Val's P.O.V

The video call ended with a silent, digital blink, leaving the four of us in Brielle’s bedroom staring at our own pale reflections in the black screens of our phones. The sudden quiet was a physical thing, heavy and deafening after the hours of tense, focused strategy. The only sound was the hum of Brielle’s laptop fan and the distant, lonely wail of a siren cutting through the Manhattan night.

Juliette was the first to break. A shuddering breath escaped her, and she wrapped ...