Catching Dan’s eyes widen at the show of her frustrations, Anora groaned inwardly. If he’d been nervous before, she feared her outburst would only make it worse.
	Her head had already begun to throb, deciding full-heartedly that now was a great time for a headache. Her stomach gnawed at her, demanding she feed it.
	She was in no mood to keep dealing with Dan’s near indecipherable answers. 
	She blinked, surprised, when the man instead [i]relaxed,[/i] sinking back into his seat. Even his ever-wringing hands fell still. She eyed him, trying to figure him out. Did he actually [i]prefer[/i] hostility?
	As if her action had been just the right prompt, for the first time, Dan  responded in a way she understood without having to sift through his verbal fillers. For a moment, Anora could only stare, shocked at the drastic change in his tone and speech patterns.
	She grimaced at the reminder of the spidery blouth from the hospital. And, like Darsby, Dan apparently had a heightened sense of smell. She hadn’t even touched the things, and he could smell them on her.
	Curious, she pulled the collar of her shirt up, making the chains clipped to the side jingle lightly, and sniffed at it. The only scent she picked up on was the faint hint of laundry detergent that had somehow survived this crazed day.
	Her attention snapped back to Dan as he continued. Her eyes narrowed at his practiced, mechanical tone. She met his gaze, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was almost like he’d been [i]programmed[/i], reverting to his default state with the right trigger. Before she could think much deeper on it, his words called for her full attention.
	Her violet eyes widened at the apparent strength of the being they were up against.
	“[i]Several solar systems?[/i]” she hissed, but the gentle rush of the briny wind through Ahllasta’s open window and Dan continuing drowned out her voice.
	She let out a quick, disbelieving breath at his ‘second job.’ Despite his words, there was a sickening brusqueness to it, like someone stating they’d prefer to have the whole cake, but would happily settle for just a slice. Only it was [i]people[/i] he was talking about. Billions of them. But to him, it sounded like it was nothing but business.
	Her hand fisted against the seat. Sparks of purple and gold puffed to involuntary life around her fingers for a second as angry heat rose to her cheeks at Dan’s relative indifference. It took her a moment to force herself to refocus on the man’s words.
	“I [i]what[/i] now?” Incredulous surprise pushed her anger aside for a moment. “In a [i]war?[i]” She huffed out a breath, turned around, and leaned heavily back into her seat. She looked down, gaze and jaw tense. “A war you expect to kill [i]billions of people![/i]”
	There was [i]no way[/i] she would let that happen. Somehow, there had to be a way to avoid losing over half the people of the world. To avoid a war between an intergalactic invasion party and overpowered god-level wizard. A war [i]she[/i] apparently had enough of a part in to get the attention of a bunch of psychics. Prophets. Whatever his blasted ‘Seers Guild’ was.
	She let out a dark, hysterical chortle at the thought as she reached for her open backpack at her feet. This whole thing had thrown ‘insane’ out the window long ago. She didn’t think there even was an English adjective strong enough that would work for the situation.
	She pulled out another of dwindling supply of granola bars and started to open it. She glanced out the windshield just long enough to realize they were already approaching a coastline. She paused, staring out at the approaching civilization, the wrapper of her snack partially torn.
	Until now, she hadn't even noticed the shift in lighting, the subtle—and not so subtle—indications of entering a completely different time zone. The now morning sun glittered off of windows in the distance, turning the city into a spectral to behold.
	She shook her head lightly and ripped the granola bar open. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised they had made a fifteen-hour flight in a matter of maybe half an hour, give or take.
	“So what is it you plan on doing about Pahn, Monster Mash?” she snapped, returning to the issue at hand. She tossed the wrapper into her bag. “Figure out where he is, then call in an armada? Confront him yourself?”