Wu studies me carefully.
One final attempt.
“You still belong to Sentinel.”
The old fear flickers.
Tiny.
Weak.
Then Clay’s hand finds mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
And suddenly I understand something important.
Wu built Sentinel on fear and isolation.
But fear stops working the second people stop standing alone.
I look directly at him through the rain.
And this time when I speak—
my voice doesn’t shake.
“No.”
Silence falls across the bridge.
Even the storm feels quieter for one impossible second.
Then I say the words that finally change everything.
“You belong to the graves you made.”
41
Hannah
The SUV fishtails hard across the rain-soaked streets.
Gunfire chases us through the intersection behind us.
Glass explodes somewhere back near the bridge.
Then Mason slams the accelerator harder, and the city blurs into streaks of wet neon and storm light outside the windows.
Nobody speaks at first.
We’re all breathing too hard.
Shaking too much.
