Mitch didn't speak. His sobs shook through him, rough and muffled against me, until they dulled into harsh, shallow breaths. I kept one arm around his shoulders, steadying him, waiting for the storm to pass. He didn't need words, not right now. Just space to break.
Bootsteps echoed across the tiled floor. Heavy. Numerous.
I turned my head and saw them filing in: Nadia, Marcus, and their fourteen fighters. They moved like they'd done this before, boots falling in rhythm, weapons already checked, faces hard. Too clean. Too polished. Too confident.
One of the men in their ranks caught sight of Mitch against me, his face still blotched from crying, and sneered. "Pathetic. Falling apart before the fight even starts."
Logan's head snapped up from the pillar, his voice like a blade. "You didn't see what we saw." The words carried across the floor, firm and cutting. "You keep your mouth shut until you do."
The man bristled, jaw working, ready to fire something back until Marcus' voice cut him down.
"Enough."
Just one word. Cold. Commanding. Final.
Every single one of his people froze. The man who had spoken went pale, throat bobbing as he lowered his eyes. None of them dared to make another sound.
Marcus didn't even look at him again. His gaze was fixed ahead, unreadable and sharp as he and Nadia moved toward me. She carried her usual faint smile; he carried nothing but authority.
I gave Mitch's shoulder one last squeeze, then nudged him gently toward Logan. "Go stand with him."
He swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, nodding quickly. "Sorry… for crying."
I shook my head, voice steady. "No need to apologize. Not for that."
Mitch exhaled hard, shoulders still trembling, but straightened his back and walked to Logan's side.
Marcus's shadow fell across me first, his presence all sharp edges and cold weight. Nadia followed, her smile soft, polite, still too practiced.
Marcus's voice was low, steady. "What did your scouts see?"
Nadia tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Yes, Jasmine. You've had time with them. What did they find?"
I shook my head once. "I haven't asked yet. We're waiting for the rest of my people. I want everyone to hear it together."
Nadia's lips curved, but she didn't press. Marcus just grunted, folding his arms, a wall of muscle and iron will.
I checked my watch. 0250. Ten minutes left.
"They'll be here soon," I said. "Ten more minutes."
Marcus didn't move, just gave that low grunt again. Nadia dipped her chin in a nod, her eyes drifting back to Logan and Mitch.
So we stood there.
No words. Just silence and the faint hum of broken lights overhead. The smell of blood and dust in the air. Two groups on opposite sides of the floor, held apart by tension and the thin thread of necessity.
Then the sound came.
Boots on metal. A steady rhythm from above.
I lifted my head, scanning the escalator as the noise grew louder. "That should be them."
No sooner had I said it than shapes appeared, Nicole first, moving like water down the steps, every muscle coiled and alert. Behind her, the rest of the teams, descending in silence, weapons loose in their hands but eyes sharp.
They reached the bottom. Nicole turned immediately, her voice clipped, calm but carrying. "Form up. Behind Logan and Mitch."
Her people moved without hesitation, lining up opposite Marcus and Nadia's fighters. Two walls facing each other, tension thick between them.
Nicole walked forward alone, boots clicking against tile until she stepped into the center of the clearing, where I stood flanked by Marcus and Nadia.
Four leaders. One fragile balance.
And the air felt heavy enough to choke on.
Nicole's eyes flicked to me. "Did I miss anything?"
I shook my head. "No. We waited. Everyone should hear it together."
She nodded once, then turned. "Logan. Mitch. Front and center."
Both men pushed off the wall, Logan steady as stone, Mitch still pale under the lantern light. They stepped into the circle with us. Nicole's voice was firm. "Tell us what you saw."
For a moment, no one spoke. Logan's jaw worked as if grinding down words too heavy to say, his eyes distant, fixed on something only he and Mitch had seen. Mitch shifted beside him, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade like he needed the weight to ground him.
Finally, Logan exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the quiet. His gaze lifted, not to Nicole, not to me, but somewhere far past us all.
"When we got close…" he began, voice low, measured, each word carrying the weight of what he couldn't unsee.
And with that, the memory unfolded, Logan pulling us back into the nightmare he and Mitch had walked through.