Safe.
At least for tonight.
Hannah stands near the kitchen counter wearing borrowed gray sweatpants and an oversized black hoodie someone found upstairs.
Her damp hair hangs loose around her shoulders.
No blood on her hands anymore.
Thank God.
But the shadows under her eyes?
Those are worse now.
Because memories don’t wash off in hot water.
I watch her wrap both hands around a steaming coffee mug like she’s trying to hold herself together through sheer heat alone.
And honestly?
Same.
Gabriel walks into the room from the hallway carrying a stack of old files and burner phones.
Clean clothes now.
Still looks half-dead.
The resemblance between him and Hannah keeps hitting me at weird moments.
Especially the eyes.
Same eyes.
Same stubbornness, too.
Russ leans against the far table, studying a map spread beneath warehouse lights.
Lucas and Miles sit nearby quietly cleaning weapons while Mason’s surviving team rotates watch duty downstairs.
Nobody’s relaxed.
Not even close.
Because Wu is still alive.
And as long as Director Wu breathes…none of this ends.
Gabriel drops the files onto the table.
“We’ve got maybe six hours before Sentinel starts sweeping port sectors.”
Russ nods once.
“Then we move before daylight.”
“No,” Hannah says quietly.
