The safe house was hidden deep beneath the city. It was supposed to feel secure, but the air inside was filled with tension. The team sat around a table. The only sound that broke the silence was the quiet buzz of the air recyclers.
Draven hit is fist on the table, making the others jump. BANG!
"How?" he growled. "Just... how? We spent months thinking Jonah was one of a kind. A miracle. And that man just snaps his fingers and has one of his own? How do you make a Weaver?"
"She wasn't made like Thorne's creatures," Seraph said, her voice low. She was staring at the table, replaying the fight in her mind. "There was nothing wild about her. She was clean. It felt... engineered."
Jonah said nothing. He was staring at his own hands, at his God Mark that glowed faintly under his skin. He remembered the feel of Silas's power,a perfect mirror of his own. He remembered her God Mark, the logo of the Syndicate.
The feeling of it made him deeply uncomfortable.
