The storm had passed, but the world outside looked bruised, a sky smeared in violet and ash, the kind of dawn that arrived too early after too much loss.

Justina stood at the cracked window of the safehouse, watching mist rise over the drenched ruins below. Carson was behind her, silent, still studying the data that pulsed on the monitor like a heartbeat.

Neither spoke. Words had grown fragile since her mother’s message.

When Justina turned, her reflection caught on the glass pale, haunted, ...