Interlude 1

On-screen, three-storied buildings, each graced with full-length-balconies and ornate wrought-iron railing, lined the narrow, brick street. On the right, a series of potted ferns set the atmosphere, while neon signs advertising alcohol choices ruled the left. At the end of the street lay a T-junction with a lighthouse rising above a single-story building. Its neon — a simple line-drawing of the lighthouse surrounding by lettering — proclaimed it Safe Harbor, and its velvet ropes contained a queue of men and women in skimpy clubwear.

Two burly men in tight black shirts emblazoned with small Safe Harbor logos on the left breast guarded the entrance. Their attention pulled away from the crowd as a thinner man in the same uniform ran from the sidestreet.

Static cut the image, rolling up in waves.

When it cleared, the queue had vanished, and the three Safe Harbor bouncers stood in the street, facing a white-blond figure clad in a deep blue hoodie and faded blue jeans who walked toward them with a smooth stride.

"Pause it there."

The image froze, and static edged the scene.

"You're sure that's Jack?" the Ambassador asked.

"Yes. There's a better angle later — even with the lousy cameras the locals had set up, his face is clear."

"Continue."

Jack resumed walking. As he passed each fern, it withered, shriveling in on itself. The bouncer on the left took a half-step back, but the thinner one turned his head, and the man resumed his position.

"And there's no audio?"

"No, Ambassador."

The Ambassador hissed in frustration as Jack's destruction spread over the street.

Five paces in front of the bouncers, the thinner one raised his hand, and Jack drew to a halt. Static clouded the image again, and when it cleared, the scene was closer and in sharper focus. A sneer cut Jack's profile. The bouncer on the right cracked his knuckles and the one on the left drew himself up, trying to appear bigger. A droplet of sweat fell from the thin one's brow, hardening before it hit the ground and shattered. Despite this, he smiled thinly and spoke.

Jack shook his head and replied.

In response, the bouncer on the right stomped forward with a hand raised. The sneer dropped from Jack's face as if it hadn't ever been, and a broad grin took its place. Silver-shot blue eyes danced with glee and a spike of glittering ice shot up and impaled the bouncer. Blood splattered, and the man hung, writhing and clutching his gut.

Shock widened the other bouncers' eyes. The thin one spoke again, with a hand held as if to pacify, while the other spun and took three steps backward before a swirl of snow whisked around him. He froze in place, staring over his shoulder at Jack, whose smile was, if anything, wider than before.

Jack's head tipped to the side, and his lips twisted into a too-familiar question.

The thin man shook his head.

The white-blond head fell forward as if bowed by a weight beyond bearing. Then it rose, lips spread wide in a delighted smile.

Jack laughed.

Summoned by its master, icy winter fell upon the balmy subtropic street. Winds tore down the street, shredding the frost-ravaged plants. Pellets of snow smacked the brick. Ice rose in a wave around humanoid ice elemental. With a savage glance straight at the camera, Jack threw a ball of sleet at the lens, which cracked.

The image died in static once more and the screen went dark.

"He's still looking for her?" the Ambassador asked. "After all this?"

"It seems so, Ambassador."

"He's clearly violated his parole. With the year of trial starting on my next birthday, I cannot afford loose ends."

Silence filled the room, broken only by the light tapping of fingernails on hardwood.

"Fetch him, my forerunner. Alive if possible, but do not risk yourself."

"Of course."

The room's door opened a crack, and a black canine slipped through, giving a quick shake to settle its fur.