The embrace was a fortress. For a few seconds, with my face pressed against the rough wool of Arthur’s suit jacket, the cacophony of Julian’s televised ruin faded to a distant hum. The scent of him—clean, sharp, like cold night air—was an anchor in the storm I had unleashed. He held me not with pity, but with a profound, grounding solidarity. He didn't ask if I was okay. He knew I wasn't, not in any simple sense, and he knew I was also stronger than I had ever been.
He released me slowly, his hands resting on my shoulders, his gaze searching mine. "It's done," he said, his voice low and certain.
"It's done," I agreed, my own voice steadier than I expected.
The door to the control room was flung open, and my former second-in-command, a young man I had personally trained, stared at us wit
