The implication of his words hung in the air, heavy and blood red. He wasn't just offering a source; he was offering them the keys to the enemy's armory, a chance to turn the Legion's own surgical precision against them.
The tension in the room shifted from the fear of internal collapse to the electric, terrifying thrill of a counterstrike.
Rex didn't wait for their approval, and he didn't ask for it. He stood there, a pillar of cold, hard logic in a room currently drowning in the heat of suspicion, and swept his gaze across the assembled leaders.
He looked at them not as peers but as assets that needed to be recalibrated.
"That is the only information that carries weight in this room right now," Rex declared, his voice cutting through the rising murmurs like a blade through silk. "What we suspect about one another is a luxury we can no longer afford."
"Suspicion is a parasite; it feeds on time and leaves nothing but rot."
