By mid-afternoon, the quiet aftermath in Drakon’s office had shifted into focused productivity. I had pulled on a fresh shirt, scraped my hair back into a high ponytail, and brought my laptop straight down to the tech hub where Michael was buried behind a wall of monitors.
Drakon walked beside me, his long, heavy strides matched mine. The shift between us was subtle, but undeniable inside the compound. I wasn't just a former Academy survivor or a capable fighter taking orders anymore. Standing beside Drakon as we entered the hub, the Reapers sitting at the outer terminals stood a little straighter, their eyes tracking us with a sharp, clear respect.
"Michael," I called out, tapping the side of his main desk.
Michael spun around in his ergonomic chair, a pair of wireless headphones hangi
