The Final Confrontation
The bunker was cold, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay. Milo stood at the entrance, his eyes fixed on the figure at the far end of the main hall. Marcus Webb was older than he had expected—his face lined with years of hiding, his eyes sharp and calculating. He wore a dark suit, immaculate despite the surroundings, and he carried himself with an air of quiet authority. "I've been watching you for a long time," Marcus said, his voice calm. "You're remarkable, Milo. You've inherited your father's strength, his determination, his stubbornness. But you've also inherited his flaws." Milo stepped forward, his jaw tight. "I'm not my father." "No. You're something new. Something better." Marcus smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "But you're still vulnerable. You still care. That's your
- Writer
