben hesitated. His eyes stayed on the long road ahead, surrounded by red-brown desert.
"I like it... but..."
"But?"
"Sometimes I feel like this place is... strange, sir."
Ezra looked at him. "Strange how?"
Ben shook his head. "Never mind, sir. I talk too much nonsense."
He pressed the accelerator. The jeep roared, leaving a trail of dust behind.
Imperial Frontier Hotel was the only starred hotel in New Haven. Three stars — low by Nova Aethelburg standards, but luxurious here.
Ezra's room was on the third floor, facing east. From the window, he saw rocky mountains in the distance, and below, the town of New Haven, looking like something out of a cowboy painting.
Dirt roads. Wooden shops. A few concrete buildings that looked newly built. And in the center, a tall white tower — the Territorial Administrator's Office.
Ezra opened his laptop. Connected to VEISD's secure network via military-grade encryption.
First: background check on Ben Harper.
Benjamin "Ben" Harper, 23. Born in New Haven. Father: Samuel Harper, miner (deceased 2019, mining accident). Mother: Mary Harper, vegetable seller. Education: Frontier National Secondary School (graduated 2020). Working with Regional Tourism Department since 2025. No criminal record. No suspicious affiliations.
Clean.
Ezra closed the laptop.
Too clean.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Tomorrow," he thought. "Tomorrow I begin."