#Chapter 49: Smoke and Cinders

DEREK The air still smelled like ash. Even though the fires had long been extinguished and the debris mostly cleared from the summit grounds, the scent of smoke clung to everything—our clothes, the walls, the people. A reminder of just how close we'd come to losing it all. I stood on the temporary command platform that had been constructed out of broken tables and reinforced scaffolding, arms crossed, watching teams of warriors drag broken furniture and busted tech out of the conference hall. The flags that had once adorned the high rafters were gone—either burned or shredded. The ones that remained hung limp and darkened with soot. Joe appeared beside me, sweat slicking his temple. “That’s the last of the injured from Silverclaw moved to the med tent,” he said. “Beta Lowell’s team is sweeping the perimeter again. Still no sign of stragglers.” I nodded, jaw tight. “And the press?” He grimaced. “Champing at the bit. The narrative’s shifting. Last night we were heroes. Today?