Seemed like the only thing that could improve Jordan’s mood was imagining that stupid grin on Michael’s stupid face plastered onto the punching bag before her. Sweat flew as her barrage of punches and kicks pounded the bag, yet that incessant grin never faded.

Think you’re so cool? Jordan placed two quick jabs at his sternum, which would have bent him over for lack of breath, then smashed his nose in with her dominant hand. Think you can talk like that to me, a Peace Keeper?

“Don’t worry,” Michael had said on the first day, voice oozing with mockery, “I’ll get whatever you can’t handle.”

Jordan huffed as she threw more punches. That grin morphed; now pitying eyes looked down on her.

“You really think he won’t run away if you go charging in like a twister?” Michael had said after she’d first told him how they were going to storm their mark’s – a thug who loaned tremendous sums of credits to people then extorted incredible interest fees – place of work.

Jordan hunkered down, sending a barrage of quicker punches onto his cheeks.

“What?” Michael had said just an hour ago, outside the police station after dropping off the garbage they’d collected, the same unearned, out-of-touch confidence he’d carried himself with all week. “No ‘thank you for your service’ or ‘great job out there’?”

Jordan roared, pivoted on one foot, then threw her back into the next punch. Her core chilled and her skin grew brittle as her right fist glowed a brilliant orange. Jordan’s fist sailed clean through the bag. Jordan blinked, but didn’t move. It took only half a second longer for the lower portion of the punching bag to fall while the rest of it burst into flames.

Shit. Jordan backed away to find the closest fire extinguisher before the room’s sprinkler system went off, just as a small wave of water arched over her shoulders and doused the bag. Only burnt crisps and tattered remains lay on the floor or hung from the chain. Looks like I’m gonna hear it again.

“You know,” the Wave Leaper said, stepping closer, “you keep doing this kind of shit, they’ll eventually get angry.”

“I know,” Jordan mumbled. “Thanks.”

The Wave Leaper – a member of Jordan’s Peace-Keeper cohort more than ten years her senior – Emma Richter, smiled and rolled her eyes. She was a little taller than Jordan – so basically average height for a woman – with long, flowing blonde hair. Had Jordan ever wished to straighten her curly hair, it would probably be as long as Emma’s. Though it could never be as bright, like with Emma’s eyes which were bluer than the sky. She’d acted as a mentor to Jordan since Jordan had joined the cohort the previous year, even taking the ‘elder sister’ role in many cases.

Like now, where she’d stopped several floors of the Spire from going into a sudden panic by a fire alarm.

“So, what’s got you upset this time?” Emma said.

Perhaps Jordan needed a better outlet to vent her frustrations. Just how many times had Emma caught her wailing on an innocent punching bag due to various vexations during a job? And how many of those times had she needed to douse whatever flames Jordan accidentally ignited?

“Just finished a job with a Sacred Skies member,” Jordan said.

“Ah, I see,” Emma said, turning aside and throwing a small towel draped over her shoulder onto the floor. Whereas Jordan preferred to workout in her Peace-Keeper uniform, Emma only wore a sport’s bra and athletic shorts. Even for a woman in her mid thirties, she had a body most women would kill to have. She faced a different, entirely not burned punching bag. “So how did this one annoy you?”

“By existing,” Jordan said with a huff.

Emma barked a laugh. “This again? Look, guilds have value. Their members also are important. Do you know how tedious our jobs would be if guilds weren’t around?”

Jordan grumbled as Emma began striking the punching bag. Guilds mostly took care of smaller issues around the city, whereas Peace-Keeper cohorts were always sent to a location for a mission of vital importance to maintaining peace and security throughout the Republic of Talam. Guilds dealing with the little issues – like jobs to help various city or community projects or ones that aided specific individuals – allowed Peace Keepers to entirely focus on threats to national security.

“Then they should stay doing those boring jobs,” Jordan said. “We’re Peace Keepers. We’re the ones who trained in Hell for two years just to officially get into this organization. We’re the ones going all across the country taking out the bad guys and protecting the good ones. So why the hell do we need to use guildmembers for our missions sometimes?”

Emma gave Jordan a knowing look, at which Jordan bristled.

“What’s that for?” Jordan asked.

“You couldn’t do that job without the guild, eh?” Emma said.

Jordan took a quick breath. She hadn’t needed Michael’s help. Sure, she’d been going nowhere on her own, but she would have figured it out eventually. If she hadn’t been ordered to contact Sacred Skies, she never would have in the first place. According to her CO, Sergeant Major Han, Michael Jones was the best Sacred Skies member to get for this mission: according to reports, he had a breadth of contacts both within and without the city’s underworld and had been frequently requested by the police to aid them in cases.

Getting Michael as a resource hadn’t been a stated order, but Jordan had gotten used to Sergeant Major Han’s speech over the last year. Had it not been for his insistent tone, she’d have requested a new, less cocky Sacred Skies member days ago.

What made it worse was how they had gotten that scumbag loanshark through Michael’s contact information.

“He still should’ve known his place,” Jordan grumbled. “I’m the Peace Keeper. I have the authority.”

“You do,” Emma said. “As a Wielder, as a warrior, and as a person you are superior to whatever guildmember crosses your path. So why are you giving this one man so much power over you?”

“I’m not doing that!” Jordan said. “It just pisses me off that any guildmember could think they’re better than me.”

“That’s giving him power.” Emma stopped her form and turned to Jordan. “Look, if a rabbit thinks it’s stronger than a wolf, what does the wolf do?”

“I don’t know. Eat it.”

“Exactly. It doesn’t matter what the little one thinks. The larger, more powerful animal proves its authority through action. Just like Peace Keepers do. You are a Peace Keeper, aren’t you?”

Jordan thinned her lips. “Absolutely.”

“Then act like one. Chin up, shoulders broad, mind on the mission.”

Jordan nodded, throwing away all her frustration at Michael Jones. It had been juvenile, in retrospect, destroying property – which was technically funded by the governor’s office – because of a silly guildmember. From now on, she wouldn’t let the opinion of the rabbit change her mood.

At least, that was what she was telling herself.

“Yes, ma’am!” Jordan said.

Michael Jones had, blessedly, been far absent from Jordan’s mind over the next several days. Even better, he’d been physically away from her, too. Turned out what he’d said before they’d departed – that he had an important job that would keep him away from preparations for the upcoming festivities – was true.

Not like there weren’t other guildmembers from Sacred Skies who could irk her. Whenever one seemed to talk back to her, or take a second too long to follow one of her orders, Jordan always took a deep breath and remembered what Emma had told her in the Spire’s gym. It helped her calm down and, because of that, operations more or less ran smoothly from there.

Which was a blessing, as a lot could have gone wrong in the six days that had followed that conversation. The Ardent sect of the Titanian Church was celebrating a special anniversary for one of their largest festivals: Thanksgiving to the Flame-bearers. A festival to honor ancient Flame Dancers for keeping masses of people warm during the coldest winters, back in the days when centralized heat was the stuff of fiction.

It was an important holiday, sure, and as a Vulcan – a Wielder with a Gift of both Fire and Land – Jordan would receive her fair share of thanks and adoration tomorrow. That day, however, still felt a long way off; Jordan had spent the better part of the last week helping her cohort organize the arrivals of three Ardent bishops and the Cardinal of the sect himself. The religious leaders all had their own personal protection, of course, but that didn’t stop at least one member of Jordan’s cohort from watching over them at all hours of the day and night. She’d even had to bring Talam Guard members to places where they would stand watch and “guard” Glen Park – the location of the feast.

And those bastards were even worse than guildmembers. Talam Guard personnel always had this defiant sneer about them whenever she passed by. It was borne from jealousy, clearly. All Talam Guard members were non-Wielders and thus not blessed by the Titans. So there was no doubt of their inferiority to Peace Keepers and even guilds, for that matter.

Due to that, and Emma’s previous lesson, it was easy to dismiss their jeers and glares. They listened to orders without incident, which prevented any greater headaches from pounding against the front of Jordan’s skull.

A fact she was thankful for as she stood atop the Spire’s highest ring, one of many structures which circled Linick’s largest building. A landing pad lay before her and most of her cohort as they stood at attention, the governor of Neirea standing only a few feet in front of them.

Dennis McNealy wasn’t Jordan’s first choice to govern Talam’s central province. He was too… average for Jordan’s taste. Too simple and bland. Too ready to listen to all five of the major political parties – and any representatives from the dozens of smaller, more pointless parties – speak their piece before taking a firm stance on anything. One look at the guy – with his semi-tanned skin, dull brown eyes, and salt-and-pepper colored hair – was all Jordan had needed to see to know that he didn’t have what Jordan wanted in a leader: passion to bring the province forward, with strength and stability to keep them from falling back.

Be that as it may, her job was to keep this man alive even at the cost of her own. As a Peace Keeper, Jordan would see this man to the end of his term, no matter what happened to her.

A hum sounded, louder than the gentle winter wind, as a black speck appeared in the pale blue sky. Jordan, already at attention, somehow stiffened even more. The hum expanded into a roar as that speck drew nearer, growing larger alongside the noise. It took only seconds for the jet to hover over the landing pad, its propulsion units angled downward to let it hang in the air. It took only a few seconds more for it to touch down.

The aircraft was large enough to fit forty, maybe fifty people in its wide fuselage. Its wings slanted out from the front, giving the vehicle the look of a primitive spear tip. An oddly high-tech spear tip.

The aircraft hissed and, from its side, a small opening lowered to reveal a staircase. From within two Peace Keepers exited, then stood on either side of the stairs. Then, President Ella Weaver left from the sleek, black aircraft.

Taller than any woman Jordan had ever known – and even most men – it was easy for President Weaver to dominate any room she entered. Or, in this case, any air pad. She looked around for a moment, her chin upturned in its usual way, likely a habit from a lifetime of refusing to crane her neck downward to meet her political opponents’ eyes, then descended. Her thick, dark brown curly hair was well-kept and her face was controlled: her lips were stern, her cheeks hard, and the few wrinkles conveyed many years of service and leadership to the world.

Two more Peace Keepers exited the vehicle behind her. It was with an effort she kept her face relaxed as she watched them. That was where she wanted to be. Keeping a governor was important, of course, but there was no higher honor than defending the very ruler of the Republic of Talam herself!

Behind the two Peace Keepers came another woman. She had fiery orange hair pulled back into a sturdy bun: not loose enough to allow strands to dangle at the side, but not so tight that it clearly pulled at her skin. Her brilliant blue eyes were narrowed and calculating, her pale skin almost glowing in the sun. Whereas President Weaver wore a suit jacket and skirt, this woman’s clothing was more practical for movement: a solid white jacket and loose pants with many pockets.

It was difficult to tell this woman’s age, as her bearing suggested experience and expertise of someone President Weaver’s age – mid-fifties – but there wasn’t a line on her face. The contrast between the more youthful features and the obvious life-experience gave her an almost immortal feel to this woman. That no matter how long Talam lasted, she would oversee it.

It could only be Dr. Aisling Walsh, lead researcher in Talam’s government for scientific developments and the president’s advisor in such matters. She was said to go many places with President Weaver, but in official capacities. President Weaver was only in Linick to celebrate the feast tomorrow. To Jordan’s knowledge, Dr. Walsh had never even been seen at large events. So what was she doing here?

“Greetings, Madam President,” Governor McNealy said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“My thanks, Governor,” President Weaver said, accepting his head yet staring down her nose at him. Her voice wasn’t low, yet when she spoke it felt even the wind lessened to listen. “Why how I have missed this beautiful city. I hope all is well, outside of those recent, unfortunate developments nearby.”

Governor McNealy gave her a smile that looked so genuine it might not have been forced. Those “developments” as the president put it were the mass number of kidnappings that had been occurring over the last week. Jordan had seen news of it, but had been ordered to work on the festival, so that was what she had done. The police could handle that, anyway.

If President Weaver, however, was possibly nervous about her well-being because of those kidnappings….

“Why yes, everything is running smoothly,” Governor McNealy said. “Come, let’s get inside. I’m afraid the chill has grown quite crisp. Let’s talk in my office and we can catch up.”

“That would be lovely,” President Weaver said.

Her face betrayed no anxieties as she and Dr. Walsh followed the governor – all the Peace Keepers fanning out to guard their respective charges – into the Spire. But why would it? She was a politician who needed to have the greatest control over her emotions.

What President Weaver said to the governor had to mean something, though. If those kidnappings were worrying her, then someone had to do something about it, to put her mind at ease.

“Permission denied,” Sergeant Major Han, Jordan’s CO, said. He had neat, sleek black hair with the smallest touch of grey on the sides, despite how few wrinkles etched on his brow and jowl, with dark eyes so intense it made Jordan wonder if he’d ever smiled in his life. “We’re stretched thin as it is. We can look into the missing people after the festival concludes tomorrow.”

“Sir,” Jordan said, arms straight and at her side in attention. “Permission to at least clarify my case.”

Sergeant Major Han’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps she shouldn’t have cornered him the moment they were given their updated assignments, but it had been the only time she’d had a chance to talk with him. Sergeant Major Han had been separated from the cohort during the president’s arrival, as he was scoping out nearby areas to ensure no assassins were lying in wait for her. Then, only he and President Weaver’s head of security Peace Keeper were allowed inside the governor’s office for the whole hour the political leaders were talking.

“Granted,” Sergeant Major Han said after a moment. “But make it brief.”

“Sir!” Jordan said, trying not to smile. Sergeant Major Han had never been moved by emotional appeals and overall didn’t seem to like the very concept of emotions. Showing her relief would not help her case. “I understand the importance of our mission, as well as the gravity of what would happen were we to fail in protecting every individual under our purview. I am not asking to be let off the assignment. Only asking that, in addition to my current duties, if I may also look into the missing people.”

“Permission denied.” Sergeant Major Han held up a hand to forestall any rebuke Jordan might give. “And permission denied for requesting more clarification. I do not need it. Do you think I do not understand how often we have had to juggle multiple assignments at once? Who do you think read your files and picked you, out of over fifty applicants, to fill in our ranks in my cohort?”

“You, sir.”

“I understand what you’re capable of, Second Sergeant Moore, and what you’ve done in your two years outside of training that has risen you through the ranks faster than nearly anyone else in our history. But when you singlehandedly quashed an insurrection in Mesr, while at the same time bringing to light a massive voter fraud in the province and giving warning to a Wall Child’s attack long before it reached the nearest settlement, why were you able to accomplish all of those incredible feats?”

“Because I was ordered to.”

“Precicely. You were given orders and you followed them. To the letter. Without fail. You didn’t leave out any details despite how many tasks you had at hand, nor did you overstep your bounds. You listened to exactly what you were given, trusting your superiors knew what was required from the situation.

“So tell me, Second Sergeant Moore, what exactly was the reason you were promoted so quickly to the middle ranks of us warriors?”

Jordan pursed her lips. “Because I carried out my orders, no matter how daunting.”

“As the perfect Peace Keeper would, and will continue to do.”

Sergeant Major Han didn’t need to say any more. He’d already denied her, twice. Letting her speak at all had been a mercy she hadn’t deserved. He was right, however. If she wanted to be recognized by the president’s Peace-Keeper cohort, then she would do her job.

All while following her orders without question.

“So if you see something that does not pertain to your orders?” Sergeant Major Han said.

“Ignore it and focus on my mission,” Jordan said.

Why had a morsel of doubt fluttered through her chest as she said it?

“Very good, Second Sergeant,” Sergeant Major Han said. “Now back to your assignment.”

Of all the days for this to happen.

Jordan’s pace was quick as she raced to her destination: Trulson Tech Tower. In normal circumstances, were a Peace Keeper rushing down a sidewalk, dozens to hundreds of civilians would hurriedly step aside, often bowing or at least profusely asking forgiveness for being in her way. Today, however, barely a handful of people walked along the street. Those who did took hurried glances behind them.

Which was probably a good thing, as Jordan didn’t need to hide her annoyance.

And how does someone even lose something so important?

There were sensors laid in strategic points all along Glen Park, where the official festival for today’s Thanksgiving to the Flame-bearers feast was taking place. They were designed to detect firearms and alert the Peace Keepers and police if an unmarked weapon crossed the boundary. It wasn’t their only technological safety measure, but it was good at tagging whatever the other sensors couldn’t pick up.

So of course, the central mechanism which discovered the alerts, and thus warned the proper authorities of the firearm, was missing.

And now I have to pick up a new one!

Jordan had thought she was finished with this “newbie does the most tedious jobs” bullshit, but she guessed she’d always be the newest member until one of her cohort transferred out.

Though, if all went according to plan, that transfer would be hers to President Weaver’s personal unit.

Head down. Follow orders. Be a Peace Keeper.

Jordan walked up the steps which led to the foot of Trulson Tech Tower, leaving the empty sidewalk and mostly barren street behind. Commuters by foot being wary was one thing, as it appeared all the kidnappings had been to pedestrians, but the lack of cars was strange. The only vehicle that passed her on the street had been a service vehicle, which turned into a side alley.

Even for a festival day, the city was oddly quiet. Disturbingly tense.

Focus, Jordan!

She entered through the glass doors and marched into the expansive atrium.

“Second Lieutenant Moore,” she said, gesturing to her rank insignia. “My CO called earlier about a replacement for an important piece of equipment.”

“One moment,” the receptionist said. She made a quick call, then buzzed Jordan into the back portion of the room where only employees and important guests could enter. “Miss Sophie Trulson has the device in her room.”

“Thanks,” Jordan said, heading toward the elevator. She didn’t need the woman to explain: she’d seen the daughter of Trulson Tech’s CEO’s room before.

The lift up to the young woman’s room was oddly quick. Jordan didn’t make a habit of coming to Trulson Tech Tower, but the odd job had brought her here. Strangely, most of those jobs had forced her to interact with Sophie Trulson, the heiress to the whole company.

The elevator doors opened to the third highest floor and half a minute’s walk brought her to Sophie Trulson’s office. Another receptionist buzzed Jordan in. She entered without a word. It wasn’t like Sophie Trulson would respond to simple pleasantries anyway.

The heiress sat upright at her desk, back to the floor-to-ceiling windows which displayed the Linick skyline. The Spire, despite being more than a mile away, dominated the expanse, dwarfing even the greatest skyscrapers both near and far, including this tower. Sophie Trulson looked as amused at the grand sight as she did her computer’s screen.

Yet another thing Jordan would never understand about the heiress. No matter how many times Jordan saw the computer, she’d never not find it strange. It was like a tablet, but larger and stuck in one location. She’d seen a few from other wealthy businesspeople, not to mention the rooms filled with the weird devices at several Peace-Keeper HQs. Be that as it may, it felt so wrong, so alien, to only work and access the internet while stuck in a single location.

Without a word, without even a glance at Jordan, Sophie typed at a physical keyboard with one hand and slid a black metal box atop her desk toward the far edge, closer to Jordan. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured and colored blue, matching perfectly with her bright eyes and the makeup surrounding them.

“Will I need to sync it with the sensors?” Jordan asked, stepping forward and grabbing the box.

Sophie Trulson paused for a moment, eyelids narrowing until they were half open, then she shook her head. Afterwards, she brought her right hand back to the keyboard and began clacking away.

Had Jordan not been looking for it, she might have missed the response.

“Thanks,” Jordan said, turning to leave. “Nice chat as always.”

The heiress didn’t respond as Jordan left. Frustration bubbled beneath the surface. Jordan was a Peace Keeper! She deserved the proper deference from civilians.

Though, Sophie Trulson wasn’t exactly a civilian. Jordan had never seen the young woman’s Mark, but Sophie Trulson was a registered Wind Weaver, thus making her a Wielder and on par with Jordan’s status. In theory. The theory also applied to guildmembers, but Jordan didn’t want to go through that rant again, even internally.

But damn if Jordan didn’t respect the young woman’s efficiency. In the several times she’d seen Sophie Trulson, the heiress may have spared a handful of words, and only when absolutely necessary.

Jordan hurried out of the tower as quickly as her legs – and the elevator – would allow her. She turned right, ready to return to the Spire, pick up the rest of what she needed, then head to Glen Park for the festival’s beginning, when a shriek broke the silence.

As soon as it started, it stopped. Jordan’s eyes widened and her heartbeat pulsed. The noise sounded like it came from a few blocks to her right. She took off, staring down each alley as she sprinted past. No one was on the street, not even a car, not until she reached a smaller alley three blocks down. A service vehicle was driving down the alley, then turned right.

Away from the Spire.

Sophie turned back, then her foot froze in midair.

So if you see something that does not pertain to your orders?

Jordan’s mouth twitched. Sergeant Major Han’s words from earlier were as loud as if he’d said it in her ear.

“Ignore it and focus on my mission,” Jordan repeated, voice barely above a breath.

Jordan turned back on her heel and faced the Spire, then walked forward. She had her orders. She had to follow them to the letter.

“And what’s gotten into you?” Emma said, glowering against the sudden cold wind that whipped them.

She reflexively moved her hand around her ear, as if to fix her hair, but the blonde locks were pulled into a tight bun today so nothing was out of place, even in the sudden wind. Completely unlike Jordan’s mind at the moment.

“Nothing,” Jordan said. “I’m fine.”

The crowd of people were as calm as a group of thousands could be. Movements were both cramped and erratic as civilians enjoyed the many stalls filled with games and food. Others danced and sung with the free concert down the way, which played the usual style of music Ardents enjoyed: fast-paced rhythms to get the heart pumping and melodic sways to provide partners – and quite often strangers – an excuse to get quite close to one another.

Jordan couldn’t see all the festivities in the area – Glen Park stretched on for miles and celebrators filled almost every inch of it – but she could oversee enough that, were an incident to occur, she could easily put an end to it and protect the citizens.

Scratch that, she could protect the old Ardent bishop who was wandering the stalls, providing blessings and also enjoying the amenities.

“You need to work on your blank face,” Emma said. “You’re shit when it comes to masking your emotions.”

Jordan huffed. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway. So long as I do my job, right?”

“Exactly.” Emma shuffled a little closer, eyes narrowing as if she’d caught a suspicious individual nearing the bishop. “But what’s up?”

“You ever feel like our orders go against what’s morally right?”

“Depends on what you define as ‘moral.’”

“I’m serious, Emma.”

“So am I, Jordan. What is moral?”

“Doing the right thing?”

“What is the right thing? For us, specifically?”

“To keep the peace.”

“Exactly. And everything you do should be toward that end.”

“And letting people get kidnapped means we’re keeping the peace?”

Emma eyed her, but Jordan didn’t have the strength to meet the gaze. She didn’t want Emma to see what could be considered weakness, a wavering resolve, in her.

“I got promoted to this unit seven years ago,” Emma said, her sights returning to the bishop. “After an op in Pialagas.”

Jordan’s mouth thinned, still scanning the crowd, but her focus was on Emma’s words. Very rarely did the older Peace Keeper speak of her last cohort.

“I was still a sergeant, but without my cohort. An emergency happened on one of the smaller islands several miles off the coast where I was stationed. I was alone, but I was the closest Peace Keeper there. I flew out and dropped in with orders to infiltrate a lab, take a device, and kill any who stood in my way.

“While I was flying over the island, I saw the volcano erupting. It wasn’t supposed to be active, but lava was pouring out that mountain like blood from a puncture wound. On the far side of the island was the lab I was going to infiltrate. On the near side was a single, simple fishing village. The locals were digging ditches, completely ignoring the boats they could have used to escape. They wanted to save their home. A part of me wanted to join them, aid in the effort or at least convince those stubborn bastards to flee.

“But my orders were absolute. Infiltrate the lab. Leave no time for distractions.”

Now Jordan stole a glance. Emma’s face wasn’t grave, nor was it stoic. Instead, there was a hollowness riddled in those blue eyes of hers.

“I flew over the village, dropped onto the lab, and completed my mission,” Emma said. “Nearly died doing so. And by the time I got the device, the people holding it were boarding a boat and about to flee. But I stopped them. As I left with the device, the volcano calmed down.”

“So the village was safe?” Jordan asked. “You followed orders and things turned out well in the end.”

Emma’s jaw clenched. “The village burned to ashes. The lava moved faster than the villagers were expecting. Seemed that by the time they decided to flee, the lava had pooled over the ditches and was already burning their homes. I saw very few boats sailing from the island as I flew past. I later learned more than ninety percent of the people died in the smoke and fire. The lava melted their corpses and left nothing for their surviving loved ones to grieve over.”

Jordan took a breath. She’d witnessed similar scenes across Talam in her time with her old cohort. Oftentimes, even successful ops left a bitter taste in her mouth and a small hole in her gut.

“That device, from what I understand, created eruptions,” Emma said. “It also led the corp to several other labs that were making and testing the same device. They were placed all over the province. Imagine, those devices going off all over Pialagas. The province would be mostly covered in a new layer of lava.

“But I stopped that from happening. Without that device, we couldn’t have found the others. And I had already nearly let it get out of my grasp even on task. If I had helped the villagers, those bastard terrorists would have fled with it. I allowed a few hundred to die so millions could be saved.”

“But you were alone,” Jordan said. “You couldn’t do all of that by yourself. If you’d had your cohort, some of them could have helped the village.”

“And it’s entirely possible HQ would’ve allowed that,” Emma said. “Or at least not forbidden it. But I was alone and HQ knew more than I did. I trusted them and was instrumental in saving a whole province. So trust them. If they are allowing a few people to be kidnapped, then it’s because they have a plan that will be better for keeping the peace. So ignore whatever doubts you have. HQ has proven, time and again, that they know what they’re doing.”

Jordan’s lips smirked on their own accord. Emma was right, as always. It was just nice to hear it, so the pressure squeezing her chest would loosen and her guilt would melt away.

“Good point,” Jordan said. “I shouldn’t doubt them.”

Hours passed without anything of note at the festival.

Sure, the celebration itself was grand. Lights blazed into the sky from games and concerts throughout the park. Fireworks peppered the afternoon air, adding explosions of color in the dull blue sky.

Hours went by while the populace enjoyed the festival, then all turned quiet as the time of the feast neared. The Ardent Cardinal – despite his great age – provided a stirring sermon, evoking the passions of the attendees in the way all Ardent homilies aimed to do. Jordan even found herself getting wrapped up in the movement, the passion, the life. A part of her wanted to follow the crowd of thousands filling the park before the main stage, jumping and cheering in response to the cardinal’s message.

Two major reasons stopped her. The first was that her charge, one of the three Ardent Bishops, was aiding the cardinal, and she stood just off stage. President Weaver sat upon the side of the stage with all the special guests, facing the center, nodding as the cardinal continued his message. It would be undue for a Peace Keeper to lose herself to the throes of passion and abandon all form of propriety under normal circumstances. Under the gaze of the president, that was practically a death sentence to her career.

The second reason, however, was that even after everything she’d heard from her superiors to her cohort, the sound of that shriek played on loop in the back of her mind. No matter how often she reminded herself that her allies were right, that HQ knew what they were doing, that this was all for the best outcome, she couldn’t rid herself of that nagging hollowness deep in her marrow.

“Standby,” Sergeant Major Han’s voice spoke into her earpiece. Jordan’s eyes narrowed as her sight zipped over the stage and the portions of the crowd she could see. The sergeant major wouldn’t speak to them if it weren’t serious. “There’s trouble in the administrative district. The danger is potentially catastrophic and could move closer. From what I’m told, thousands of people could die over there. On my word, we remove the VIPs to their designated safe place.”

“Sir,” Jordan said alongside the rest of her cohort.

Was this it? Was this her moment to shine in front of President Weaver? It was only fair if it was. She’d done as she’d been told, patiently waiting and following orders. Now trouble was probably on its way. In what form it took, Jordan had no idea. Which, in retrospect, didn’t make much sense. In her years as a Peace Keeper, they’d always been made aware what dangerous elements they would deal with, be it terrorists or even errant Wall Titans or their Children.

So why was Sergeant Major Han being so vague now?

The sermon eventually ended and… nothing. No word from Sergeant Major Han, even as President Weaver took center stage to say a few words and begin the feast.

Jordan’s arm buzzed and she checked her screen. Little notifications were displaying how a portion of the administrative district was without power – which Jordan had seen a while back but had ignored, as it didn’t pertain to her – and that a small portion of the street near a company’s skyscraper caved in a bit and appeared ready to collapse.

“Hold,” Sergeant Major Han’s voice said again, a slight strain in his voice.

That alone gave Jordan pause. They’d handled dangerous cartel leaders, mafia groups, and terrorists before and in the whole year Jordan had been with them, she’d never heard the sergeant major’s voice so much as quiver.

Whatever had caused that near-collapse must have been terrifying.

Which meant, if it did make its way to Glen Park, then this was definitely Jordan’s moment.

Jordan’s muscles grew tenser with each crawling minute that passed. After nearly a dozen of them, with the feast already beginning and more music filling the air again, Jordan’s comms finally came back on.

“Situation’s under control,” Sergeant Major Han said. “Everything’s alright, mostly.”

Jordan blinked, her mouth parting a sliver. Her body was still tense as the sergeant major began speaking again, calling two of Jordan’s cohort to come with him to investigate the tunnels beneath the dipped road, while spreading their responsibilities to the four others who would remain at the festival, protecting the bishops and the governor.

Which included Jordan.

“Sir,” Jordan said in time with her cohort.

Then she stood and watched as some of the most important people in the world ate their feast, smiles ranging from polite to radiant brightening their features. They didn’t appear any the wiser that a threat which concerned Sergeant Major Han could have reached them. They had no idea of the heroics Jordan could have done.

All because somehow the issue which could have ended the lives of thousands of people suddenly vanished.

Someone must have solved it. Jordan clenched her fist. Some of Wielder, most likely. All while I was here, being a good Peace Keeper.

As she watched those who laughed and enjoyed their meal, the hollowness only settled deeper into her bones.