The safe house was silent except for the occasional crackle of static from the radio on the table.
Catherine leaned against the wall, staring out the small window at the dense forest beyond. The morning light filtered through the trees, but it offered no comfort.
The team was battered, physically and emotionally, and the tension in the room was thick.
Emily sat cross-legged on the floor, disassembling her rifle with practiced precision. Her hands moved methodically,
but her eyes betrayed the storm of emotions swirling within. "We were outmaneuvered," she said, breaking the silence. "Rook played us like pawns, and now we're left scrambling."
Damien, seated on a worn couch, clenched his fists. "This isn't over. We've faced worse and come out on top. Rook's games won't stop us."
Jean-Luc entered the room, holding a steaming mug of coffee. "I admire your optimism, but we need to be realistic.
