The rain didn’t just fall in the Outer Rim; it hammered, a relentless rhythmic drumming against the corrugated metal of the safehouse. Inside, the air tasted of ozone and stale coffee. Elias sat at the scarred wooden table, his hands steady as he cleaned a service pistol that had seen too many wars.
"You always do this," Kael whispered, sliding into the chair opposite him. "You carry the whole world so I don't have to feel the weight. But look at you, Eli. You’re breaking."
Elias didn’t look up. "If we move now, we’re seen. If we’re seen, we’re dead. Sit down, Kael. Brother up."