Page 62 of Gift from the Tree

What. The. Fuck.

“Move on to the current report,” I order, losing my patience.

“Our tracking spells haven’t been able to locate any of the missing students. Any attempt to initiate a trace is magically blocked. Every time a signature is picked up, it leads to nothing. Then today a signature was picked up and when the recon team arrived, it was an ambush. Two members were injured, but all returned alive. No prisoners,” Lucas, E.F. ground leader at Crestwood, finally says something worth my fucking time.

I couldn’t care less about meaningless chitchat with anyone outside my Nexus even though I have to entertain it daily. I don’t need to put up with it from him when he has more important shit to discuss.

This is the second report on the Crestwood Academy attack. The first report was forming a plan of action, rounding up and healing those injured, getting statements, and the hardest part, notifying the deceased families.

“What do you mean leads to nothing?” I ask for clarification.

“Exactly that. We show up and it’s nothing. Random forest on the outskirts of Aquaria and Terian. The peak of the Arga Mountains. Almost dropped in the middle of the Darkened Sea. However possible, they’re sending us on a wild hunt,” Lucas says.

“How many at the ambush?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“So double the amount of the recon team.”

“That’s correct, sir,” Lucas confirms.

“What are the next steps on tracking another signature?”

“We’re going to be sending two teams next recon, and we’re trying to locate a tracker to go with them to see if they can pick up the signature of whoever’s interfering with the spells. This is the first time we’ve ever encountered someone or something that can interfere with someone’s natural signature. It’s experimental at this point on what’s going to work.”

“I want to know of any updates immediately. Report back in a week if not,” I declare before ending the call.

Nowhere.

We’ve gotten nowhere since last week. We don’t even know the official name of this terrorist group and they’re organizing substantially. Their attacks are swift, deadly, and unpredictable. They dress in dark cloaks and masks, so unless they’re caught, there’s no way to identify them.

Not bothering to stand from my seat, I transport to the training fields to inform Tillman there’ve been no changes since I took this briefing without him. I pop in about six feet behind where he’s standing, arms crossed, watching everyone run their drills. He’s an absolute hard-ass in his trainings and if I weren’t as dedicated to my own as I am, I’d fucking hate for him to be my instructor.

“How are they?” I ask, stepping up beside him.

“Worthless,” he says loud enough that the group in front of him can hear and they begin to kick it up a notch. I internally laugh at his bullshit but keep my face blank.

“They’ve made no headway in the Crestwood attack.”

“It’s been a week. What do you mean no headway?” He turns to look at me, disbelief written across his face.

“Nothing new. Dead ends. A recon team they sent out today when a tracking spell picked up a signal was ambushed. It was a trap. They’ve figured out how to throw the tracking spells off.” I give him the shortened version of things. Too many ears here to discuss any more details.

“Who are these fuckers?” Tillman snarls, turning back to the training field.

At the same time, both of our communicators go off and we glance at one another before pulling them out to read a message from Gaster, sent to our group line.

Willow has something she’d like to share and wants to have lunch with everyone. Corentin’s office.

“He’s going to spoil her.” I huff, pushing my communicator back into my pocket.

“He’s already working on it. Let him do as he pleases. He’s an old man,” Tillman says with a small smirk on his lips, knowing good and damn well he’d never say that to Gaster.

“If he begins to spoil her, she’ll eventually expect it from us as well,” I grumble.

“If she wants anything to do with us,” he says solemnly. After a moment of sitting in silence, he adds, “She deserves to be spoiled.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, letting out a long sigh as I step back and transport back to my office. I have work I need to finish before having lunch arranged to be brought up to my office.

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