The air smelled of burnt metal and blood. Jakarta was still burning. In the distance, the faint echoes of gunfire rolled through the ruins like thunder, a grim reminder that the war wasn’t over. Not yet.
Inside a safe house on the outskirts of the city, what remained of the coalition sat in silence. Shadows danced across the cracked walls, flickering with the dim, failing light. Mayang stood at the center, her hands gripping the edge of a rusted table as she tried to speak. But the words wouldn’t come.
Kiran. Clarissa. Lia.
Three names. Three lives. Gone.
Felix sat against the far wall, his knuckles bloodied, his face unreadable. He hadn’t spoken since they returned. Nicholas’s blood still clung to his jacket.
Then, finally, he snapped.
“You let this happen.” His voice cut through the silence like a blade. “They trusted you, and now they’re dead.”