Azriel's Point Of View
The brick wall of the abandoned warehouse pressed freezing cold against my back, cutting straight through my leather jacket, but I refused to shift even an inch. Arms crossed tight against my chest, head tilted slightly to the left, I focused entirely on the tiny, rhythmic scratching sound vibrating directly into my left eardrum.
Every word, every breath from inside that building fed straight into my consciousness. The audio quality was pristine… almost too perfect, a testament to technology that had saved my life more times than I cared to count.
God bless modern espionage and the absolute stupidity of our enemies.
Last week, my boys had caught one of their top scouts doing a terrible job of blending in near the eastern perimeter of our estate. The fool had worn a brand-new jacket in a neighborhood where everyone dressed in worn denim and faded cotton. He might as well have painted a target on his back.
