The silence in the room after Leo's declaration was a living thing.
It was heavy.
It was profound.
It was the quiet sound of a boy volunteering to walk into the heart of a hurricane.
Leo looked at the schematics for the communications spire, at the impossible, vertical climb into the heart of the storm.
"This is my part of the fight," he said, his voice dropping to a low, personal whisper. "This is my debt."
He finally looked at Clara, and a small, sad, and deeply genuine smile touched his lips.
"I owe him that much."
Miles just stared at him, his own system running a thousand frantic, useless calculations.
[PROBABILITY OF LEO'S SURVIVAL: 7.8%.]
The number was a cold, hard stone in his gut.
"This is a monumentally bad idea," his internal monologue whispered, a dry, panicked voice in the quiet of his own mind.
"I mean, I'm all for dramatic gestures, but this feels a little over the top."
"Couldn't he just, you know, send a strongly worded email?"
