Aubrey hit the ground hard.
Her knees buckled first, then the rest of her followed, gravel biting into her skin as she caught herself with a trembling hand. A sound tore out of her chest—raw, broken—and before she could stop herself, she slammed her fist into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
The tears came anyway.
By the time she looked up, the convoy was already gone. The vehicles that had taken Adrian and Lila were nothing more than shrinking shadows beyond the compound walls—dust settling where hope had been ripped away.
Terri knelt beside her without a word, small hands rubbing slow, steady circles into Aubrey's back like she was afraid she might shatter completely if she stopped.
Aubrey's shoulders shook.
Cherie didn't move.
She stood rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the distant road where the Crucible had disappeared. After a moment, her gaze dropped—to the studded bat clenched in her hand.
The weight of it felt wrong.
She turned it once, then again.
