The silence in the Command Wing was a fragile illusion, hiding the danger beyond its walls. Jin stood in the center of the room with the Kageyoshi at his hip. His mismatched eyes—one brown, one crimson, scanned the tired faces of the women who had become his strange, broken family. Each face showed exhaustion, marked by the grime of their recent escape and the unseen scars of their shattered world.
Jin tightened his shoulders, his fingers pressed against the doorframe, his breath shallow. The rhythmic 'thump… thump… thump' of nightmares trying to break is echoed through the floor.
"Door integrity: 45%," Asha's voice echoed in his mind, clear and direct. "Primary locking mechanism failing."
Jin closed his eyes and lost himself in thought. The sterile room faded away, replaced by a glowing blueprint of the Command Wing—an intricate web of energy lines, structural supports, and security systems. Suddenly, he understood it.
