The cabin did not stop shaking. The floorboards beneath our boots continued to hum with that low-frequency, subterranean thrum—a rhythm that felt less like an earthquake and more like a massive, dormant organ finally deciding to beat.
"We have maybe twenty minutes," Damien said.
His voice wasn't panicked. It wasn't fearful. It was the voice of a man who had been expecting this moment for a lifetime. He didn't explain how he knew; he didn't elaborate on the physics of the mountain. He simply stated it as a fact, and in the strange, charged atmosphere of the cabin, we all believed him.
Marcus stood near the shattered doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room. He didn't look at the army of mimics outside, and he didn't look at the weapons scattered on the floor. He looked at Damien. Then, h
