The General's Gambit
The morning sun crept through the shattered windows of the courthouse, casting long shadows across my desk. I hadn't slept. The weight of everything—the truth about Lena, the equation, the endless cycle of enemies—pressed down on me like a physical force. I stared at the map of Hellsmouth spread across my desk, the markers showing the city's slow recovery. Green for stable. Yellow for ongoing issues. Red for danger zones. Too much red. "Leon." Julian's voice came from the doorway. "We have a problem." I looked up. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. He'd been working alongside me for weeks now, trying to make amends for his past. But the shadows still clung to him. "What kind of problem?" He walked over and placed a tablet on my desk. A news feed was playing. The headline read: GENER
- Writer
