The Wrong Kind Of Peace
The Olvafordt, Freiresval
Xu
Eight days into the Conference of Nations, Xu was still on edge.
Escorting Minister Yun was her primary responsibility, and many of the delegates had their own trusted bodyguards.
The Olvafordt was a "fordt" only in name. In truth, it was more like a grand palace, with large windows and huge, space-wasting rooms that would collapse rather than hold in a modern battle.
Given the number of hot-air balloons in use by reporters and conference attendees alike, the whole place was hardly assassin-proof.
No attack came, but what kept Xu on edge was the fact that her left arm hurt every time she entered the complex. It had been years since it had been torn off and mended, but Xu didn't think it had anything to do with her age.
Something was off, and she couldn't figure it out. She kept looking around, trying to identify the source of her worries, and arriving at nothing. No one.