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Grounding.
Steady.
“Good,” I reply.
A beat.
“It needed one.”
Her hand grips my shirt.
Not for balance.
For anchor.
And for a second—
just one—
the war disappears.
It’s just us.
Then—
Ronan’s voice cuts in.
Sharp.
Urgent.
“They’re moving.”
Everything snaps back.
63
Ronan
Location: Command Room — Lisbon
Time: Night
“They’re moving.”
The words hit the room like a trigger.
Not political movement.
Not legal maneuvering.
This is different.
This is fast.
Silent.
Final.
