The warehouse reeked of smoke, blood, and betrayal. The Judas spark's words had done more than summon crimson-eyed thralls; they had lit suspicion like wildfire among the survivors.
Some rebels cried for execution of the traitors, others demanded mercy, still others slipped away in the confusion. Within hours, the once-cohesive force had splintered into factions—each convinced they alone held the key to survival.
Selene paced like a caged predator. "We can't fight him if we can't even trust each other."
Elric sat in the shadows, eyes closed, his cane across his knees. "The Phantom doesn't need to kill us all. He only needs us divided. Each whisper of doubt feeds his sum."
Evangeline, clutching the Prism Gear, shook her head violently. "He's inside their machines, their voices, their dreams. He can reach through anyone at any time. If that's true… maybe there is no rebellion left to save."
Elric opened his eyes, gray and unyielding. "No. There is always rebellion. Even in the smallest breath, the faintest thought—so long as we resist, he cannot claim perfection."
But as he spoke, Selene noticed something in the shadows. A boy, no older than ten, watching them with wide eyes. When she approached, he whispered:
"They say the automaton will walk by week's end. They say it will crush Parliament first. Some want that. Some think… maybe he's not our enemy."
Selene's stomach tightened. The rebellion wasn't only splintering. It was beginning to turn.