Thomas caught a glimpse of himself in a small mirror—the dark coat, the cane, the calm, observant eyes. He looked less like a modern soldier and more like the pulp-fiction vigilantes he used to read about as a boy. "I only lack a proper costume."
At eight the next morning, Thomas stepped out of the building into the cool, salty air of the port town, heading toward the SA headquarters for his first official day. He adjusted his bag, ready to find a chariot, when a familiar, boisterous voice shattered the morning peace.
"Going alone without me? Come on! I specifically asked you to wait!"
Jax was sprinting down the street, his blue hair a mess, waving his arms frantically. Thomas closed his eyes for a second, a brief flash of annoyance crossing his face.
