The safehouse was a cramped, dingy space, but it was home.
Emily's team had gathered what little they could from the ruins of the Ironhold, and they'd made the safehouse their temporary base of operations.
Marcel lay on a makeshift bed, his wounds tended to by Julian.
Lena sat beside him, her eyes fixed on his pale face.
Emily stood watch, her rifle leaning against the wall as she gazed out the window.
The streets were quiet, the only sound the distant hum of Covenant patrols.
Emily's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with strategy and tactics.
They couldn't stay here for long, the Covenant would regroup, reassess, and come after them with renewed ferocity, Emily's team needed to be prepared.
"Julian, how's Marcel?" Emily asked, turning away from the window.
Julian looked up from his work, his eyes tired but focused. "He'll live.
The wound was deep, but I managed to stabilize him."