A
A adjusted the straps of her pack, her gaze following the hurried movements of the Ghost Corp soldiers. Meanwhile, Le Frey articulated his thoughts, the minutest curvature of her lips hinting at the emergence of a smile—his voice even wavered, betraying more emotion than she expected of the man. The thought of leaving behind someone who had, in his own way, looked out for them left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.
She nodded at him, her voice soft but sincere. “Thanks… you kept us alive, and that’s more than I can say for a lot of people.”
Then, pivoting toward VV, A delved into her pack, her fingertips skimming the haphazard assemblage of provisions until they encountered the familiar shape of the pill bottle. She withdrew it briefly, letting it rotate between her fingers before consigning it again to the depths of her bag. A muted rattle emanated as it settled into place.
“Yeah, I’ve got them,” she said, though her grip lingered on the pack's zipper for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m… I’m good.” A conjured a fragile semblance of a smile, yet a flicker of trepidation shimmered in her eyes.
After everything—her blackout, the vision—'good' felt like a word she didn’t quite own anymore.
A clenched her fingertips around the extremity of her seat, her knuckles devoid of colour, as the atmosphere inside the jeep became increasingly suffocating, mirroring the sweltering desert heat outside. The acrid emissions from the smouldering barrels infiltrated the fissured windows, assailing her eyes and constricting her lungs with a noxious bite. Her hands twitched at her sides, a subtle tremor betraying the volatile energy simmering just beneath the surface of her skin, but unleashing it now would be a fatal misstep—a flare in the dark that would mark her and her friends for slaughter.
As Val's voice sliced through the stifling aura of silence, his nonchalant demeanour struck A as disconcertingly assured. A’s head snapped toward him, her gaze narrowing as she studied the careful arrangement of his features. It dawned on her then that this demeanour was but a façade, one she frequently donned to mask her own trepidations. Handing his rifle to Ebony only confirmed it for her.
He wasn’t just preparing for a fight—he was bracing for the worst.
A’s throat felt parched, akin to arid earth, as she contemplated their dwindling alternatives. They could flee, but not without leaving someone behind. They could stand their ground, but the inevitable bloodshed would be chaotic, their firepower no match for what awaited them. And surrender? That meant putting their lives in the hands of men who more than likely viewed mercy as a foreign concept, a weakness to be exploited.
She inched closer to VV, her voice a taut whisper threaded with urgency. “If this goes south,” she murmured, feeling the faint pulse of power coiling in her veins like a caged animal, “I’m not going down without a fight.”
But deep down, A knew the fight she feared most wasn’t with the men outside—it was with herself.
She nodded at him, her voice soft but sincere. “Thanks… you kept us alive, and that’s more than I can say for a lot of people.”
Then, pivoting toward VV, A delved into her pack, her fingertips skimming the haphazard assemblage of provisions until they encountered the familiar shape of the pill bottle. She withdrew it briefly, letting it rotate between her fingers before consigning it again to the depths of her bag. A muted rattle emanated as it settled into place.
“Yeah, I’ve got them,” she said, though her grip lingered on the pack's zipper for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m… I’m good.” A conjured a fragile semblance of a smile, yet a flicker of trepidation shimmered in her eyes.
After everything—her blackout, the vision—'good' felt like a word she didn’t quite own anymore.
A clenched her fingertips around the extremity of her seat, her knuckles devoid of colour, as the atmosphere inside the jeep became increasingly suffocating, mirroring the sweltering desert heat outside. The acrid emissions from the smouldering barrels infiltrated the fissured windows, assailing her eyes and constricting her lungs with a noxious bite. Her hands twitched at her sides, a subtle tremor betraying the volatile energy simmering just beneath the surface of her skin, but unleashing it now would be a fatal misstep—a flare in the dark that would mark her and her friends for slaughter.
As Val's voice sliced through the stifling aura of silence, his nonchalant demeanour struck A as disconcertingly assured. A’s head snapped toward him, her gaze narrowing as she studied the careful arrangement of his features. It dawned on her then that this demeanour was but a façade, one she frequently donned to mask her own trepidations. Handing his rifle to Ebony only confirmed it for her.
He wasn’t just preparing for a fight—he was bracing for the worst.
A’s throat felt parched, akin to arid earth, as she contemplated their dwindling alternatives. They could flee, but not without leaving someone behind. They could stand their ground, but the inevitable bloodshed would be chaotic, their firepower no match for what awaited them. And surrender? That meant putting their lives in the hands of men who more than likely viewed mercy as a foreign concept, a weakness to be exploited.
She inched closer to VV, her voice a taut whisper threaded with urgency. “If this goes south,” she murmured, feeling the faint pulse of power coiling in her veins like a caged animal, “I’m not going down without a fight.”
But deep down, A knew the fight she feared most wasn’t with the men outside—it was with herself.
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