Draven's pov
I wasn't built for press conferences.
Give me a battlefield, a black ops mission, a detonator and a timer,that, I could handle. But this?
This was a circus. A live, volatile, weaponized circus.
Flashbulbs burst like gunfire. Reporters shouted over each other, their questions slicing through the morning air like shrapnel.
"Is it true the resistance is collapsing?"
"What happened at the Ashmoor Ridge raid?"
"Where is Snow?"
"Who's really in charge now?"
I stood behind the podium, jaw tight, chest armor still smudged with ash. My ribs ached from catching Eira as she nearly collapsed two nights ago. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I barely had time to bandage my own damn wounds.
We haven't gone home yet, still at the camp we were in before the raid.
But I needed this.
We needed this.
