Women in the small kingdom of Aeriana are disappearing.
Iris Daniels, a budding painter in the East Territory, is trying to keep her head down. In a kingdom filled with abilities, music, and Destined love, Iris is determined to build a career out of...
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"You understand the significance of this moment, don't you, Heather?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Excellent. Then, let's watch it burn."
—Season 3, Episode 7, Sarian Drama The Dark Ability
Their contact was a small-built middle-aged woman with long gray hair. If Iris had to guess, she'd pinpoint the woman in her early sixties, though the woman's skin was tan and wrinkled with the sign of someone who lived a full life outdoors.
Wylan parked the SUV at the end of a long gravel road next to what looked to Iris like a small gray warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
Only as they parked and got out did Iris see that one wall of the building was almost entirely open. A small floatplane rested on one half of the hanger.
"Agent Garrick. Agent Thompson," the older woman greeted them immediately. She'd tucked herself just inside the hanger, a cigarette loose between two fingers.
Iris tried not to frown outwardly at the smoke wafting softly into the air. Her father used to smoke when she was little, and she'd never enjoyed the smell or the habit. It'd take a toll on her father's body, suppressing his appetite and yellowing his teeth until finally, one day, her mom convinced him to quit.
"Marisol," Wylan named the woman. He placed a whisper of a hand on the back of Iris' arm to guide her forward. "This is... Ris."
If she hadn't spent the last few days with Wylan, she might've missed the way he hesitated over her name. But running for one's life had a tendency to bring people together. Fast.
Still, it surprised her she was able to catch such a small mannerism so quick.
Marisol didn't spend any additional time on introductions. For that, Iris was grateful. Instead, the woman jerked a thumb to the side, gesturing to the empty spot in the hanger. "Ride's ready when you all are."
"Born ready," Thad chirped.
Marisol snuffed out her cigarette, then brought them around the side of the hanger. A road made of well kept concrete led from the hanger and around to an open field area.
There, around the corner, was a runway that expanded deep into the field. Nowhere near the expansiveness of a commercial runway, however, this runway was not cracking. There were no weeds building along the edges of the concrete or in the field beyond. No, this runway was in beautiful condition.
That assuaged any fears Iris had about flying out from here.
"Plane is fueled up and ready to go," Marisol told them as she approached another small plane sitting at the beginning of the runway. "Door's on the right. Make yourself at home and I'll grab the keys."
