Tur looks up at me.
“Doing what.”
“Being displaced,” I snap. “Being erased. Watching everything my family built get turned into collateral damage for powerful men with secret wars.”
His eyes soften.
Just a fraction.
“This is not a fight you can win with zoning maps and syndicate leverage,” he says gently.
“I know,” I reply. “It’s a fight I can’t win by running either.”
Silence stretches between us.
Heavy.
Dense.
War stops being abstract in that silence.
It takes on a shape.
A cost.
A timeline.
“What happens if the Nine breach the node,” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Everyone who realizes what it is will come,” he says. “Alliance. Syndicates. Private militaries. Black market transit brokers. Governments that don’t officially exist anymore. It will not stay local.”
My throat tightens.
“And my family’s name is on the fucking address label.”
“Yes.”
I let out a broken laugh.
“Fantastic.”
He steps closer.
Kneels in front of me.
Gently takes my shaking hands in his.
“They will not take it without a fight,” he says quietly.
“Who,” I demand.
“Us,” he replies.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
