The clock struck two in the morning, yet the operations hub remained lit. Most of Damien's men had retired for the night, retreating to other rooms for rest or to rotate shifts. The earlier energy in the room, driven by Amara's memories and sharp detail, had waned into a quiet stillness.
Damien stood by the large window, looking out at the sleeping city, the weight of the world seemingly anchored on his shoulders. Amara sat at the same table, alone now, her fingers tracing the rim of a coffee mug long gone cold. The last two hours had drained her, not just mentally but emotionally. And yet, she didn't want to leave.
She knew Damien hadn’t slept. His posture was tense, his gaze distant.
"You should rest," she finally said softly, her voice carrying across the room.
Damien turned, his fa
