Rex met her gaze, the air in the room feeling as though it were being compressed by an invisible force. The silence wasn't empty; it was heavy, saturated with the unspoken trauma of the morning and the lingering, jagged edges of the chaos they had all narrowly survived.
"What was the part that was not straightforward?" Rex asked.
His voice was low, a controlled rumble that demanded precision. He was inviting the dissection, ready to face the truth of the void he had left behind.
Diana turned away from the window. Her movement was fluid, almost spectral, as she transitioned from observer to participant.
She looked at him with that characteristic, flat, direct gaze, the baseline of her existence. But beneath the surface of her composure, the 'read' of her designation was pulsing.
