yet somehow, not enough. Celia stood atop a crumbling overpass, the metal framework groaning faintly beneath her boots. The wind whipped past, tugging at her torn jacket, weaving strands of

t, gleaming dully. A black star on a silver field. The symbol of the old resistance. "They'll need someone to carry this forward," he said, his voice low but certain. Celia hesitated before taking it. The metal was cold against her skin, heavier than it should have been. Or maybe she was just too damn tired. "You want me to be a symbol?" she asked, her tone sharp with disbelief. "I'm not the hero they want." "No," Lawrence said, the barest ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. "You're the one they need." The words hit harder than any blow. Celia tightened her fingers around the pin, feeling the edges bite into her palm. It felt like a chain. It felt like a promise. It felt terrifying. Below them, a child with a torn scarf around her neck knelt beside an older man, wrapping his wounds with shaking hands. Two former rivals - people who would have shot each other weeks ago - now worked side by side, lifting a broken comms tower off a trapped survivor. The world wasn't fixed. It probably never would be. But maybe it didn't have to be. Celia drew a shaky breath. "We can't fix this alone." "We don't have to," Lawrence said, stepping closer, close enough that the warmth of him cut through the chill seeping into her bones. He reached out and took her hand - not a grand gesture, not a desp