NO EXIT

Echo leads Liora back to the spare room, hands in his pockets, his usual smirk subdued.

"Not our main headquarters," he says, nodding toward the walls of the place. "But we're not risking that for you."

Liora barely acknowledges his words, dragging herself inside and dropping onto the bed. She stares at the ceiling, arms sprawled out. It doesn't matter if they want her here. What matters is what the hell she's supposed to do next.

Echo lingers by the doorway. "You could stay, you know." His tone is casual, but there's an edge to it. "Just gotta prove you're not dead weight."

Liora lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "I'd rather be an actual dead weight."

Because even if she did prove herself, it wouldn't change a damn thing.

Silence stretches between them. Liora doesn't bother looking at him, expecting Echo to shrug and leave, but instead, he chuckles. It's quiet, more thoughtful than amused.

"That's a bold thing to say for someone who nearly short-circuited an entire room."

Liora tenses. He's not wrong. Whatever happened back there—whatever she might did—wasn't normal. But she has no answers, no control, and worse, no way of denying it.

Echo takes a step back, but his voice is still light. "Rest up. If you need something, you know where to find me."

The door slides shut behind him, leaving Liora alone with nothing but her own uneasy, messy thoughts. She exhales sharply, closing her eyes.

The rough leather draped over her—the same one she had noticed earlier but hadn't questioned—suddenly feels heavier.

She pulls it tighter around herself, fingers brushing against the fabric before her eyes dozed off.

Liora barely has time to shake off the haze of last night's restless sleep before Echo drags her into the main space of the hideout. The place is livelier than before—screens flickering with rapid streams of data, the air thick with the smell of mainly caffeine.

At the center, everyone gathers around a makeshift table. Liora sat across from them, arms crossed, trying not to let her unease show. Their expressions varied, some unreadable while others tinged with skepticism.

The table between them felt like a line drawn in the sand, an invisible divide between her and The Clan.

Razor leaned forward first, his fingers almost tapping the tabletop as he studied her. "You're here now. That means we need to figure out what to do with you."

"You mean whether you'll kick me out or not?" Liora shot back.

Echo grinned, propping his chin on his hand. "See, I like her. Spunky."

"Nah, sweetheart, it's not that simple. We're just..." Flux's voice returns along with that nickname he gave her yesterday. His eyes met the very familiar leather jacket covering her, "...reconsidering our options."

Flux caught Liora gripping tightly onto his garment, silently fighting the urge to flirt with her.

Shade scoffed; arms folded. "Options imply choice. We don't take risks without a reason. If you're staying, we need to know what you bring to the table."

"Exactly," Blaze murmurs without looking up from sharpening his knife. "You take space, you make yourself useful."

Nyx, the most welcoming of them right now, nudged his elbow against the table with a casual smirk on his lips. "Relax, it's not as dramatic as they make it sound. Think of it more like... a friendly little test."

Liora's lips curled slightly into a frown. "And if I say no?"

Echo broke it with a laugh. "You lot are all so grim. Let's call it what it is—a chance to prove you're not a liability. Help us with something. Something useful. That's all."

The way they say it isn't a direct order, but it doesn't need to be. Liora can see the game they're playing with her. It's not about forcing her. It's about seeing whether she steps up on her own.

She bit on her lower lip. "Okay. What do you need?"

Razor exhales, pushing away from the table, as authority appears in his tone. "Come with us."