The converted factory was quieter than it had been in months. The monitors still glowed, the maps still covered the walls, but the frantic energy of the last weeks had faded into something more measured—the calm after a storm that had nearly destroyed everything.
Rook stood at the window, watching the morning light spread across Brussels, the weight of the last year pressing down on him like something that had finally found its place. The old guard was defeated. The networks had survived. The alliance that had been forged in the crucible of the assault was holding—fragile, but real.
But the cost had been high. Too many losses, too many people who wouldn't be coming back. The weight of those losses pressed down on him like something that had been waiting for this exact moment.
Irina move
