The countdown ticked on.
00:52…
00:39…
Fade's eyes lingered on the glowing prompt in the air:
[Accept Directive: Y / N]
The silence behind him was thick—tighter than any command, heavier than any chain.
He reached forward.
With a simple gesture, the screen pulsed once.
[Directive Accepted]
There was no applause. No confirmation sound. Only a faint hiss as the interface vanished.
"Well," Zeyna muttered, "I guess we're doing this."
"Did we even vote?" Arven asked, arms crossed.
"No," Kaela said, not looking up from her device. "But the moment we stepped in, we stopped being a democracy."
Nail took a step forward, tone as calm as always. "You're scheduled for departure in ten minutes. Basic field kits have been assigned. No weapons beyond personal loadouts."
"Expected resistance?" Darin asked.