The Montana bunker had become a sanctuary of peace and reflection.
Michael stood at the entrance, staring out at the snow-covered mountains. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Six months had passed since the transformation of the Void, six months since the Guardian had taken its new role. The world was healing. The chaos was subsiding. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was hope.
But Michael couldn't shake the feeling that the past was not done with him.
Clarice appeared beside him, her hand slipping into his. She was wearing a thick coat, her breath misting in the cold air. "You're doing it again," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Standing out here, staring at the mountains like you're waiting for something."
