At five-thirty the next morning, just as the eastern horizon began to turn a pale shade of crimson, the hidden hangar doors behind Ashford Farm slid open with a heavy mechanical hum.
Inside the hangar sat the sleek, delta-winged stealth jet that Morgana had modified and repainted in matte obsidian black. Its twin nuclear sub-atomic engines were already warming up with a low, rhythmic purr as the onboard AI, Cortana, ran through the pre-flight diagnostics.
Raiden stood on the concrete tarmac outside the hangar, dressed in a fresh midnight-black high-collared coat that Sarah had personally tailored for him out of Bespoke Emperor Woolie fleece, paired with dark grey combat trousers, his X-Boots, and his X-Gloves.
His half-black, half-silver curls were tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, making his sharp facial features and deep violet eyes look colder and more striking than ever.
