I sat in that field for what felt like hours. Maybe it was. Time felt meaningless when you were drowning in emotions you'd spent two weeks avoiding.

The anger eventually burned itself out, leaving ash and exhaustion. The guilt remained, heavy and persistent, but slightly less overwhelming. The sorrow ebbed and flowed like waves, intense then manageable then intense again.

But underneath it all, that simple thought kept returning.

I miss my mom.

She'd been gone for years. Dying from working too hard. Before I'd even gotten my first job. Before any of this started.

What would she think of me now? Her son, accused by the world of being complicit in his father's crimes. Hiding on a farm in Poland while the man who killed his best friend ruled the planet.

Would she be disappointed? Proud that I was still fighting? Sad that I'd ended up so alone?

I didn't know. Would never know.

But I knew what she'd tell me if she were here. The same thing she'd always said when I was struggling.

"Reynard, sweetheart. You can't run from yourself forever. Eventually, you have to stop and deal with what's in front of you."

Alexis was right. I hated that she was right, but she was.

I couldn't keep running. Couldn't keep using work as a shield against feeling. Couldn't keep pretending that mechanical functionality was the same as being okay.

I had to live. Had to heal. Had to actually deal with what had happened instead of burying it under endless productivity.

Not for anyone else. For me.

Because if I kept going the way I was going, I'd break completely. And then I wouldn't be any use to anyone—not the girls, not the coalition, not the memory of everyone who'd believed in what we were building.

I took a deep breath—in for four, hold for four, out for four—and stood up. Brushed the dirt off my pants. Turned back toward the house.

One step at a time.

The house was quiet when I entered. Everyone asleep. The normal sounds of a farmhouse at night—creaking wood, distant animal sounds, the general settling of an old building.

I made my way to the bedroom I'd been using. Small. Simple. A single bed I'd been sleeping in alone because I'd been avoiding everyone.

But tonight, I didn't want to be alone.

The girls were all together in the larger guest room Elliot had provided. I opened the door carefully, not wanting to wake them.

Four forms in various sleeping positions. Camille sprawled across most of the space, her wild energy present even in sleep. Sienna curled up protectively. Alexis on her back, perfectly still. Evelyn on her side, facing the door like even asleep she was keeping watch.

I crawled into the bed carefully, finding space where I could fit without disturbing anyone too much.

Sienna shifted automatically, making room. Alexis's hand found mine in the darkness. Evelyn's breathing changed slightly—awake, or close to it, but choosing not to comment.

I lay there, surrounded by people who cared about me despite everything. Who'd followed me across the world. Who'd hidden in closets and worked farms and risked their lives because they believed in… something. Me, maybe. Or what we'd been trying to build together.

I'll listen, I told myself. I'll try. I'll actually deal with this instead of running.

Sleep came easier than it had in weeks.

Morning light filtered through the curtains. I woke slowly, awareness returning in stages.

The bed was empty except for me. They'd let me sleep. Probably coordinated it—made sure I wasn't disturbed, gave me the rest I clearly needed.

Instead of immediately getting up to find work to do, I stayed in bed. Just lying there. Feeling the mattress beneath me. The warmth of blankets. The ache of muscles from two weeks of constant physical labor.

I closed my eyes again, not to sleep but to meditate. Something I'd learned from my astronaut training but hadn't ever actually done.

Breathe. Focus on the sensation of air moving in and out. Let thoughts come and go without attaching to them. Just exist in the moment without judgment or agenda.

It was harder than it should have been. My mind kept wanting to plan, to strategize, to problem-solve. But I kept pulling it back. Just breathe. Just be.

Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Not long, but longer than I'd managed recently.

When I opened my eyes, I felt… not better exactly. But clearer. More present.

I got up and found a small notebook Elliot had left in the room—probably for farm notes or something. Instead, I started writing.

Anthony died because Mark shot him. Not because I wasn't fast enough. Not because I wasn't strong enough. Because Mark chose to kill him.

Hugo was a monster. That doesn't make me a monster. His crimes aren't my crimes.

The world believes Mark right now. That doesn't mean the world will always believe him.

Simple statements. Obvious ones. But seeing them written down made them feel more real. More true.

I kept writing. Not everything. Not a complete processing of two weeks of avoided emotion. But a start. A first step toward actually dealing with things instead of burying them.

Eventually I stopped writing and practiced the breathing exercise Alexis had taught me. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

It was meant for panic attacks. For moments of acute crisis. But it felt good to do it now too. Grounding. Centering.

I was mid-breath when the door opened.

Evelyn stood there, her gray-blue eyes taking in the scene—me sitting on the bed, notebook in hand, clearly doing some kind of emotional work.

She smiled. Genuine. Warm. "It's good to see you like this."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like yourself," she said simply. "The real you. Not the hollow productivity machine you've been pretending to be."

I set the notebook aside and stood. "I have a plan. To beat Mark."

Evelyn's smile faltered slightly. "Rey, you just started your mental recovery. Maybe we should—"

"The plan involves a lot of waiting," I interrupted. "Which means I'll have plenty of time to continue recovering. But I needed to tell you before I lost the clarity."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. What's the plan?"

"We wait," I said simply. "Because Mark will eventually lose all support."

Evelyn's expression shifted to confusion. "That's… optimistic. But based on what? His approval rating keeps climbing."

"Based on who he is," I explained, the pieces clicking together as I spoke. "When Mark approached me before—when he was still trying to get me to work with him—he had this whole philosophy. About how we live in a world dominated by ranks. About how people with job titles should be the ones ruling everything. The elite. The enhanced. The special ones."

"And you think he'll implement that philosophy now," Evelyn said, understanding dawning.

"He can't help himself," I said. "It's core to who he is. How he sees the world. Right now, the people support him because he positioned himself as their champion. As someone exposing corruption. But once he starts governing? Once his policies reflect his actual beliefs?"

"Rank disparities will expand," Evelyn finished. "Those with high-ranking jobs and titles will get preferential treatment. Those without will be left behind. The very people who supported him will realize they're not part of his vision."

"Exactly," I said. "It might take months. Maybe a year. But eventually, his approval will crater. People will see him for what he actually is—an elitist who thinks being enhanced makes you superior."

Evelyn nodded slowly, working through the implications. "That's… actually a solid read of his psychology. But even if he loses support, we still don't have resources. No coalition infrastructure. No allies willing to help openly. How do we capitalize on his falling approval if we're still hiding on a farm?"

I smiled. "We won't be. Someone will come to help us. Give us resources. A platform."

"Who?" Evelyn asked. "Samuel and Dubois have both backed away. Who would risk helping us now?"

Before I could answer, rapid footsteps in the hallway. The door burst open and Alexis, Sienna, and Camille rushed in.

"Someone's at the door," Alexis said urgently.

They moved to hiding positions automatically—muscle memory from the party two weeks ago. Camille in the closet. Sienna behind furniture. Alexis positioning herself where she could see but not be seen.

Evelyn started to move toward a hiding spot too, but I put a hand on her arm.

"It's fine," I said calmly. "I've been expecting this person."

All four of them stared at me.

"Expecting?" Evelyn repeated. "Rey, who—"

I was already walking out of the bedroom, heading toward the front of the house where I could hear Elliot's family gathering to answer the door.

Behind me, I heard the others following at a distance. Confused. Worried. But trusting enough to let me lead.

I reached the entryway just as Elliot opened the front door.

And smiled when I saw who was standing there.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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