Tarian threw the doors open and marched into the makeshift lab. The cracked table bore the white-fleshed creature. He pointed at the milky corpse as he pulled the scientist closer. “What can you tell me about this thing on your slab?”

Francis stepped away from his work and glanced around the room at his colleagues. When he saw everyone else glance elsewhere, he cleared his throat. “We’ve found nothing definitive.”

Tarian’s fist clenched as he looked at each of the scientists. When his gaze fell back on Francis, he licked his lips. “You’ve had this body for a week. Keldon told you I needed answers.”

“He did,” Francis hedged.

“Then why have you been dragging your heels?” Tarian inquired as he took a step towards Francis. While Tarian loomed over the scientist, he prodded the corpse’s abdomen and his finger slid into the creature. With a shudder, he pulled it out. “Rotting or not, I need answers.”

“If our most sensitive equipment still worked, we’d have given you the intelligence already.” Francis wrung his hands, avoiding Tarian’s glare.

Tarian wiped the frustration off his face as he backed up, licking his lips. “We don’t have that luxury.”

Francis’s gaze drifted toward Tarian, the corner of his eye twitching as he tugged his collar. “Well, we triggered its flesh into changing.”

“How?”

“What we might’ve seen was nothing more than a twitch...

“My army surrendered!?” Namen slammed his fist against his throne, the wood shuddering beneath the blow, and snarled. “What did my cowardly force do after they laid down their weapons to these rebels?”

The messenger’s hands trembled behind his back as his stoic face locked onto the King’s ornate chair. He bowed, spreading his arms like a bird in flight. “I wasn’t there to witness the results, sire. I carried only the message I was dispatched with. Do you want me to discover the fallout of the surrender?”

“No, there’s nothing you can accomplish,” the King grumbled as he crumpled the missive in his fist. He flung the wadded paper at the messenger’s face. “Kameron will locate these traitors!”

The messenger ducked the parchment projectile, while an advisor sitting close to the King interlaced her fingers and cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, I believe it would be best to collect any information that Baxter has before deciding on how to deal with these deserters. Consider the cost of dispatching another battalion to a captured keep.”

The King’s eyes narrowed as his lips trembled. He lifted his fingers from the ornately inlaid armrest of his throne, glancing toward the ceiling, as if the spymaster could overhear him. “Baxter is troublesome enough during peaceful times. But when it comes to war, his riddles are unbearable.”

“Baxter is unique.” The advisor smiled and leaned toward the King. “But he’s the best spymaster we’ve ever had.”

“I’m aware, Kerri!” Namen struck his chair with both meaty fists. “But I won’t deal with him if he’s communicating with his spies. Go discover everything he’s learned about these rebels and traitors.”

Kerri rose, inclining her head, and flowed across the floor. She grabbed the messenger’s arm and guided him from the meeting hall. When the door closed, she spun the fool around and slapped his face. “Why did you deliver that message straight to Namen?”

“It’s my job. Last I checked, you’re just an advisor, with no authority.” The messenger’s gaze sharpened to a knife’s edge as his fingers explored his reddening cheek. After a moment, he shoved his hands behind his back. “How would Namen react if he learned you struck one of his messengers? I believe he’s ordered protection for those carrying his commands.”

“True,” Kerri flicked the messenger’s nose as her lips parted, displaying her canines. She thumped his chest with two fingers. “Unfortunately for you, Namen never gave you the protection of a command. Never forget who your friends are, messenger.”

Kerri spun on her heels and stormed down the hall. When she reached the nearest stairwell, she sighed and flew up the stairs.

Upon reaching the door to the roof, she flung it open and stared at the man standing on the ledge, obscured by flapping butterflies, wings etched with heavy secrets, their markings whispering burdens. One landed atop an outstretched fingertip. He pulled it to his ear. She cleared her throat and marched toward him. “Baxter, I need your counsel...

Tarian sat in solitary silence, taking in the emptiness of the meeting hall. The crack ran the entire length of the conference table, and the sneering crevasse mocked him. He gripped the hilt of his dagger with white knuckles. Tarian lifted the tip of the blade and rammed it into the pockmarked slab. He twisted the knife, enlarging the hole as he took a deep breath. As the seconds ticked away, he stabbed its point into the table several times.

Between strikes, the door swung inward. Keldon stepped inside, eyeing his friend’s assault on the ruined furniture before letting out a sigh. Tarian drove the blade into the wood again, and Keldon claimed an empty seat. He waited for his friend to stop, but the knife didn’t cease. He cleared his throat as he leaned toward his friend. “If everything were normal, I wouldn’t butt into your affairs.”

“Why are you starting the habit?” Tarian asked as he drove the dagger into the table.

Keldon lifted two fingers. “Two reasons. First, sitting here and wallowing over what’s happened for weeks isn’t healthy...

Tired and exhausted, Glen pressed the down button. He groaned when there was no immediate ding. After a lengthy shift, he wanted nothing more than to return home and collapse into bed. Glen stumbled to the folding chair propped against the wall across from the elevator. He pulled it out and sat down while he waited for the old and creaking elevator’s arrival. The elevator bell dinged after what felt like an interminable wait. He rose and repositioned the chair against the wall.

When the doors slid apart, Glen noticed a man and a woman inside. He waited for a moment, but neither moved to escape the confines, so he sauntered inside. Glen glanced at the floor buttons, realizing that only the ground floor one glowed. He smiled as he took a position near the rear of the car, to wait for the doors to close and the car to resume its trip towards the lobby.

Two floors later, the elevator stopped. When the doors slid apart, Glen glanced up, seeing a man glide into the car. He flashed the newcomer a polite smile. The stranger returned the gesture before spinning about to obscure his face. Glen shrugged, slouched to the wall, and waited for the elevator to resume its march. As the car descended, the new figure pulled something out of his jacket and flicked his wrist. The little tube in his hand extended, and his arm flicked like a whip, smashing the video camera.

After disarming the security’s eyes, he spun towards the other man, his lips curled into a snarl. “Kent, I want the key!”

“You can’t have it, Jon.” The last figure in the elevator backed into its far corner, wrapping his arms around his suitcase as if it were a diamond. “Please don’t do this.”

However, Jon ignored Kent’s plea and struck his arm with the baton. When the rod hit Kent’s shoulder, both he and the woman screamed. Jon turned towards a stunned Glen and the woman, his eyes burning with rage. “If either of you wants to walk away from this, mind your own business...

Tarian drew his finger along the table and tapped against the document. "Fitik, you know Caleb. Do you suppose he forged this to implicate you or your kin?"

The dwarf's scowl deepened as he glared at Variel. He ran his tongue across his lips before downing his mug. Fitik's fingers clenched the tankard until it cracked in his grip. He looked between them. "No. Caleb is no liar, and neither am I. That mark disgraces us both."

Variel pointed at the incriminating paper. "Then explain your signature!"

Fitik leapt to his feet and banged his fists on the table, cracking the wooden slab. Armed men rushed into the small hall, weapons bared. Tarian raised his hand, stopping them in their tracks. He kept his attention on Fitik as he addressed them. "We're fine. Return to your posts."

"Are you sure?" Keldon asked as he lowered his rifle.

"Leave us, Kel!" When the door closed, Tarian lifted the sheet of paper and rounded the cracked table. "Fitik, can you agree this raises questions?"

"It's as suspicious as Variel possessing the antidote to that creature!"

"We created the remedy after finding the beast." Variel's hand drifted to Tarian. "The tonic saved Keldon's life, not to mention yours, Fitik. Though that coincidence isn't as curious as the missive holding your signature...

While Jonathan Gates was starting his day, one of the company’s disgruntled employees stormed over to him and glared at him with furious eyes. When the man was close enough, he grabbed the oblivious worker and pulled him right into his face, a roughness seeping into his voice. “Why’d you rat me out?”

Jonathan tried to get the man off him as he replied, “Curtis, what happened to you was your own fault.”

“No, you ratted me out, Jonathan!”

“You stole from the company!” Jonathan said as he dislodged from his co-worker’s grasp. “This is all your fault.”

“You got me fired,” Curtis said as he peered through slitted eyes, “and I won’t forget it.”

Because of the commotion, a guard approached the two men, positioning himself behind Curtis, and said, “Do we have a problem, Mr. Reyes?”

“There’s no problem here. I was on my way out.” Curtis turned around with a sneer, shaking his head as if the man he’d been arguing with disgusted him. As he stomped away, Curtis turned his head and muttered loud enough for Jonathan alone to hear the threat. “You’ll pay for this, I promise you that.”

Jonathan ignored the implication of Curtis’s words, pretending they hadn’t unsettled him, and returned to his shift. The night work wasn’t glamorous, but he needed the money...

Caleb raised a fist and sank to one knee as he stared into the forest through his rifle’s sights.

Derek coughed into his clenched fist. “Nobody else can see your hand signals.”

With a glance at Derek, Caleb’s mouth went dry as he stared into the dense woods, every breath tight with unease. He raised his radio and chirped, “Comms check.”

“Here,” Zeke’s voice echoed from the radio.

“So are we,” Mika’s response came a moment later.

Derek kneeled beside Caleb, examining their trail. When he couldn’t find anything, he tapped Caleb’s shoulder. “What are you expecting to find?”

Caleb exhaled slowly as he lowered his weapon. He leaned against the tree, rubbing his nose as he continued to study the foliage. With a grunt, he spun to look at Derek as he pulled the radio to his lips. “I want everyone to fall in on me, double time.”

“Roger that,” Engrim said smoothly.

“Copy,” Zeke said.

Derek arched backward as he sighed and climbed to his feet. He brushed his palm against rough bark as he passed another tree. With a cough, Derek pulled his canteen from his belt and took a long drink. With a sigh of satisfaction, Derek wiped his mouth as he stared into the thicket. “Caleb, I know you. Before they fall in, tell me what’s got you freaking out...

As the sun crested the horizon, two black orbs snapped open and fixed on the newborn light. The eyelids fluttered as twin branches flexed and swayed to position their leaves to drink in the light. When the glow wasn’t enough, its trunk split, and one half stepped out of the ground. Freed from the soil, the being slowly strode into the patch of sunlight breaking through the forest and spread its limbs wide, drinking in dawn’s first warmth, as if greeting an old and sacred friend.

The sun revitalized the creature as a flock of birds circled above the walking tree. It lifted its boughs, and the songbirds weaved among its extremities. The treant smiled, its twigs spreading like fingers. A bird landed on the massive creature’s shoulder and tweeted. The being gently stroked the tiny bird, voice soft as moss. “How are you doing, little one?”

The creature’s wings flapped wildly as it jumped and drifted in front of the treant’s face. As it hung there, a cascade of fevered notes erupted from its beak.

“Calm down, little one.” The fevered song cut off, and the treant positioned a branch under the bird, letting it perch upon the limb. “This time, speak slowly and explain the problem from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

As the songbird detailed its message, the flock descended beside it. When it finished, the treant’s face fell, then narrowed into a snarl, roots trembling beneath the soil. The living tree stomped out of the sunlight, and the birds clung tightly to its branches. “How many beings are attacking your homes, and my brethren...