Jay-Jay's POV
Word spread fast through Section E networks: Angelo's mansion was open house for a full month. "Come crash, train, heal, plot," the message read. "London crew already here. Bring your chaos."
They arrived in waves. First the local stragglers who'd been holding down Manila — Ci‑N with suitcases of snacks, Eman hauling coolers, Yuri with a duffel that probably held more weapons than clothes. Then the ones who'd been scattered: David showed up filming his own entrance, Edrix with a gym bag bigger than him, Eren and Mayo coordinating supply runs, Rory with notebooks full of mansion blueprints. Josh blasted music from his car, Blaster helped unload speakers, Drew arrived in sunglasses like it was a vacation resort.
Mica landed from her uni break, hugging me so tight my ribs creaked. "Told you we'd all end up in one place eventually," she said, dropping her bag in the foyer. The other girls trickled in too — friends from London courses, uni mates who'd become family through late‑night cram sessions and crisis calls.
By week's end, the mansion pulsed alive. Felix and Calix turned the training wing into a gym warzone, mats squeaking under endless spars. Denzel set up a media corner, drones buzzing overhead shots of beach runs. Eman and Serina ruled the kitchen, adobo experiments running nonstop, Aunty Gemma joining for lumpia marathons. Ci‑N decorated every surface with flower crowns, Rory mapped security patrols, Josh and Blaster rigged a sound system that shook the terrace. Kit sketched nonstop, Eren organized supply lists, Mayo planned beach training days.
Keifer and I claimed a quiet balcony corner, watching the sea, his arm around me. "Thirty days of this," he said. "Then what?"
"Figure it out," I replied, leaning in. Grief bracelet cool, ring warm, plant thriving nearby. Mansion full, heart fuller. Chaos felt like home now.