Not survival.
Desperation.
There’s a difference.
I launch myself across the reactor platform before the blast shields fully descend.
Wu turns too late.
I slam into him hard enough both of us crash across the steel flooring.
The gun skids from my hand into the steam.
Wu grabs my throat instantly.
Fast.
Strong.
Terrifyingly controlled.
Not a scientist.
Not just a strategist.
He was trained too.
“You could have been magnificent,” he snarls.
His composure finally cracking.
Good.
My vision blurs as he crushes harder against my throat.
“No attachment.”
“No fear.”
“No weakness.”
Wrong.
So completely wrong.
Because suddenly—
I hear children laughing upstairs.
Not real.
Memory.
The little girl clinging to me.
The teenagers choosing freedom.
Clay refusing to leave me behind.
