The safehouse was quiet now, but the silence was a fragile thing, like a thin sheet stretched across a room full of broken glass. Outside, the wind whispered against the walls, carrying with it the faint scent of dust, metal, and scorched earth the remnants of the canyon ambush. Inside, the air was heavy, laden with exhaustion, tension, and unspoken truths.

Alexander sat on the edge of the worn sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming a restless rhythm. The adrenaline that had fueled him ...