The lab was alive with tension, humming like a beast on the brink of attack. My pulse slammed against my ribs, every nerve screaming. Phase Three had survived, smarter, hungrier, and now Tyrus was moving in ways I hadn’t anticipated. My hands shook slightly as I adjusted the neural interface, forcing myself to steady. Pride and fear collided in sharp, chaotic bursts.
Vordon stood beside me, jaw tight, eyes scanning the monitors. I could feel his unease, though he tried to mask it with his usual icy calm. He didn’t need words; his presence alone was enough to tether me, to give me focus. Yet, beneath that steel exterior, I sensed frustration, jealousy at the way I had to lead the strike. He didn’t trust anyone to handle the threat but me, and it burned him.
“Are you sure it’s contained?”
