The escape from the lab had left the group exhausted but alive, clutching the critical flash drive that Clara assured them contained the research they needed. Mallory lounged on the couch in their temporary hideout, a fortified compound run by a ragtag group of survivors. The compound had once been a high school, and remnants of its educational past were still visible—crayon drawings taped to walls, stacks of outdated textbooks, and a faint smell of chalk dust.
"Home sweet high school," Mallory muttered, tossing a pencil into the air and catching it with an exaggerated flourish.
"Please tell me you're not planning to stay lazy while we figure out what to do next," Altair said, leaning against a desk and glaring at her.
Mallory grinned. "Why would I change now? Besides, you're all so good at taking things seriously. I'd just get in the way."
