At General Leonard's quarters, the tension in the room felt deliberate—like it had been placed there by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
That someone was Liam.
He stood near the window, unmoving, a rolled document clenched in his hand with quiet intensity. He hadn't sat down once.
Lucas noticed.
That alone made him uneasy.
"This had better be urgent," Lucas said, pacing instead of sitting. His voice carried the fatigue of someone who had spent the entire day saving lives. "I left three patients mid-treatment. Heat stroke doesn't wait for family meetings."
Lucas clicked his tongue, irritation creeping in. "You dragged me out without context. That's not like you."
"It's not," Logan cut in lazily from the couch, one arm thrown over his face like a fallen noble. "Which means either we're all about to die… or Liam finally snapped under pressure."
Logan peeked from under his arm, eyes gleaming.
