In the forty-eight hours that followed the failed mercenary raid, a heavy, expectant quiet settled over Isle Saint-Obsidian. Under the brisk, cool November skies, the fortress operated with the ruthless precision of a military warship. Armed security patrols on the high ramparts were doubled; additional high-frequency sonar buoys were anchored along the underwater perimeter of the caldera; and the wreckage of the mercenary dive gear was cataloged and locked in…
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