Ash rose from the ground, sliding his blade into its sheath with a faint click.
He turned away from the fire and walked toward Max.
The group from the meeting had scattered, their faces unreadable. There was no relief in their eyes—just a quiet tension that didn't belong there.
Max sat on a nearby bench, hunched forward like the weight of something unseen had settled on his back. Ash sat beside him.
"What is it? You all look like death is knocking already."
Max didn't answer right away. He raised his hand toward the sky, palm open like he wanted to catch something that wasn't there.
"Because it is. And we don't have the strength to stop it."
Ash tilted his head.
"What about the military? Aren't they supposed to back us up?"
Max let out a slow breath, not looking at him.
"They're not coming."
Silence. Then—
"What?"
Ash's voice was sharper than he meant it to be.
"Why not?"
