I still remember the cold metal of the weapon locker lingering on my fingertips as Frank and I left it behind. I, Ruth Lee, stepped away from that stark room with a mix of relief and trepidation, my heart pounding in sync with the low hum of the station's fluorescent lights. We walked back toward our main hub, where Luke was huddled with Esther in quiet, urgent conversation. Their voices were low—almost conspiratorial—and I could tell they were mulling over details that weighed on all of us.
As I neared the duo, I couldn't help but catch snippets of their discussion. Esther's worry was palpable; she muttered about whether I would come back from tonight's ordeal alive. Luke, ever the pragmatic one, insisted that I was a fighter, one blessed with an uncanny streak of luck—luck that would have to see me through whatever came next. I appreciated his confidence, though I doubted it could fully erase the fear simmering beneath my skin.