"But that's not your mission—it's mine," Ikora said. She was scanning a new holographic map of the Plaguelands. I was jealous. She even had the new aerial surveillance update. I slumped into one of her armchairs, made from genuine hide. "I get it. Us Praxics contain the spread of Darkness, and you handle… everything else. But it's not that clear-cut anymore, is it? Guardians use Darkness all the time now." Ikora hummed noncommittally. She was deep in the tank, planning the Vanguard's next op. I redoubled my efforts, leaning forward in the chair. "Look, if Maya's flooding the Plaguelands with Vex, it's not just for territory. She's not that crass. She's overplayed her hand on Kepler, and her Echo isn't enough anymore. She needs more paracausal energy. And that should interest the Praxics." "You sound like a Hunter," Ikora smirked. "Ready to charge in, Light blazing, orders be damned. But that's not the Warlock way." "It is not. But maybe it should be," I muttered. Ikora ignored the jab. "Don't worry about the Plaguelands. The Guardian will handle it." She powered down the map and gestured toward the door. My time was up. "Besides," she said, "I'm sure, whatever detail the Praxics have you on, is equally important." "They've got me babysitting the Drifter." I rolled my eyes. She chuckled. "Then you needn't worry. You'll be back under fire soon enough."