The garage still smelled faintly of oil and clean metal.
Charles leaned back against the Porsche's hood, one heel braced against the bumper, cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke drifted upward in lazy coils, thinning beneath the white lighting.
Don stood opposite him near the Ferrari, one hand resting on the cool curve of its roof. He hadn't moved much since Charles dropped the idea—but his brow lifted a notch as the words finished settling.
"A superhuman group?" Don repeated.
Charles nodded once. Then he straightened a little, pushing off the car and rolling his shoulders back like he was resetting himself. The easy posture didn't hide the intent behind it.
"Yes," he said. "And not some hobby outfit. Something structured."
He took a half step forward, eyes steady. "As it stands, we're going to need to build our experience somehow. SHU is good—but at the end of the day, it just prepares us for the real challenge. Field reality. Operations. Consequences."
