Barnaby nodded slowly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll go.”
He turned toward the hallway, glancing back once more at Mary. But there was something else behind her calm. Something fierce.
And as Barnaby walked away, Mary whispered to herself, almost too low to hear.
“Do not lose control”
The corridor to the basement was dim, lit only by the soft hum of fluorescent bulbs that flickered as Barnaby descended.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, maybe silence, maybe emptiness. Instead, he found Nick hard at work.
The air down there smelled faintly of oil and burning metal. Half the basement had been transformed into a strange blend of laboratory and fashion studio, wires hanging from the ceiling, fabrics laid across tables, and mannequins dressed in half-finished armour that shimmered faintly when they caught the light.
Nick glanced up from his workbench, startled for a moment before smiling. “Barnaby! You’re just in time.”
Barnaby looked around, wide-eyed. “What is all this?”
“My little project,” Nick said proudly, brushing metal dust off his hands. “Reflective suits. I could only finish four in time, though.” He sighed, the pride slipping into exhaustion. “I really tried to make enough for everyone — designed them to distort heat signatures and reflect low-frequency light, to keep them nice and invisible to the naked eye. But… I ran out of time.”
He gestured to the mannequins. The suits shimmered with a dull silver sheen that shifted like water. “I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”
Barnaby’s mouth twisted. “So do I.”
Nick turned sharply, his expression softening. “Nonsense. Your brain, the way you build things, fix things — that’s who youare. Why do you think you’re not needed? You’re one of the few holding this place together.”
Barnaby gave a small, humourless laugh. “You’re being nice.”
“No,” Nick said firmly. “I’m being honest. If anyone’s not contributing enough, it’s me. I just hope these suits work.”
He glanced at the four finished pieces, brushing one sleeve like a proud tailor. “Come on,” he said finally, brightening a little. “Let’s go upstairs and at least get four people fitted. No point in leaving them down here.”
Barnaby hesitated. “I was just supposed to check on you. I… think I’ll go to my room for a bit.”
Nick’s expression faltered. “Barnaby—”
But he was already walking away, head low, shoulders tight.
It was official: Barnaby was sinking deeper into the quiet weight of sadness. Nick could see it, it was the look of someone who felt small in a world that had suddenly grown too big.
Nick hurried upstairs, pushing open the door to the strategy room.
Byron, Corey, Damian, Davina, Sam and several Doves were still gathered around the map table, red marker lights blinking across its surface.
“I have something,” Nick announced breathlessly. “Something that might actually help.”
Corey turned, brows raised. “Please tell me it’s good news.”
Nick held up one of the suits. The fabric caught the low light and shimmered faintly, rippling like mercury. “Reflective suits. I’ve been working on them for years. I only managed to finish four, but they’ll give at least a few of you the upper hand. Cloaking you so your enemies won't see what's coming.”
Corey’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Nick, that’s perfect. We can work with that.”
Byron stepped forward, examining the material. “How do they move?”
“Think of it as your second skin,” Nick said. “They’ll adapt to whoever wears them.”
Nick began assigning without hesitation. “Davina, Sam, you take two. You’re fast and ranged. You’ll need stealth the most.”
He turned to Byron. “I’d give one to you, but… you’re just so—”
