The converted factory had become something more than a command center. It had become a symbol—a testament to what could be built when people stopped fighting each other and started fighting for something larger than themselves. Rook walked through the operations floor, his eyes scanning the faces of the operatives who'd come to trust him, the weight of the last seven years pressing down on him like something that had finally found its place.
The war was over. The old systems were gone. The new system was operational, growing, making a difference. But the scars remained—visible in the eyes of the people who'd survived, in the memories of those who hadn't.
Sergei fell into step beside him, his voice low and careful. "The memorial is ready. The families are gathering."
Rook was quiet for a
