Unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds.
The tension is everywhere now.
Impossible to ignore.
It hangs in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.
I see Hakon and Ulf in the corner, checking weapons.
Guns disassembled and reassembled. Magazines loaded, counted, loaded again.
Knives sharpened until they gleam.
The tools of their trade.
The instruments of violence that keep the people they love safe.
Dad emerges from the chapel—kirkja, they call it—with Runes.
Both of them grim-faced.
Determined.
The weight of command is heavy on their shoulders.
My father catches my eye and crosses to me. "How are you feeling, baby girl?"
"Scared."
He doesn't sugarcoat it.
Doesn't tell me everything will be fine.
Doesn't offer empty reassurances that we both know would be lies.
Just nods.
"Fear is natural. What matters is what you do with it."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Let it remind you what's worth fighting for." He cups my face—the same gesture Mom used earlier. "We're going to bring those kids home. And then this is over. The network, the threats, all of it. We end it tonight."
"Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise."
"Promise me Gunnar will come back."
He hesitates.
Just for a second, just long enough for my heart to clench.
"I'll protect him with my life."
It's not the same as a promise.
But it's all he can give, and I love him for the honesty.
