The guns shifted. Not toward him. Towards me.
For a second, my body refused to react, as if my mind needed time to accept what my eyes already understood.
Kessler did not move. He stood behind me, close enough that I could still feel the heat of him, one hand firm against my arm, steady, controlled, like nothing around us had changed.
But everything had. “Kessler,” I said. His name came out quieter than I expected. His grip tightened slightly. “Look at them,” he said. I didn’t want to, but I did.
Men lined the corridor, weapons raised, fingers hovering just before the trigger, not firing, not advancing, waiting for something that had not yet been given.
“They’re waiting,” I said. “For you,” he replied. The words settled cold in my chest. Behind us, a voice cut through the tension. “S
