Across the room, Junjio shifted. His voice trembled when it came, too soft at first, like he hoped someone else would speak instead.
"What if..." he swallowed. "What if there aren't enough rogues for all of us?"
His Ikona flickered on his shoulder, barely holding its shape. The fear in his question landed heavier than it should have. They all knew the system didn't guarantee balance. Just risk. Just terms. Just outcomes.
Wes didn't move from where he leaned, arms still crossed, Ikona pulsing steady at his side.
"Ours didn't come with a timer," he said, tone level, like he wasn't even trying to convince. "So we team up. Let the system assign. Half stats beat a closed casket."
He met Elias's eyes as he spoke, gave a small nod — not pushing, just aligning, like they'd already chosen the same thing before the words ever left their mouths.
Elias inhaled slow through his nose. His hands had steadied. The pulse of his shard no longer jittered — just throbbed, low and full.
