Emma's terrible vision hung in the air between them, a cold, heavy blanket of despair. Millions of futures, and in every single one, they failed. It was a prophecy of absolute defeat.
For a moment, the team froze, the weight of her words threatening to crush their spirits before the first blow was even struck.
It was Ilsa Varkov who broke the silence. She let out a short, harsh laugh that sounded like rocks grinding together.
"Good," she said, her voice a low growl. "I was worried this would be too easy." She looked at Emma, her eyes burning with a fierce, stubborn light. "Your visions show the future, strategist. But we are here, in the present. The future has not been written until we have lived it."
Her simple, unshakable soldier's creed was the spark they needed. They were still here. They were still breathing. And they were still walking toward the enemy. The story wasn't over.
