12-
The house hums with tension, a low, electric buzz of movement and muttered voices. Alphas from across the country are expected to begin arriving tonight. Each one has been given a room, their own space prepared down to the finest detail, no matter how many they bring with them. The halls are being dusted, the kitchens overflowing with preparations, but I tune it all out.
Because none of it matters.
Not when I can still see the images burned behind my eyes—the bodies of children, the blood staining the ground, the helpless screaming that haunts every quiet second. I pace the hallway outside the war room, heart heavy with a grief I can’t voice, a rage I can’t release.
I know the visions I see will happen.
They always do.
It’s not about if—it’s about how. The future itself is locked
