[Ava's POV]
The claustrophobia of the Den had become a tangible entity, a fifth occupant that breathed the recycled air and pressed against the polymer-sealed windows. It was saturated with the echoes of Sable’s grim history lesson, the phantom chill of the Choir’s observation, and the leaden weight of Ava’s own officially non-existent status. Lucien found her in the secondary comms room, not actively monitoring, but simply staring at a bank of screens showing the relentless, unchanging tree line, her eyes glazed, her mind clearly parsecs away—trapped in a root cellar of memory or a cold, stamped file folder marked “EXTINCT.”
“Jacket. Now.” The command was a low, graveled vibration that didn’t brook hesitation. He was already shrugging into his own riding leathers, the well-worn hide sme
